Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Shinigami, My Hamburger ❯ The Shrinks ( Chapter 21 )

Chapter 21

"The Shrinks"

In a teeming subway car of one of the most homogeneous nations of the world, it wasn’t hard for any passerby to notice the tall blonde that stood literally head and shoulders above most of the crowd. Her fair, pale face rose above without competition. Neither was it too hard to spot the golden-colored hair amongst a flock of dark-haired men and women. She stood in the center of the mass of people, one hand clutching the rings that hung from the ceiling, though it swung at shoulder level for her instead of over her head. As the subway car rattled toward the next stop, the statuesque blonde timidly glanced around at the tops of the Japanese heads around her. She had to be careful not to bash her face into the advertisement posters that hung from the ceiling of the subway car, normally out of the way for the riders. It was rare that anyone as tall as the otherworld secretary ever ventured into the Tokyo subway and it was doubly rare that they’d be wearing stylish heels on top of that. She would have preferred a comfortable pair of sandals, but Hell if Iria would let any of her employees—especially such an esteemed one as Nadette—out in public unless they practically reeked of fashionableness.

That was a certain drawback to being employed to the Goddess of Love, she thought, while nervously shifting with bodies tightly packed on either side of her that remained eerily quiet. She was accustomed to the plush of Valentine, the constant background noise of conversation and flirtation, and even her superior’s gossipy voice echoing in the phone. It was a sugarcoated place, even with the overbearing Iria at the helm. She was used to complying to the beckoning at Iria’s every whim to organize her shoes, go shopping with her, and fetch her chocolates from the storeroom of sweets just across her office while she would leisurely reapply her lipstick. She was unaccustomed to the hustle and bustle most mortals thought nothing of, and the tall woman stood nervously in the pack. She could only hope she’d taken the right train. It was not an experience she wished to repeat.

Tokyo was never not crowded, Heero had learned, but there was a certain lull to the frenetic masses after the noon hour that allowed the pair some breathing room and the mortal some space to keep the Shinigami out of his usual trouble. As was expected, Shini was the victim of many strange stares for his outlandish clothes and, not suprisingly, many admiring ones, too, for his naturally light hair and exotic violet eyes that radiated a certain charm. Luckily, he did not stop to chat with the small flocks of girls that could be seen and heard smiling and giggling as he passed, and Heero kept tugging him along by the wrist. Thankfully, he never wandered far for lunch and by the time they’d covered roughly a block, Heero tugged the Shinigami out of the stream and into his favorite café. It was sufficiently sandwiched between the other buildings flanking it, and it was narrow and high-ceilinged and simple.

It was an obvious knock off of the large, corporate American coffee companies, right down to the names on the menu, but it was nearby and cheap and empty. Juxtaposed to the noisy, inane pachinko palor across the street, it was sane and peaceful, though still as busy as any other part of Tokyo. It was the one of the calmest places you could see without taking a drive out to a shrine in the countryside and Heero craved it, though he never really had the gall to just up and leave the memories of his family buried in this city. He’d often dreamed of where’d they be had his father retired sooner and missed the insurrection, if they’d packed up and moved out of Tokyo.

I probably wouldn’t be here with Shinigami, he thought, reminded of his company when he stepped inside behind Heero, and gaped at it in his usual fashion.

"It has definitely been a long time since he was between worlds," Shini murmured, marveling his first time inside any kind of modern shop. "This is much better than general stores!" A moment later, his wandering eyes picked out the narrow staircase that led up to a small second floor located near the large windows overlooking the crowded street and he tugged Heero’s wrist. "Let’s go up there!"

Heero made a show to sigh in his usual way, though he had to smirk a little that the Shinigami had picked out his regular seat, anyway. He gave a plain, "Alright," and followed the deity as he enthusiastically grinned and led the way up the stairs

Somewhere around the third or fourth step, reminded by the wafting smells in the air, and the sight of other people sitting at tables, eating politely, that Shini remembered something. It came upon him like news of cancer strikes young, healthy men and women, abruptly and heavily. It wasn’t any kind of bad news, though, and Shini’s smile was widening wickedly by the time they reach the top of the stairs. He happily hopped into the two-person table nearest the window and waited for Heero to catch up, sitting in the tall stool chair and playfully kicking the legs. He turned his grin out toward the window for a moment, as if trying to make the crowd realize just how jealous they were of him.

He was going to taste mortal food. And his mother would have no idea! His toes practically curled at the very thought. Shini turned that beaming smile of triumph over to his Teishu as soon as he sat down and noticed the unusually broad grin.

"What?" he asked automatically.

"Nothing," Shini said, face still split from ear to ear. "So, when do we eat? He’s starving!"

"Excuse me, excuse me. I’m sorry—excuse me." Nadette was still having difficulties adapting to the very distinctly chaotic human traffic of the city and the workings of the public transportation. After failing to locate her appropriate stop and ending up dumped into some corner of Shinjuku, she had ended up heading above ground and decided to try her hand at manual navigation of the city. The thick stream of people had not diminished at all, only gotten worse with the addition of vehicle traffic. She fumbled like a giraffe in her heels on the mortal sidewalk, often jarring into people and having to apologize. Even something as simple as walking was so dangerous in this world! She thought to herself with a mental huff. It was no wonder now why Iria had insisted on the Valentine realm for her office—a place with no hard dirt roads or concrete to interfere with heels.

The tall, blonde secretary moved and was moved by the current through the Tokyo sidewalks, forced to backtrack toward her destination because of her error on the subway. Again, she felt her hip accidentally buckle into the side of some young man when her heel disagreed with the uneven pavement, and her face went red. "I’m sorry, excuse me," she said from her position above the crowd. She felt a little like an Alice in a tiny house, but kept on walking. It was not professional to think that way. She knew that Miss Iria would be at her if she did not deliver the message she was given.

If a certain mortal had remembered to take a certain phone out of the pocket of his other pants, Iria could have simply called him and she would have been spared her embarrassment and discomfort. But, the secretary mused, she would have to have luck for that to happen.

She kept walking, kept bumping people, and squinting as she tried to decipher her way.

Heero, meanwhile, was watching his immortal husband wolf down the ice cream he’d ordered as if he had not eaten for centuries, or never tasted the stuff before. He suspected the latter, observing Shini’s voracious attack on the unsuspecting bowl of ice cream, but too entranced by it to really think about it. His own lunch was only barely touched and probably getting cold. Shini’s barely had time to be dazed before it would be devoured messily. He had descended on the unsuspecting bowl and seemingly gone ravenous at the mere sight of it. He’d used the spoon for a while, quickly went to simply eating out of the bowl while holding it to his face, and now ran his finger along the side, catching all the leftovers. Normally, Heero would have been mortified to be caught in public after such a display, but somehow this was just too amusing to put a stop to.

Shini had been so enthusiastic about wolfing down his strange meal that he’d given no thought to how messy he became in the process. His long ear tails were matted with traces of the chocolate syrup that had been put on top—the first victim—and the edges of his lips were smeared with melted ice cream. His nose was tipped in the stuff, from when he’d started licking at the bowl. He didn’t tear his attention away to even look at his Teishu, let alone remember to take a breath. Once in a while, that would catch up with him, and he’d pause and rub at his nose, only really succeeding in smearing more across his cheekbones.

"It’s not going to run away from you, Shinigami," Heero said eventually, a little smirk in his voice.

"Hai, hai—you going to eat that, Heero?" The deity looked up, still looking like he was half-made up in a clown’s makeup. He waited for the answer anxiously and licked his chops. "If you are not going to eat, he will. No need to put it to waste! No, no, Teishu!"

He glanced down at his own plate. It looked a little disappointed it was being neglected, to tell the truth. Heero glanced back up to the Shinigami, and he stiffened up in anticipation, anxious. For a second, he licked his lips again, catching a bit of the ice cream smeared across his face. Heero hesitated to answer. The words had momentarily scattered away and his mouth was opening but nothing could be said.

"If you are not hungry, don’t let it go to waste," Shini insisted again, eyeing the lunch hungrily. Eyeing it as if it were the first meal he had seen in years of wandering and foraging through a desert.

"I guess you can have some," Heero managed out. He was still slightly distracted by the movement of the Shinigami’s tongue over his lips, unable to get all the sugary stuff off the edges of his mouth. Perhaps he didn’t realize that his whole face was a similar sight. "But not too much. I still have to eat, you know."

"Well, you do not act hungry! You know what you mortals say." He snatched up a fork happily and went at snatching part of his husband’s food off his plate, jabbing at it as if it, too, were going to scamper away. "You snooze and you loose!" Successful, he stuffed the morsel in his mouth and grinned lazily around it. A second after he’d finished practically inhaling it, he sat back with a contented look and savored the flavor of it in his mouth. Mortal food had such a rich, vibrant taste to it, so tangible—and different! Every bite was different and wonderful in contrast! He did not know why he had not gone against the rules and stolen a bite before today, but he was glad he had gotten away with it now.

He leaned back, licking his chops again like a satisfied dog, and hiccuped.

Heero lifted an eyebrow, picking up his own fork and poking at the plate now that a good portion had been stolen away. "Are you full now? Surely your third bowl of ice cream has to be enough. Or are you part bottomless-pit?"

"It’ll never be enough," Shini murmured dreamily, gloating. A moment later, he casually hiccuped again and giggled dazedly at it.

"I’m cutting you off. You’ve had enough, and I’m only treating you to it because I know you might not be returning to Earth for a while after this," the mortal said, more to himself than to the Shinigami, who was too far off in his food contentment to pay much attention. He was reveling on how his stomach actually felt full, not just seemed to be satisfactorily fed. "Shini? Are you listening?" But there was no response, or real reaction from the happily dazed deity.

Another hiccup and Shini was already in the process of swearing to himself that he’d never have another meal of ambrosia again.

Roughly a block away from the window overlooking the crowed Tokyo street, where a mortal and a Divine sat, the Goddess of Love’s secretary was still struggling her way through the crowds on her stiletto heels.

At the same time, Heero was finally ready to see that the Shinigami clean himself up properly, not resort to licking his fingers clean after he’d wiped him over his mouth. He automatically gave out a whine but Heero pointed out the door leading to the bathroom, just down the steps, and told him to go look and see for himself how ridiculous he looked. Heero would have compared him to a three-year-old kid scarfing down a rapidly melting ice cream cone, but doubted Shini would have understood, never having been a three-year-old mortal at any time.

The Angel of Death offered him an almost disgruntled look at the order, but dutifully stepped off the stool and went towards the chair. He hiccuped cutely as he walked, licking his fingers clean of the ice cream anyway, and got a few odd looks as he passed. Blissful and stomach filled, Shini strolled into the mortal bathroom and smacked his lips as he walked. Heero tried to refocus and idly poked at his food with his fork but couldn’t get the Shinigami licking his lips fully out of his head.

Outside the window, a tall blonde woman hesitated on the sidewalk, staring up and recognizing the man on the other side of the glass. She gasped a little, then hurriedly tried to push her way through the stream of people to cut toward the door of the café. Her voice could be heard issuing apologizes as she clumsily navigated her way there on a precarious pair of shoes. She rushed to open the door and realized with a little dread that the air was thick with the smell of food. Rich, savory mortal food.

Without bothering with the waitress who noticed her and tried to politely offer her a seat, she went up the stairs.

In the bathroom, Shini was giggling happily as he looked in the mirror. He was laughing both at the warm, fulfilled sensation in his stomach that made him want to curl up for a nice year-long nap and the interesting pattern of ice cream smeared across his face. Looking almost like he was intoxicated on the stuff, he hiccuped again, then giggled. And again.

Heero turned to see that someone was coming up the stairs in somewhat of a rush with a mouth full of rice and almost immediately registered that she was not of this world. The vibrantly blonde hair seemed a dead give away that she was not native to anywhere near Tokyo, but there was also a certain impossible beauty and indescribable quality to her also that set her apart from the rest of the mortal race. Heero supposed that that definitive charm about her was just her unearthly aura and noticed that his sense for it had gotten dramatically better since the whole ordeal had started. Staying with a God of Death just might sharpen one’s sense for divinity. In any matter, he registered her as some kind of immortal creature and automatically his stomach left him a little.

In his experience, a Divine showing up on his doorstep was an invitation for trouble and it always found a way to sniff him out lately. So, it wasn’t surprising he didn’t have a very welcoming expression when the woman arrived at his table, a little out of breath from negotiating her way on her high heels. And why was such a tall woman wearing them in the first place? Heero thought with a skeptical expression.

She stopped and glanced over to the empty chair where the Shinigami had been a few minutes ago. Her eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of light blue and she carried herself in an effortlessly graceful way—definitely a Divine. She looked back to the emptied bowls sitting across from Heero and then up to him. The face she wore was becoming increasingly anxious when she asked, "You didn’t let him eat, did you?"

Heero didn’t notice the question; he was too busy trying to figure out if there was more trouble in store for him and squinting at her. "And just who are you?"

"I’m Miss Iria’s secretary," she answered humbly, twisting her head around to look for the missing deity and still a little winded by her rush up the stairs. By now, Heero had recognized her voice as the one on the cellphone that the Goddess of Love had given him and was less doubtful of the tall blonde woman. But he still didn’t understand why she was so uneasy, and he suddenly didn’t really want to.

"She asked me to come to deliver you a message. She forgot to tell you about the house rules when she first put you in charge of the Thirteenth Son—now, where he is?"

"In the bathroom, cleaning up," Heero grunted, still squinting at her halfway and chewing his lunch. "Why?"

Nadette turned to face him again, a little flustered. Her eyes fell again on the empty bowls and she did not answer him. "Are those yours?"

"No," he replied plainly. "—What message?"

He could see her bright eyes filling with a little dreadful anticipation behind her dark cat-eye glasses when she turned to him again. "You did not let him eat anything, did you?"

Heero stopped chewing this time, taking in the full effect of that question’s implications. And none of it was very positive or reaffirming. Not in the least. Holding the fork cautiously, he swallowed slowly and blinked once up at the secretary. "Is there a reason I shouldn’t have?" he asked, knowing too horribly that there had been. He suddenly shared that dread with the secretary standing before him and they exchanged a moment of horrible silence, not moving.

"Heh—*hic*—heh, heh."

The Shinigami giggled through the intermittent visits of the hiccups as he stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, oblivious to whether he was alone or not. Hell, he would be oblivious if his mother stormed in and started screaming in his ear by now.

Infatuated with the sensation of a full stomach, Shini snickered at his reflection, gloating in the mortal revelry of food. He laughed, hiccuped again, and playfully ran his fingers over the mirror. He pretended to wipe away the melted ice cream from his face and hiccuped again. It was only a brief lapse in his laughter, though. Suddenly, everything seemed much more comical. He laughed at his reflection, still dirty as he ran his hand over it, and laughed at feeling so wonderful.

The Divines—the gods, the angels, the demons, and other things that "go bump in the night"—were created with abilities and endowments that mortals could only dream, wish, and fantasize about. They became the legendary figures of their lore, their mythology, and they thrived on planes and in wars and in glory that men and women were sure they could not truly understand. And some of it was true, and some of it wasn’t. But Divines were not made inherently better than their short-lived siblings, otherwise what reason would there be for their existence but to be inferior to be those of the perfect mold? Divines did not feel the sunlight as radiantly, did not feel passion as strongly, did not enjoy the world as intimately and boisterously as mortals. They lived longer, were stronger, faster and sometimes wiser, but it was a less ardent life. Love was less startling, lust more easily sated, depression waning, warmth less comforting by comparison, and the physical world a shade paler. They could not even feel the weight of food resting in their bellies as mortals did, and it was one of their forbidden fruits of sorts.

For Shinigami, this was twice as strict. Of all the Divines, they were one of the most naturally unemotional and void of most traces of anything resembling mortal emotion. And Shini had violated it and stood grinning in front of the mirror, dumbly satisfied with the sensation.

Not noticing that a man had walked out of one of the stalls, he hummed and rubbed and patted his full stomach. He yawned a second later and midway through was struck with another hiccup. The man washing his hands in the next sink ran his eyes over the Shinigami’s strange clothing and then his strange behavior. Of course, that wasn’t even mentioning the fact he had ice cream smeared across his face and it was melting and dripping. When he left, the seeming young man was still poised at the sink, grinning madly at his reflection.

"Kids today," he grumbled to himself. "They get stranger with every generation. Worse, I tell you." He was wringing his hand out of absent habit when he pushed the door open and nearly was knocked over by the other young man rushing into the bathroom. They both took an automatic step back, and the older man saw the scowl on the younger’s face just before he apologized under his breath and brushed by. Standing in the hallway near the door was an incredibly tall, foreign looking woman who timidly smiled at the man and went around him into the men’s bathroom as well. He tried to spin around with his badly aging body to see her disappear in, but he only saw the door as it swung close.

He stopped to shake his head, but in the end just turned and went back to minding his own business.

"Shinigami?"

Heero’s voice faltered a little, uncertain of what he should expect. The secretary carefully tailing him had not told him yet what he had done, but he could guess it was nothing good. Instead of seeing all of Hell spewing up behind his husband, he was only standing at the sink, giggling. Giggling like he was intoxicated. He turned and looked at Heero but his eyes were clouded and utterly gratified.

"Oh, Teishu," he almost slurred, trying to talk through the perpetual grin. He was holding onto the sides of the sink and it seemed to be help keeping him up. "You need to clean up, too? You look fine to him. Oi, why not order some more food while your up, ne? He’ll want some more for later."

"What the hell happened to you?" Heero asked, stepping forward. "You look like you’re absolutely stoned or something!"

The Shinigami laughed and swayed accidentally into his husband when he tried to playfully jab him in the shoulder. "What are you talking about? You’re always trying to ruin the fun, aren’t you? Aren’t you hungry?" He stopped his giggling for a moment to put that hand on his forehead. "You’re not sick, are you? He must get some food into you, then. It’s good for you!" The laughter fit returned and he buckled a little against his shoulder.

The doubtful scowl was turning into authentic worry. This was already not looking good. "Shini—"

Suddenly, he hiccuped again and Nadette gasped behind them. She covered her mouth timidly and Heero turned his head to look at her fearful expression. "This is not good, this is not good," she groaned, shaking her head as Shini only continued to giggle on.

"What? What’s not good?" Heero demanded.

But that question would remain unanswered for another minute, as the Shinigami hiccuped once more; this time louder, sharper. His blissful smile returned for another split second and Heero momentarily hoped that whatever it was would just pass uneventfully. But he really knew it would never be that simple, would it? Moments after the last hiccup, the Shinigami sneezed suddenly, so violently that his wings erupted from his back, ripping from their hiding place and out into the open air. Heero froze and Iria’s secretary let out another unhappy groan.

Shini straightened up and began rubbing at his nose as he sniffled, smearing the tip of ice cream across it.

"He’s got the Shrinks," Nadette said, still shaking her head. "No, no, this is not good. This is not good at all."

By now, Heero was a little tired of being unanswered to every question he posed, and he thought they were very relevant ones, seeing how he had no way of knowing these obviously Divine things. He squinted unhappily. "The Shrinks? Would you care to tell me just the hell that is?"

A second later the broad wingspan of the Shinigami, standing close to his husband with a sated expression and rubbing his filled stomach, abruptly shrunk to half their size and a little scattering of dislodged feathers floated to the floor. Then Shini’s expression changed to that of an achy discomfort as the bones physically dwindled and he frowned in a bit of a daze, his face yet decorated with melting ice cream. "Ouch."

A/N: Am I kicking these out or what? Hah, I actually got one out within ten days! Anyway, it should get a little easier to write from here on, a little faster maybe. I can't wait to finish this first arc, then I can start other big projects, and all that. And after that, we can get to the real fun of My Shini, My Hamburger. Ciao, then.