Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Opposing Realities ❯ Hidden ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: KentraShinataku02 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.09.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 347 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.09.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.9K | Visits: 347 | Status: Completed
Title: Opposing Realities
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Archive: http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net. If you want, ask and ye shall receive.
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language, some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own stories.
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.
**********
Opposing Realities
Part Four: Hidden
+D
"Like hell we do," Jul growls, looking Trowa up and down. I put a hand on Trowa's arm to restrain him as Jul disappears behind the door once again.
"He'll be back," Wufei says idly, his eyes fixed on me. I wonder if he's afraid of me or if he's enjoying the show that my freshly stolen shirt gives. Probably the latter, though the former would give the surge of confidence that I need to handle this situation. I hope we can get out of here quickly, for many reasons. Number one, it's not exactly smart to wander blindly into enemy territory. Heero's the only one who's actually been inside this place and look who's conveniently missing from this scene. I don't even know where my emergency escape doors are.
I also don't like leaving Dara at the house without me so soon. She'll only talk to Kentra and Dacia, so thank God they're there, but Dara was already wary of staying with us. What's she going to think if I come home with blood on me? I can make a definite bet she'll run away without a thought, back to the alleys where men get a free thrill from her.
Jul saunters confidently from the doorway that Wufei claimed he would. Alright, one point for Chang.
"Hope you're ready for me, Trowa. I'm more than ready for you," he announces, emphasizing the knife straps on his legs. Another point for Chang, he keeps his kids armed, even though Jul struts as if he's got a new toy. That alone tells me that he's never fought this way before. Not alone. Easy job for Trowa. He may look thin enough to crumble in half, but Trowa is a graceful, beautiful fighter. I'm going to assume that Jul doesn't carry that same deception, though; he looks pretty weak himself. I just want this to be over. I don't like the idea of Trowa fighting without any possibility of help.
"Believe me, kid, I'm ready for you any day," Trowa laughs, crossing his arms as if to cover the blade assortment that at least _I'm_ fully aware of. He won't be hiding his impressive weaponry for long, though. Sorry, Jul.
Wufei looks a little too apprehensive and I have a feeling he's come to the same decision on who's going to win. That's not going to change his mind though. I can't believe he's going to throw an inexperienced fighter in against Tro without a second thought.
"Enough of that, you two can intimidate each other outside. If you're going to fight, get going."
I knew this was a bad idea.
"How do I know there ain't more of you waiting back there?" I ask, skeptically.
"Duo, stay out of this. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself." Trowa's smile is sarcastic and self-assured, but I can plainly hear the tinge of resentment that I made such a demeaning comment.
"Right, sorry man," I say with an equally casual smile, but I hope he takes it as more than that.
"Besides," Trowa continues slyly, as if he hadn't heard me, "Jul knows this is business between the two of us, right Jul?" Jul shrugs indifferently and struts through the back door. I throw Trowa a reassuring glance as he follows close behind. It shouldn't sting this much to watch him go.
I sit down carefully in front of Wufei's legless couch, feeling as if I'm being judged. He stares at me in silence for a moment, his gracefully slanted eyes bathing me.
"You know, I don't know why you complained about Quatre," he says after his assessment is finished, "You had a home once, too." Damn, guess he's as good at reading people as I am.
"Yeah, that may be true, but I sure as hell wasn't rich like that. I didn't even have parents," I throw back defensively. I hope that's enough information for you, Mr. Inquisitive.
"I had parents. Well, they were divorced so I was really only around my dad much. But there was someone there, at least." Lovely, do you fancy a bit of a chat about your past? Would you like a cup of tea while you're at it? I'm sure your doorman will be more than happy to comply.
"Lucky you," I say flatly, "I'm supposing the pressure got too much and you ran away to be a tough street boy, yeah?" I suppose I can humor you for a bit. I won't have to listen to the raised voices outside the cracked windows.
"No, I ran away because I hated getting beat," he commented with a touch of ice cooling his words, "Why'd you?"
"I don't run from anything," I remark sharply as I hear the distinct sound of a knife singing from its sheath. I hope its Trowa's. There's also a rough grating of flesh against brick. Why the hell did I let Tro talk me into this?
"Oh, is that so?" Wufei brings me back to the conversation with a smirk. I wonder how he doesn't care that that could be Jul hurt out there. Maybe he's overconfident in Jul's strength. "So if you had a home but didn't run from it, how'd you end up a street thief?"
I am not a thief; I steal to keep alive. But I don't expect him to understand that.
"Not that it's any of your damn business, but I used to live in the Maxwell Orphanage." He looks surprised and I don't know whether it's out of respect or ignorance; I'll guess it's the latter. "You may have heard of the place, burned to the ground. I heard it was on the news for days. The cleanup sure took long enough -- Why are you staring at me like that?" His gaping is starting to get pretty damn annoying.
"Yeah, I've... I've heard of the place."
+W
It must be the fact that I have to endure the cries and scrapes outside that's making me answer so slowly. I can't believe I'm talking to a survivor of the Maxwell Orphanage.
"What, you knew someone there?" he asks, clearly puzzled by my response. I'm not about to tell him the truth, though. I'm not planning on dying tonight.
"No, it's just... I'm amazed you survived, you know? I saw the place burning. It was only a block from my apartment."
"Yeah, you and half the rest a' the city. You were probably starin' in awe like everyone else." He's bitter now. There is only one way to get out of this, lie like my life is worth it.
Perfect.
"No, I didn't find a burning building amazing. At least, not the screams comin' from inside." Well, that wasn't quite a lie.
A loud yell of "Mother fucker!!" from Jul interrupts my thoughts, but I try to ignore it. I need to worm my way out of this shitty situation.
"Well, that's good to know," he says, trying his best to act casual, though I can tell he's actually afraid. He's leaning back on his elbows, his shoulders back loosely, causing his well-defined chest to protrude in a seductive manner. His legs are still in the Indian-style position he folded into when he seated himself, and now his posture is causing them to spread wider than before. It's difficult for a moment to remember that I don't like him.
"How many survivors were there?" I ask cautiously, vocalizing concern for the tragedy out loud for the first time.
"Just two," he says, and I know his voice is trying to keep itself emotionless. His face is doing a pretty good job of it, too. I wonder how long he can stand these questions, things about his past that he'd rather not talk about, but it's taking his mind off the scuffle outside. Maybe that's why I'm doing this, to ease him a little. I'll ease pain with pain.
"Out of how many?"
He seems to consider the question for a minute or two. I don't blame him, it's been a long time since he lived at that place. If he's my age, he hasn't seen it since he was about 8 years old. Numbers seem much bigger when you're small.
"There were prob'ly about two hundred in all," he says finally, "about 160 kids and 40 staff. Maybe less, but that's what it seemed like."
I'm running out of questions, but I'm going to risk pushing the limit even though I know he's getting irritated. I can't let the topic switch back to me.
There's a sickening crack outside. I hope its Trowa's skull. I don't want to think about that, though. It already sickens me that we resort to this shit. But we're street kids, we got no choice, right?
I need to ask something else, his patient eyes have been idly caressing me for too long. Is he admiring me as much as I am him?
"You said there's two survivors?" I ask slowly, "Who's the other, Trowa? You two seem close." I'll feel like shit if he says yes and Jul ends up killing him. Duo looks a bit relieved that I mentioned someone else's name; I know how he feels right now.
"Nah, not Trowa," he lowers his voice as if Trowa might be listening. You know, I think Trowa has more important things to be worried about right now. "It was Heero. Actually, it was his fault that I lived. He's the only real survivor, I guess."
Heero saved him? I wonder why Trowa is his lover and not Duo, then. It seems that the guy I took as emotionless and bastardly got something nice going on inside. Maybe he only let's the closest people see.
"I couldn't see Heero in an orphanage." My tone is conversational like I'm sipping fuckin' margaritas on the boardwalk. "How'd he save you?" I doubt he's going to let me question him much longer, but when I ask this, a sort of reminiscent look comes over him, like he actually wants to answer.
"He actually came in my window and pulled me out. See, he was already there throwin' stones at the glass trying to get me to come out with him for some night fun... and he didn't have to worry about wakin' people up 'cause I never slept in the bunkroom I was supposed to. But yeah, he was outside and crawled in to help get me out like a fuckin' knight in shining armor. Good thing I hated my own bunkroom; I'd be dead now if I was there."
I won't find out why he never slept in his bunkroom, though, because a terrored, masculine scream sounds in the back, sending us both running to the back door. I'm almost grateful for it, in a detached way; I got through without Duo finding out that I was the one who lit the gas lines, that I caused the tragic incident of the Maxwell Orphanage.
**********
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Archive: http://www.deathandpassion.cjb.net. If you want, ask and ye shall receive.
Warnings: AU, angst, violence, abuse, possible NCS, death, language, some OOC, some OC's, POV switching (Duo and Fei marked with a +D and a +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, but I do however, own the original characters used in this fic. I created them and have used them for various crusades in my mind and even some in their own stories.
Feedback: Positive and Negative are both appreciated dearly.
**********
Opposing Realities
Part Four: Hidden
+D
"Like hell we do," Jul growls, looking Trowa up and down. I put a hand on Trowa's arm to restrain him as Jul disappears behind the door once again.
"He'll be back," Wufei says idly, his eyes fixed on me. I wonder if he's afraid of me or if he's enjoying the show that my freshly stolen shirt gives. Probably the latter, though the former would give the surge of confidence that I need to handle this situation. I hope we can get out of here quickly, for many reasons. Number one, it's not exactly smart to wander blindly into enemy territory. Heero's the only one who's actually been inside this place and look who's conveniently missing from this scene. I don't even know where my emergency escape doors are.
I also don't like leaving Dara at the house without me so soon. She'll only talk to Kentra and Dacia, so thank God they're there, but Dara was already wary of staying with us. What's she going to think if I come home with blood on me? I can make a definite bet she'll run away without a thought, back to the alleys where men get a free thrill from her.
Jul saunters confidently from the doorway that Wufei claimed he would. Alright, one point for Chang.
"Hope you're ready for me, Trowa. I'm more than ready for you," he announces, emphasizing the knife straps on his legs. Another point for Chang, he keeps his kids armed, even though Jul struts as if he's got a new toy. That alone tells me that he's never fought this way before. Not alone. Easy job for Trowa. He may look thin enough to crumble in half, but Trowa is a graceful, beautiful fighter. I'm going to assume that Jul doesn't carry that same deception, though; he looks pretty weak himself. I just want this to be over. I don't like the idea of Trowa fighting without any possibility of help.
"Believe me, kid, I'm ready for you any day," Trowa laughs, crossing his arms as if to cover the blade assortment that at least _I'm_ fully aware of. He won't be hiding his impressive weaponry for long, though. Sorry, Jul.
Wufei looks a little too apprehensive and I have a feeling he's come to the same decision on who's going to win. That's not going to change his mind though. I can't believe he's going to throw an inexperienced fighter in against Tro without a second thought.
"Enough of that, you two can intimidate each other outside. If you're going to fight, get going."
I knew this was a bad idea.
"How do I know there ain't more of you waiting back there?" I ask, skeptically.
"Duo, stay out of this. I'm a big boy, I can take care of myself." Trowa's smile is sarcastic and self-assured, but I can plainly hear the tinge of resentment that I made such a demeaning comment.
"Right, sorry man," I say with an equally casual smile, but I hope he takes it as more than that.
"Besides," Trowa continues slyly, as if he hadn't heard me, "Jul knows this is business between the two of us, right Jul?" Jul shrugs indifferently and struts through the back door. I throw Trowa a reassuring glance as he follows close behind. It shouldn't sting this much to watch him go.
I sit down carefully in front of Wufei's legless couch, feeling as if I'm being judged. He stares at me in silence for a moment, his gracefully slanted eyes bathing me.
"You know, I don't know why you complained about Quatre," he says after his assessment is finished, "You had a home once, too." Damn, guess he's as good at reading people as I am.
"Yeah, that may be true, but I sure as hell wasn't rich like that. I didn't even have parents," I throw back defensively. I hope that's enough information for you, Mr. Inquisitive.
"I had parents. Well, they were divorced so I was really only around my dad much. But there was someone there, at least." Lovely, do you fancy a bit of a chat about your past? Would you like a cup of tea while you're at it? I'm sure your doorman will be more than happy to comply.
"Lucky you," I say flatly, "I'm supposing the pressure got too much and you ran away to be a tough street boy, yeah?" I suppose I can humor you for a bit. I won't have to listen to the raised voices outside the cracked windows.
"No, I ran away because I hated getting beat," he commented with a touch of ice cooling his words, "Why'd you?"
"I don't run from anything," I remark sharply as I hear the distinct sound of a knife singing from its sheath. I hope its Trowa's. There's also a rough grating of flesh against brick. Why the hell did I let Tro talk me into this?
"Oh, is that so?" Wufei brings me back to the conversation with a smirk. I wonder how he doesn't care that that could be Jul hurt out there. Maybe he's overconfident in Jul's strength. "So if you had a home but didn't run from it, how'd you end up a street thief?"
I am not a thief; I steal to keep alive. But I don't expect him to understand that.
"Not that it's any of your damn business, but I used to live in the Maxwell Orphanage." He looks surprised and I don't know whether it's out of respect or ignorance; I'll guess it's the latter. "You may have heard of the place, burned to the ground. I heard it was on the news for days. The cleanup sure took long enough -- Why are you staring at me like that?" His gaping is starting to get pretty damn annoying.
"Yeah, I've... I've heard of the place."
+W
It must be the fact that I have to endure the cries and scrapes outside that's making me answer so slowly. I can't believe I'm talking to a survivor of the Maxwell Orphanage.
"What, you knew someone there?" he asks, clearly puzzled by my response. I'm not about to tell him the truth, though. I'm not planning on dying tonight.
"No, it's just... I'm amazed you survived, you know? I saw the place burning. It was only a block from my apartment."
"Yeah, you and half the rest a' the city. You were probably starin' in awe like everyone else." He's bitter now. There is only one way to get out of this, lie like my life is worth it.
Perfect.
"No, I didn't find a burning building amazing. At least, not the screams comin' from inside." Well, that wasn't quite a lie.
A loud yell of "Mother fucker!!" from Jul interrupts my thoughts, but I try to ignore it. I need to worm my way out of this shitty situation.
"Well, that's good to know," he says, trying his best to act casual, though I can tell he's actually afraid. He's leaning back on his elbows, his shoulders back loosely, causing his well-defined chest to protrude in a seductive manner. His legs are still in the Indian-style position he folded into when he seated himself, and now his posture is causing them to spread wider than before. It's difficult for a moment to remember that I don't like him.
"How many survivors were there?" I ask cautiously, vocalizing concern for the tragedy out loud for the first time.
"Just two," he says, and I know his voice is trying to keep itself emotionless. His face is doing a pretty good job of it, too. I wonder how long he can stand these questions, things about his past that he'd rather not talk about, but it's taking his mind off the scuffle outside. Maybe that's why I'm doing this, to ease him a little. I'll ease pain with pain.
"Out of how many?"
He seems to consider the question for a minute or two. I don't blame him, it's been a long time since he lived at that place. If he's my age, he hasn't seen it since he was about 8 years old. Numbers seem much bigger when you're small.
"There were prob'ly about two hundred in all," he says finally, "about 160 kids and 40 staff. Maybe less, but that's what it seemed like."
I'm running out of questions, but I'm going to risk pushing the limit even though I know he's getting irritated. I can't let the topic switch back to me.
There's a sickening crack outside. I hope its Trowa's skull. I don't want to think about that, though. It already sickens me that we resort to this shit. But we're street kids, we got no choice, right?
I need to ask something else, his patient eyes have been idly caressing me for too long. Is he admiring me as much as I am him?
"You said there's two survivors?" I ask slowly, "Who's the other, Trowa? You two seem close." I'll feel like shit if he says yes and Jul ends up killing him. Duo looks a bit relieved that I mentioned someone else's name; I know how he feels right now.
"Nah, not Trowa," he lowers his voice as if Trowa might be listening. You know, I think Trowa has more important things to be worried about right now. "It was Heero. Actually, it was his fault that I lived. He's the only real survivor, I guess."
Heero saved him? I wonder why Trowa is his lover and not Duo, then. It seems that the guy I took as emotionless and bastardly got something nice going on inside. Maybe he only let's the closest people see.
"I couldn't see Heero in an orphanage." My tone is conversational like I'm sipping fuckin' margaritas on the boardwalk. "How'd he save you?" I doubt he's going to let me question him much longer, but when I ask this, a sort of reminiscent look comes over him, like he actually wants to answer.
"He actually came in my window and pulled me out. See, he was already there throwin' stones at the glass trying to get me to come out with him for some night fun... and he didn't have to worry about wakin' people up 'cause I never slept in the bunkroom I was supposed to. But yeah, he was outside and crawled in to help get me out like a fuckin' knight in shining armor. Good thing I hated my own bunkroom; I'd be dead now if I was there."
I won't find out why he never slept in his bunkroom, though, because a terrored, masculine scream sounds in the back, sending us both running to the back door. I'm almost grateful for it, in a detached way; I got through without Duo finding out that I was the one who lit the gas lines, that I caused the tragic incident of the Maxwell Orphanage.
**********