Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Nevergreen ❯ Chapter 2

2:

The house, when one looked at it as a whole, was larger than it at first appeared. It was one long rectangular box, twice as long as it was wide, and the verandah's along each side were massive sprawling things covered with cheap dark green gauze the few living plants tried valiantly to climb. Heero recognized the climbing pink rose, and the sweet peas, but all else seemed little more than wild shrub. They sat there, on the verandah, for the moment sheltered by the gauze from the worst of the afternoon sun, but still burnt raw, skin loose only from the thick sweat that permeated the dry heat, filling the air with stench that mingled with the sticky air spilling from the gums sap. Everything was thick here, Heero thought. It was a deceptive world, at once sparse but invariably filled. He didn't like it, but neither did he hate. He was…holding his breath, like everything else.

"Ahya really a maths teach?"

Heero blinked, thought hard about the question as he dared peek a glance at Quatre where he was sprawled across the cool wooden boards of the verandah floor at their feet, a sprig of bottlebrush twirling between thumb and forefinger, then nodded once.

"Yadon look like oneda me."

Heero blinked again and decided it would be best to shrug. He wondered is all his students would have this habit of blending their words into garbled sentences that only made sense if you didn't actually think about what was being said. It was, he knew, something the locals had picked up from the local Aborigine people, but it was disconcerting to be so completely slapped in the face with such a simple difference between city and country life.

No, not the country. The Bush. There was, Heero was coming to understand, a difference, and that seemed a good thing, but he reserved judgment.

"And what should a Maths teacher look like?"

Quatre stopped twirling the fat flower and stared at Trowa as if the answer were obvious.

"Shorter, with glasses…Uglier…not…well, I suppose he's not cool either…" Quatre spluttered quietly, turning his attention back to the bottlebrush. Heero merely blinked, aware he had inadvertently been complimented while being insulted at the same time. Trowa had an odd smile playing across his lips and Heero knew as well as he did that Quatre thought they were both `cool'.

"And what should an art teacher look like?" Heero wasn't sure why he asked the question. He was sure he had not meant to say anything but the words were out nonetheless. It was just too hot. His brain was addled. He could feel the sweat dripping from the ends of his hair and down his neck, trickling down his spine…He stopped thinking about it before he followed it too far and could think about what other things had once trailed over his skin like that.

"…Skinny…gangly! Short…"

"Are all teachers short then?"

Quatre blinked at Trowa, the bottlebrush once again halting its turning. There was a pregnant pause, then the small twig was tossed aside to rot in the heat and Quatre sat up, moving off toward the front end of the house, yelling at one of his cousins to stop tormenting the dogs. When Heero listened he could hear a car coming.

"Let's go."

Heero took the hand Trowa offered and let the other man haul him out of the seat. His hand was sweaty, slippery and hot, but Heero doubted he could have risen on his own. The heat was sinking into his damn bones, and it was a dry heat; the air burned.

Quatre was talking quickly with a group of ragged looking men on the back of a Ute. From the snippets of conversation Heero guessed they were talking about the crop. He couldn't help noticing the way Quatre kept one eye always on Trowa as they headed to the other man's Ute, parked conveniently under a nearby gum and hence hidden from the sun's full force. Heero stepped into the shade with a heavy, welcome sigh.

"When is the harvest?"

"It shouldn't begin for a few weeks yet. This place is like a zoo when it starts. This is probably the last chance we'll get to come for a while." And Heero couldn't help but notice Trowa tense a little at the very thought. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw Quatre still standing by the other Ute, watching as they pulled away from the tree and headed for the driveway.

Then they were on the long dirt road again, the Ute shaking a little as it ran the gamut of ditches and mounds. Heero caught a glance of ants scattering as they drove deliberately over a large ant-hill but all he could dredge out of his thoughts was a perverse sort of pleasure that he wasn't the only one who looked a little slow in the heat.

"You feel like a drink?"

Heero thought about it long and hard. He already felt a little tipsy after drinking the warm beer all day as they fixed the fence the roos had knocked down over the week, but he wanted something cold and he needed the strong bitter taste little nothing else, so he nodded.

The traveled once again in near silence, Trowa's eyes glued to the road as he changed gears and revved the Ute into action on the long, dead straight road that seemed to go on forever, Heero's gaze locked to the shadowy bouncing wraiths he could see emerging from the heat haze over the paddocks as the sun began its decent and twilight threatened to set in. They didn't look real. Heero didn't think anything really seemed real, out here.

Condo rose, dark and shimmering against the flaming horizon as they roared into town, past the copper who didn't even blink at their speed, but actually waved. Trowa waved back, obviously a good friend. Heero didn't ask. They came to a halt outside the red dog saloon, a red brick one story pub at the library end of town that Heero hadn't even seen on his first trip through. He had to admit it looked a little newer than the others; at least it didn't look ready to fall down on top of them. He was not surprised, when he forced himself to stand on the curb, to see they were parked between two Utes. He seriously considered trading in his BMW. He had a feeling it was only going to make him look more a Nigel. A rich Nigel at that. Still, he liked that car and was not yet sure he liked Condo at all.

Trowa was already at the door, so Heero kicked himself into gear and took the three long strides it took to catch up, wincing in annoyance at the little doorbell that donged when he entered and a little tinny voice spilled from the small speaker on the wall.

"Heya dickhead." Heero didn't understand how that was conducive to attracting customers. But then, he wouldn't have thought the fat rat in the corner, or the thick red dust engrained in the table tops was either. To each his own, he supposed. There were at least thirty strangers present, so he supposed it wasn't as bad as he thought. That, or the other pubs were somehow worse…He resolved not to try to find out.

Trowa moved off to the pool table where two men were battling it out. Heero hesitated when he recognized one of them as the student Trowa had pointed out that morning. Maxwell. That was his name. Only Heero had not seen that long, thick plait swinging behind him that morning. And he was playing against a slightly older man with jet black hair, obviously of Asian extraction.

"Wufei, please tell me you're not losing again?"

Wufei sniffed loudly and turned away from them to take his next shot.

"I cannot help it if this deviant lives in a pub and does nothing but practice by himself all day."

Trowa only laughed, eyes scanning the table, and it was indeed obvious Maxwell was winning. The boy in question wasn't even watching Wufei as he made his shot, but had his gaze locked on Heero, who was hovering quietly a few paces behind Trowa. His face was blank, giving nothing away, and Heero wondered for a moment if he wasn't a little slow.

"Who's he?" Duo nodded his head in Heero's direction, completely oblvious to the fact Wufei had just taken an extra shot.

Trowa quirked a brow at Duo but turned to wave a hand at Heero who took a step forward and held out his hand to Wufei when it was offered.

"Heero Yuy, this is Chang Wufei. He owns the Japanese centre out near Yarrabandi." Heero was a little surprised that such a thing existed, but he vaguely recalled there was a resort of some kind out there. He just had not realized it was Asian, let alone Japanese. Still, what better way to experience Australia than to be thrown into the thick of it in an environment that didn't actually make you suffer it. He was almost jealous.

"This miscreant, is Duo Maxwell." Trowa nodded to Duo, who had finally turned back to take another shot. "Who has no friends and so plays with himself…"

There were so many ways that comment could be taken, and it seemed to Heero that Duo fully understood them all as he turned an interesting shade of red and missed his shot. He glared at Trowa and Heero actually found himself stepping back a little.

"Watch it Barton…I know your little secret, remember?"

Heero watched it all play out with interest. He was all too well aware of the way Wufei stepped between them, a quiet but very present force, and Duo visibly calmed, while Trowa just laughed and flipped him off.

"You know mine, I know yours, big deal. I'll still kick your arse Maxwell. Now whaddaya drinkin?"

It was Duo's turn to sniff, Wufei's turn to step back to the table and the game. Heero couldn't help seeing the small sideways glance Duo threw his way before quickly looking away.

"Beer. And tell S'cub to wash the fuckin glass!"

Trowa just laughed as he walked toward the bar.

"Beer Yuy?" Heero only nodded, aware Trowa wasn't looking at him but deciding the other teacher would figure it out. He was very much aware Trowa had not bothered to ask Wufei if he wanted a drink took a moment to study the other man as Duo took his next shot and both men were distracted.

Wufei was dressed in dark denim jeans and a thin white linen shirt. It was the most expensive clothing Heero had seen since he arrived and it made him want to drive his BMW out to the damned resort and just forget everything, but then he noticed the shit-kickers Wufei was wearing and he decided it just wasn't worth it. While the appearance might change, the reality would not. They all walked in the same red dirt, and sweated under the same overbearing sun.

There was a squeak in the corner and before anyone could comment, Duo's hand snapped out lightening fast, grabbed one of the balls from the table and flung it across the room.

"MuthaFuckinPainInTheArse!"

Heero stared at the rat where it lay, not moving, and the ball that rolled away a bit before running into one of the other patron's boots. The entire room paused for a moment in silence, as if listening to the last post, then just as quickly erupted into noise again as if nothing had happened.

"Maxwell, do you mind?"

"Wha? It was your bloody ball man! I just gave you a free shot and sunk one of your friggin balls, what's ya prob?"

Wufei just shook his head and leant over the table to take another shot as Trowa arrived with the drinks. Heero took a sip of his beer as he watched one of the ladies come out from behind the bar and just pick up the dead vermin in her bare hand and head back into the kitchen. He was not really sure what to think about it.

Duo skulled the whole drink the moment it was in his hand, thunked the glass down on a table and leant forward for his shot. The ball sank. Heero watched in quiet approval as the next ball found the right pocket. And the next, and the one after the left. It was a short finish to the game and Heero had the feeling Duo had just been playing to the other man's ego. It was an insight he had not expected.

The door chime went off again and Heero saw Duo's gaze slip to the door and linger there a moment longer than he assumed was usual before glancing to him and then Trowa. Whatever was going on, Trowa caught wave of it pretty quickly and Heero saw his gaze move there too.

"You need a place to stay Duo?" Trowa's voice was quiet and he didn't look at Duo, his gaze still locked on the man who had just entered. He was a darkly tanned mammoth of a man with a massive beer gut that hung over his faded, torn jeans and snuck out from under his dark red flanny. His thin, greasy hair barely hid his small, squinty eyes as they glanced around the room and landed on Duo. His look darkened then and Heero felt the table hit the back of his legs as he backed into it. He had not even known he was moving.

"Nah. Nuthin I'm not usedta. See ya tamorra. Bring some breaky will ya?"

"Sure thing Duo," Trowa replied quietly and then Duo was putting down the stick and heading toward the man, whose arm immediately snaked out and grabbed hold of the boy's long braid of hair and hauling him bodily from the bar, swearing the whole way. Heero watched them go in stunned silence, the door-chime echoing in his head with its sing-song `welcome dickhead'. He could not think of a more apt term and wondered if that wasn't the reason it was there after all.

"Duo's step-dad. Piece of shit if you ask me," Trowa explained, eyes still glued on the door as he took a sip of his beer. Heero thought his own was suddenly a little warm and put it down, no longer thirsty.

"The man's a raving lunatic who likes to beat up women. I don't know why Walker hasn't tossed his arse in jail already!" Wufei appeared to be truly pissed off with the whole affair. Heero wasn't sure what to think, so he didn't comment. All he could of was that people had paid more attention to the killing of the rat. The likely assumption to make from that was that the rat was less common than what had just occurred. It surprised Heero that he didn't like that assumption much at all.

"You still up for comin in on Tuesday?" Trowa was asking Wufei when Heero let his attention sway back to the people still present.

"Yeah, sure thing. Still at noon?"

"Yup. I'll see you then. You ready to head Heero, or you want Wufei to drive you home?"

Heero shook his head, said his polite farewells to Wufei and followed Trowa back to the Ute.

The sun had set at some point but it wasn't dark. The sky was a definite blue, rather than black, and it was not difficult to see the dark figures prowling the streets. In the distance, outside the Imperial, Heero could make out Duo and his step-dad on the steps. They seemed to be arguing. It was well past ten, and it was a school night. That thought seemed completely foreign to Heero and he turned away, getting the Ute when Trowa unlocked the door.

The house seemed too quiet. They didn't bother turning on the lights, saying their quiet goodnights, Trowa heading off to his room while Heero grabbed his laptop and headed for the verandah. The stars were everywhere and brighter than usual. There was no moon. The paddock at the rear of the house seemed to glow and Heero noticed it was filled with wild oats, the milky crop softened by the evening light. The starlight was mirrored on the river amongst the thick trees at the bottom of the incline. There was a light breeze, and while it was still warm it lacked the parching heat that sucked all liquid from your bones. It was pleasant; like the world was finally exhaling and breathing gently. Like a lover.

Shaking his head, Heero looked around the large backyard and noticed several things. There was a basketball ring attached to the brick wall at the rear of the house. There was a guava tree near the small shed at the back. The shed was too small and had obviously, by the little windows with their quaint shutters, been designed as a cubby house. There was a sandpit. Heero blinked at that. He had never had a sandpit and he honestly had no clue what to do with one, so he didn't move to take a better look.

There was a power point just inside the door and so Heero seated himself at the bench and watched world outside through the screen door, very much aware after those few scant minutes that the air was rife with mozzies.

There were twenty nine email messages, each and every one of them from people he didn't want to talk to, so he just deleted them all and booted up his school program, running over the classes he had the next day and trying to get a feel for where each of the student's were up to. Looking at the old mark book, he was amused to see Quatre Winner was ranked first in the class, with flawless results on his take-home assignments and well above average results on his exams. He was slightly surprised to see Duo Maxwell was an above average student who scored perfect marks on the exams but had never managed to hand in a single assignment. He was on a level two discipline for fighting at school.

Heero sighed as he shut down his laptop. He fell asleep on the stool, head pillowed on his arms on the bench as he watched stars revolve, the warm breath of the Bush on his skin.

He woke to the smell of coffee and the uncomfortable feel of dried, day old sweat caked on skin thickly smothered in red dirt that clung to every hair. Grumbling, he nodded to Trowa and headed straight to the shower. It was the first time he had really taken the time to look at the bathroom. It was relatively new as bathrooms go, with a large, tall bathtub he had a strange feeling would be taller than he was once he was sitting in it, and an equally huge shower on the opposite side. The vanity was not in the room, but rather outside in the hallway, built into the wall with a three way mirror. Heero had a feeling women had designed the bathroom, but didn't despise them the excess. While he doubted there would be enough water to have a bath anytime soon, it was fun looking into the mirror and seeing himself copied into eternity.

The water ran cold after three minutes.

When he finally emerged, feeling a thousand times improved, the cold water a balm on heated and burnt skin, Trowa was slathering vegemite onto thick white bread and grabbing several poppa's from the cupboard. Heero raised a brow in inquiry as Trowa packed it all neatly into a set of little disposable plastic lunch bags.

"Maxwell," was all he said and Heero recalled Duo asking for them to bring him some breaky. Heero had not thought he was serious, but thinking back on it he was far from surprised Trowa was doing just that. Besides, the fact Trowa had everything in the cupboard already told Heero this was a fairly regular event. And by the looks of it Duo wasn't the only student Trowa packed breakfast for. There were in face three lunches set out on the bench, each slightly different; one a peanut butter and jam sandwich, one an orange.

"Are there many families…like that?"

"Only every one that lives over the south bridge. Not to mention the ones out at Derriwong. Close to eighty percent of the kids come from homes in the lowest tax bracket. Most have at least one parent that doesn't work. They come from poor, abusive homes, and they resent anyone who doesn't."

Like Quatre. Heero smiled to himself, wondering if Trowa realized how easy his side comments were to hear. Still, he found himself rifling through his own meager possessions for his box of muesli bars and adding one to each of the breakfast piles. Trowa didn't comment, just nodded his thanks or approval, or whatever that was. Heero didn't really care.

"Go easy on them," Trowa said as they headed for the street. They weren't driving; the school was a five minute walk down the hill and as long as they took sunnies and a hat it was a pleasant walk. At least, it was in the mornings…Heero had a feeling he might not feel that way come mid-arvo.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, whaddaya mean," Trowa replied, rolling his eyes and Heero understood. He couldn't expect too much from them on their first day. It was a fine line he had to walk; he was the new teacher and they would try to walk all over him, but at the same time if he walked in as a tyrant they would rebel. He had to be…`cool'.

"Whaddaya mean?" Heero replied, a laugh playing in his eyes as he shifted the backpack on his back, loosening the straps so it hung around his bum as Trowa's did. It was uncomfortable, but he understood it was the way his kid's would carry their gear.

Trowa just laughed and pulled his flanny out of his jeans. He didn't have to mess his hair up. His hair, at least, was naturally cool. At that moment, Heero knew how it felt to be his hair and it made him laugh…for the first time in a long time, as he walked through the dead, crunching brown grass of the school oval in a land that was…nevergreen.