Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ My Shinigami, My Hamburger ❯ Goodbye to the Yellow Brick Road ( Chapter 29 )

Chapter 29

"Goodbye to the Yellow Brick Road"

Meanwhile, the sun still shone in another part of Tokyo and one tall, blonde, American-looking woman strolled boldly through the crowd of finely dressed mortals inside one of Tokyo’s new premiere restaurants, even taking to elbowing those stubborn few trying to pretend they didn’t see her. A trail of offended faces was left as Iria finally made it through the slow moving crowd coming in through the front door and walked straight up to the kitchen, through the Employee Only door behind the counter, which, by the way, she had slid over in a tight white mini-skirt. Confusing the poor waitress behind that counter all the more, she walked brazenly up to the swinging kitchen door and pushed it open and stuck her head in.

"Hey!" came the irritable bark, startling the cooks and carrying to the ears of those dining inside. "What’s taking so long? Is it so hard to get a couple of glasses out to a goddamned table before I hit a mid-life crisis here? Jesus Chr—oh, thank you… about time, too."

Iria had reached the back door, leading out to the patio where Shini sat lonely at a two-person table, and was just about to nudge it open with her hip, one glass of water in each hand, when "Do Ya Think I’m Sexy" started playing in her pocket. She glared at it fiercely for interrupting her and quickly cursed at it, moving one full glass to the other hand and holding it in against her breast as she reached for her phone. "Infernal bastards—I’ve got to start giving out more fake numbers—" she grumbled, imagining she had given out the actual number to some guy at a bar and been too drunk to remember it, but her face dropped as she pulled it from the slim pocket in her skirt and read the I.D.

‘Heero Yuy’

And then that face twisted up in disgust and she gave the caller a sincere, "Fuck off," before snapping it shut and making it disappear with the twist of her hand, safely out of existence for the moment. Then she took the cold glass back into her hand and bid the memory of her son’s ex-husband another sweet sentiment. "Can’t wait ‘til he gets hit by a bullet train," she grumbled, pushing the glass door open with her hip and stepping outside.

In an empty patio during the middle of a bright Tokyo day, an Angel of Death sat at a black, French-style café table for two, alone and idly toying with the salt and pepper shakers sitting next to the vase with the freshly-cut flowers. He was deceptively normal looking; the one benefit to the whole ordeal of the Shrinks was that, once cured of it, it enabled him to hide his wings and tail from sight and masquerade as a mortal. Bought from the finest boutique Iria had found, he wore a purely black T-shirt with a low, revealing neckline and barely enough fabric to cover his sides when he stood in his unduly favorable designer jeans. His hair had been untangled, cleaned, and brushed until it held the same quality of silk, kept in a billowing ponytail.

His eyes were fixed on the table’s marbled surface, but in reality his mind was miles from this resplendent restaurant and it lingered on a little blue house. The exact image was already fading in his mind, but he could see his Teishu’s face as always and instead of remembering the harsh expression he had caught sight of during the argument the night before, he saw the almost-smiles and few warm smirks over and over again. He grew bored of nudging the salt around, sighed, put his chin in his hand, and toppled it over with a finger. It fell like a sacrificed chess pawn and did not move.

Iria came up to the table and set the two glasses down. Before she placed the second before her moping son, she smiled and cooed at him. "Oh, come on, Shini, cheer up," she told him as she sat down, setting the salt shaker upright again with a comforting smile.

"We can find you some new foxy thing for you, if you want. You know, something hot and fresh. I dare say we might even go younger than twenty-five. Now wouldn’t that be yummy? Oh! What about him?" she asked, pointing to some haphazard mortal on the street.

"No," Shini said quietly, staring at the sweat running down the glass.

Iria scowled at him over the floral garnish between them. "You didn’t even look. Now, sit up and pay attention, young man."

He reached up, hardly giving her words a second’s notice, and started idly stirring the ice in his glass with the straw.

"Shinigami, I told you nicely the first time. I won’t the second time," his mother warned him, shooting little daggers at her moping son with her icy blue eyes. "You know you can’t go back."

Still staring down at the glassy, polished surface of the table, eyes miles away from where they looked, he only answered plainly, "I know."

"Then get your chin up, Shinigami. I swear, if you’re going to act like this for long, then you’re not going to live on Earth at all. I’ll arrange it so that you’ll have a permanent home in Limbo, and I’ll have you barred from the Watching Pools, too. There’s no reason for you to just pout your life away," she lectured him coldly, frustrated with her son’s lack of emotional recovery. The last thing she wanted—no, the last thing she needed was an eternally brooding son who refused to do what she said simply because he missed an arrogant, miserly excuse for a mortal. "Now," she told him firmly, "sit up straight and we’ll start talking about your new caretaker."

"I already have a husband," he said plainly, watching the tiny bubbles sliding up the glass as he stirred the water. "I don’t want a new caretaker. I don’t want anybody else."

Then, as if it were the most casual statement in the world, he simply slid the glass toward him, took a drink through the straw, then casually put his chin in his palm and gazed out into the street. He knew that those words would inflame his mother and did it despite that fact, even when she finally lost her composure and slammed her hand on the table. Forgotten were the people in the street passing by, the crowds of mortal men and women filling the Tokyo streets as Iria nearly screamed at her son.

At the same time, Shini felt a tiny, unobtrusive twitch in his hand and turned his head toward the tug.

"That is it!" In her frustration, she got abruptly to her feet, rattling the fine china and glasses decorating the table and stomping her stiletto into the pavement. "I swear, Shinigami, the next time I see that selfish son of a bitch, I’ll kill him if I hear another god-forsaken syllable come out of your mouth! You hear me—?" The Goddess of Love’s face was flushed to a shade of red almost that of her dramatic eyeshadow as she abruptly stopped, seeing that her son’s attention was no where near her anymore, though it little had been paid to her in the first place.

He was far too captivated by the sight of Heero standing with each leg on one side of an idle Youkai a little ways down the block at the sidewalk, the engine off and his helmet off but his hair freshly ruffled, adding to the distressed look brought on by the dark circles growing under his eyes. He saw Shini, he saw that Shini saw him, and didn’t move for a frozen moment, just watching for a reaction, waiting for anything.

Sitting stock still in his chair as well, the Angel of Death in guise of mortal closed his eyes for a second, chanting through a small, hopeful smile the words, "Get off the motorcycle. Get off the motorcycle. Please get off the motorcycle and come here. Don’t turn and leave. Don’t leave."

And as if drawn by his request, as if pulled by a magnetic, unavoidable force, Heero nervously licked his lips and felt his body fill with the most nauseous sense of adrenaline he’d ever experienced as he put the helmet down and began walking toward the pair, sitting at a table at the very corner of the street. His heart was pounding faster than a heavy metal drummer, making it all the harder to appear perfectly calm. He cleared the low, black wrought iron fence that separated the streets from the restaurant patio, eyes trained on the deity sitting in the black wrought iron chair. He could see now the normal clothes he wore—and god, how he wore them—the clean, brushed hair, the absence of his telltale wings and tail, and the cautious but longing face. As strongly as he felt that pull, as strongly as he wanted to reach the Shinigami, his fear and his feet came to an agreement and pulled him to a stop halfway there, overcome by a returning sense of mindfulness.

Though he couldn’t take his eyes off Shini, he knew that Iria would be glaring at him and he was all the more conscious of the space between them and the tension waiting there like a solid wall. He had to be angry at him after what he’d done. He had to be at least upset about it—but would he just forgive and forget it? Was it worth the risk if he ended up just turning him away, like he’d done to him the night before. Of course it was, if he would have him back, but it was too much heartbreak to chance if he wouldn’t, and the dilemma was that he had no way of knowing of what the answer would be. So, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and stood there, uncertain of what to do.

Shit. He hadn’t even begun to think about what he was going to say.

Iria, however, was perfectly eloquent at the moment. She bared a lip tiredly, like a dog far too old and too wearied to be bothered, and sighed at him, "Why don’t you just fuck off for good? Go home." She was perfectly ready to ignore the mortal and lifted the glass to take a drink of water but sputtered when Shinigami stood up.

She gaped at him in disbelief, in outrage. "What do you think you’re doing? Sit down, young man!" she commanded in vain, as he started walking toward the unmoving mortal. "Shini!"

Neither of them heard her. Heero gulped again, feeling the lump reaching an unbearable height in his throat. He was more nervous than he’d ever been in life just to watch Shini walk up to him and stop a few taut feet away. He worked to not stutter out some pathetic greeting as he looked over the deity who had been named his husband. In the sunlight, in those clothes, and with no tears running down his face he looked absolutely breathtaking. But then again, he probably always had been—lying sleeping with tangled hair, making a curious face at something he’d never seen before, trying to hold back tears—Heero thought, and now that he wanted him back he looked even more beautiful.

Gods, he just didn’t want to be turned away. So naturally the first thing he said was, "Uh—h-hi."

Shini smiled at him knowingly, affectionately. "Hi," he returned, just waiting for his next troubled words with a growing, close-lipped smile.

That left Heero to wrestle with his fear as it tripped up his thoughts and his tongue. Even though he saw the warm expression, the compassionate smile, and had seen how quickly Shini had walked up to meet him, his irrational mind was hijacked by the possibility that his mistake was irreversible and that Shini felt nothing for him anymore. He looked into that face, almost intimidated now by how beautiful it was and how little he thought a god could ever need a mortal, and still couldn’t find the right words.

"Shini," he started. He was flustered to get it right, to get the level of his regret across, but ended up simply saying, "I’m—I’m sorry I did that."

After that, his mouth clammed itself up, realizing that he could barely think straight from fear. He’d never felt anything like it before. It wasn’t like the physical, dreading fear of when he’d taken his first rollercoaster ride, the anxious, childish fear of his first case of chickenpox, and it all hinged on the Angel of Death’s reaction.

He smiled again at him, just watching him fidget in his own way, shifting his weight ever so slightly back and forth from foot to foot as he still tried to hide his nervousness. He was amused and touched by it all at the same time. But he didn’t speak up; this game was far too enjoyable to end now! The corners of his mouth smirked mischievously.

Heero had never had such a problem with silence before even when he had lived in an empty house and hurried to fill the space between them, feeling as though he hadn’t said enough. "I acted foolishly… I shouldn’t have treated you like that—I would never do it again, I was a jerk—I was so stupid to do that to you, I wasn’t thinking. I—"

Shini could have watched Heero falter on with his apology for quite some time more, but he knew that it wasn’t a game to Heero at all. He was so afraid he didn’t know what to do with himself, so nervous that he couldn’t realize that his mistake had already been forgiven the moment he’d come back. That was when he decided that it was time to end the game and closed the space between them. He laughed softly at Heero’s semi-neurotic reaction to his own fear of rejection and the expression he made as Shini slid his hand into his tousled and unwashed hair around the back of his head, tilting it as he leaned in and kissed him.

Heero, surprised, hesitated for a second with Shini’s warm lips on his, but he found his fear had shut up very quickly and he enthusiastically leaned into it, with every intention of returning the action. His arm reached around Shini’s back and quickly got rid of any pesky distance between them, pressing Shini’s slim body against his and making him hum happily. The Angel of Death reached up in return to put his other arm around his neck but suddenly Heero felt the warm, cinnamon lips pulling away from him and Shini’s hand trying to get a grip around his shirt as he was physically yanked off him.

"Now, just hold on freaking second here! I said hold it!" Iria snapped, fisting her hand around the back of Shini’s collar and peeling him literally off his husband. Their lips came apart with an almost comic popping noise and as soon as Shini got steady on his feet he was already trying to escape from his mother. His tail even appeared to whip at her wrist, but she had a pretty good hold on him and not a very happy expression to match.

Her glare came to settle upon Heero and his own defensive one came up automatically. With her face twisted up like it was the most impossible situation, she asked incredulously, "What the hell?! What is your problem, Arrogant Mortal? Yesterday, you said you couldn’t have cared less and now all of a sudden you want him back?"

"Yes." Heero answered her with only a hint of a growl this time.

A disbelieving scowl came over her. "Typical mortal. Always changing your mind, never appreciate anything until someone comes along and takes it away from you—then you’re ready to fight for it," she grumbled. "Christ, this is why I hate dealing with humans."

Shinigami frowned at her, still wriggling and just about prepared to slip out of his shirt just to pull free of his mother’s grip. "Come on, Okasan, let me go!" he growled at her as well, reaching behind his head to try and physically pry his fingers off of him. In response, she gave him her own frustrated sound and slapped her other, long, red-nailed hand over his offending hand and he quickly withdrew, whining at her in annoyance.

"You keep quiet, too!" she snapped at him quickly, giving him another yank for good measure. "Christ, let me get out a few words before you jump him, would you?"

Shini gave her a disgruntled face, obviously very upset about the unnecessary distance between him and his Teishu, but he folded his arms and waited as patiently as was possible for him while his mother finished what she had to say. Though self-possession was never one of his prominent strengths, he decided the wait would be bearable if he instead watched his mortal husband’s face. Again, a smile split his own, an anxious and overjoyed feeling again fluttering around in his chest all of a sudden.

Iria looked Heero sternly up and down again, appraising the disheveled, unwashed look of his hair, the circles beneath his eyes, traces from his restless night and weeping morning, the still-defiant face filled with tired lines. Her bright red lips twisted in decision, still scrutinizing him even as she opened her mouth, holding her son in place. "Heero Yuy," she started firmly, "you have been a real jackass to my son."

"At times, yes."

As if offended, she arched an eyebrow at him. Already, tiny bubbles of her temper had started rising in a boil inside her. "At times?" she asked incredulously, already ready to raise her voice, until Shini gave her a quick nudge in her ribs with his elbow, warning her with a pointed look not to loose her temper and risk frightening off his husband again. She made a tiny face at him, but cleared her throat and composed herself again, though the stern face never disappeared through the interview he was being given.

"Now, listen up. I don’t like the way you treated Shinigami, I don’t like the way you respond to authority, and quite honestly, if I could have, I would have throttled you by now," she warned him sharply, wagging an acrylic nail in his face. "And I feel like I really should have, and I shouldn’t be doing this now—but, you… you," she ground out reluctantly, pushing the unpleasant words out past her tongue, "you exceeded my expectations. Just when I had you pinned down as a cold, heartless bastard of a mortal… you proved yourself at least somewhat capable of being humble. I guess now I can see that you do want Shini. And, as much as I hate to admit it anymore, you are the best candidate we’ve ever come across, in all our hundreds of years of searching… so—"

Her voice trailed off and she turned a flustered face toward the street, too proud to utter the last words granting him her precious son, but Shini was too anxious to wait. He leapt forward out of her grip and quickly wrapped himself around Heero again, almost knocking him over as he spun him around, practically bursting with happiness. His hands were possessively locked on his hips and he smiled breathlessly, pressing his forehead against the messy bangs covering Heero’s. With hesitation or even trepidation he announced, "I love you, Heero."

The mortal had to blink for a minute, struck by the freedom with which those heavy three words had been offered. How could he not be taken aback by it? It wasn’t like he’d ever heard it uttered to him with romantic intentions, and his heart did a tentative but enthusiastic leap beneath his ribs.

"Now, can we go back home?" He then asked him excitedly, squeezing him closer and making a bright face that suggested if his tail was indeed visible, it would have been whipping back and forth.

A blinding wide grin covered his face as Heero smiled at him as brightly as he’d ever done, running his eyes over his face. "Your English—it’s much better. You worked on it," he said, his tone hinted with satisfaction.

Shini nodded vigorously, flashing that effortless smile. "Uh-huh. I did. You like it?"

"You didn’t have to, you know." Heero carefully looked at his face, and tentatively even experimented in raising his hand to his face and brushing back some of the bangs from his eyes. He was rewarded instantly by the passionate eyes he received for it, glowing over his brilliant smile, so he did it again.

"I wanted to," he answered in a purr. As they kept speaking, Shinigami was sneaking closer and closer to him until he could feel the pair of keys in his front jean pocket against his hip. "See, I knew you’d like it. That’s all I really wanted." While Heero touched his face, he happily stretched his arms straight, put them on each side of his neck, intertwining his fingers playfully. He tilted his head to give him a loving look, and watched a little color float on up to his face.

Iria snorted and rolled her eyes a bit at the display—mostly from her wounded pride over the Arrogant Mortal, and seeing Shini ecstatic to see him only rubbed the sense of defeat in more. The Goddess of Love just folded her arms and announced suddenly, "Take care of him then. I’m going to go get a pedicure or something." She grumbled as she started walking away on her high stilettos, waving a hand at them. "Can’t stand all this mushy stuff."

With the overbearing mother gone, the anxious Angel of Death could get back to his new favorite pastime. Shini kissed him again, just a tempting touch of lips, but it was Heero who quickly initiated the second after they had been parted for only a second. And, intoxicated by the action and his devilish nature sufficiently sparked, it was the Shinigami who pulled away with a face-splitting grin and seconds later the mortal gave out a surprised noise when he felt his legs being swept out from underneath him. When he realized that he was being held bridal-style, he had to give a little roll of his eyes and a snort.

Shini’s bright smile didn’t waver. "What?" he asked, though the smirking look didn’t leave. An eyebrow lifted at him. "I was around when they created chivalry, you know."

"Let’s just go home, alright?" Heero told him, smiling and allowing himself to be carried back to Youkai, even with eyes watching them from across the street, from inside the restaurant, realizing that as soon as he had accepted the thought of an immortal groom he had submitted himself to a life that would never normal again. And, when he looked at Shini, he knew it was at least going to be interesting, and the Angel of Death smiled at him from the corner of his eye.

"Whatever you say, Teishu."

The corner of Heero’s mouth twitched a little. "You know, I thought I asked you not to say that in public," he said, and Shini laughed at him.

A/N: ... It's done! For now, at least--but still! God, this feels good, but it's going to sink in much more. I've been worked like an ox by this new policy our school seems to have adopted: crushing the sophomore class with big, big-ass projects the last few weeks, and making them all due in a matter of three or four days. That'll leave a week and a half of not doing jackshit, but hey! They can do what they want! (if you didn't catch that sarcasm, go back and review and have a stack of twenty poems about sarcasm, transitions and notes on them, and then a poster... hmm, let's say, by--right now!) Anyway, I'm thrilled with how much people seemed to like this story, and I enjoyed writing it! And no f-ing way is this the end for Shini and Heero... in fact, the hardest difficulty I'm having in plotting through the next seven or eight arcs is figuring out a way to end the damn story! They're just too much to be stopped! Oh, and about the fanart in the last update, I tried to get a link up, but it got messed up in the uploading process, so hopefully it'll work this time. http://www.deviantart.com/view/18444924/

So, goodbye for now, but I'm still going to be working on Twelve, and two contest entries. If things go well, they shouldn't be 100,000 words+ long and get them entered. Wish me luck, and thanks again!