Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Opposing Realities ❯ Encounter ( Chapter 3 )
[ 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: 06.10.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 336 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Angst | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.10.2003 | Pages: 2 | Words: 1.7K | Visits: 336 | Status: Completed
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Title: Opposing Realities
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warning: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS, death, language, OOC-ness,
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at beginning of
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...
more will probably be added to the list...
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured
it out yet?
**********
Opposing Realities
Part Three: Encounter
+W
My eyes unite with a violet flare found upon the thin face of another boy. The blade of his knife stands rigid, knowing that I'm not a friend, but beneath the surface of his skin, I can feel a vulnerability radiating from him. Time seems to have fallen immobile, and before I glance over to see Quatre being thrust into a brick wall by a girl who is about a year younger than him, I realize that there is a similarity in our eyes. I stare back at him, and he makes no sign of motion.
"Call off your thugs," I mutter in what I _know_ is a dangerous voice.
"You first," he returns without a second's hesitation, a wicked grin playing on his lips.
"Jul, get off Heero. The rest of you, just stop."
The odd, braided boy nods, knowing that this is fruitless, and although I haven't had a good fight in days, now isn't the time.
"Trowa, let Jul up an' he'll let Heero go." Trowa, once again. I thought I saw enough of him last night.
Trowa's face is set in a face of death; I can nearly smell his will to snap his knife into Jul's throat, and that scares me. But I won't let this kid hurt Jul, as long as Jul doesn't hurt him. Trowa reluctantly stands, glaring at Jul as if fire can leap from his gaze, refusing to sheathe his knife. Jul stands also, and I wonder if I'm going to have to interfere, because he and Trowa look like they're ready to tear each other's throats open, which concerns me because I know that Jul would. I don't know Trowa's nature, but he looks pretty damn serious, too.
"Jul, what the hell is going on?" I snap, not completely clueless, but I still have yet to hear the entire story, and see if any more of the guys from the other gang are going to be listed in the cast of characters. By now, the blonde girl has stopped messing with Quatre, he's rubbing the back of his head where the brick punctured it and is obviously bleeding, and we stand awkwardly, grounded by the tension of an expected attack.
"This is the bitch that gave me these cuts," Jul retorts, gesturing wildly, letting his thin, snake-like braid flap over his shoulder, "Heero, the fuckin' whore!"
Ah, so I finally get to meet the boy who left blood on the skin of my tough guy.
"I wouldn't have had to paint you in your own damn blood if you weren't such a lying son of a bitch, now would I?" Heero shoots back, a ghost of a smirk glinting just beneath the mask of his lips.
"I didn't promise you jack shit!" Jul hollers, rocking forward on the toes of his shoes.
"The hell you didn't! You told me you'd give me fuckin' cash after I fucked you an' you fuckin' lied! I had a fuckin' reason to scrap you up, kid!" He lunges at Jul, throwing all of his weight forward, but the boy with the chestnut braid latches his hand to the neck of Heero's grungy t-shirt, withholding him from harming Jul any further. I heard Heero beating him the other night; he outweighs and out-muscles him, and it killed me to have to listen to it. But my gang fights their own battles, personal fights have to be taken into their own hands. That's the only way they'll learn to be strong.
"Listen, China-boy, you keep your boys from mine and I'll keep mine from you," the braided obvious 'leader' comments almost jovially with a glitter of a smile in his eye, still holding back a scowling Heero.
"My name is Wufei Chang, and I'd be more than pleased to never see you again."
He nods and I see something of surprise just behind the shine in his eyes.
"Right then, Chang. I'm called Duo, but I don't think you need to know that 'cause we won't be meeting again," he pauses thoughtfully, a spark of something coming to life within him, "now will we?"
+W
The familiar aroma of sawdust comforts me as I settle on the legless couch that is placed haphazardly in the middle of the warehouse. We've been hiding here so long, I can't imagine what I would do if we ever had to leave. But tonight there are things on my mind other than my home. I want to think about this death-driven boy that ambled into my life today, and I want Diego to stop cussing out Dark in his native Spanish so I can have some peace of mind. But obviously waiting it out doesn't seem to help.
"Diego, shut the fuck up or go in the other room."
I ignore his grimace as he drags Dark in and slams the door. This quiet is much better. What is it about this boy who calls himself Duo that won't let my mind rest? And why do I care? Aren't I supposed to be avoiding him?
Do I want to see him again?
Two sharp raps echo from the door, interrupting once again the pointless questions in my mind. I watch intently as Quatre peers beneath the crack of the door, checking the number of feet waiting outside. I trust him, and he seems to decide it's safe to reveal our hideout.
"Name," he queries sternly. I hear a muffled response that I can't decipher from here. "Who else?"
I hear the second voice as clearly as if it were spoken directly in my ear.
"Some call me Duo."
Quatre looks to me, awaiting my judgment, and at the same time giving me the familiar feeling he can read my thoughts. I wave a dismissive hand, not quite certain myself whether I welcome him or loathe him, so I hope Quatre can translate my gesture into his own hands.
"Who do you want to see?" Obviously he's uncertain about the situation as well.
"Jul," a soft voice that sounds a bit like Trowa answers, then Duo adds, "Chang."
"Let them in," I call, the sound of my voice echoing off the high ceiling. Quatre squints at me, not wanting to argue, but knowing as I do that this probably is not a good idea. I nod, however, offering final reassurance to grant their entrance, and he slowly opens the door, standing tall to two very attractive, very dangerous boys. I struggle to remember that these are my enemies.
Duo steps in first, sporting a somehow new looking black muscle shirt, and the same loose black pants he wore earlier. My eyes don't ignore the visibly toned chest beneath the fabric, nor the knife strapped to his arm. He's probably concealing more weaponry in those black boots. He stares at Quatre with an expression that is foreign to me, before making way for Trowa to enter. His ragged black trench coat hangs loose, not bothering to cloak the switchblade in the pocket of his fitting blue jeans, and his emerald eyes automatically flicker, scoping out everything, leaving me feeling incredibly vulnerable.
Duo takes no time in making himself at home, and heads towards me as soon as his eyes target me. The closer he gets, the less his eyes mask. He doesn't want to be here, no matter how his smile is trying to pronounce otherwise. I have to wonder though, who is he trying to convince; me or himself? I know very well that there is something he needs to take care of, and it isn't something that involves this place. Perhaps I can use that against him, if need be. But do I really want to?
He stops precisely in front me, rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms.
"There's something wrong with this picture, Chang," he comments, his cool tone separated from his warm expression, "With your doorman, I mean. Shouldn't you be reversed in role? I can smell his money a mile away."
So he wants to play that way? At least he's perceptive; Quatre _does_ come from money. But not anymore.
"He left that life for us, he's not just some rich jerk," I return softly, the tone my voice chooses not quite the one I intended for it to take. I offer a quick glance to Quatre, seeing the hurt hanging over him. He gave up so much for us; his father has given up looking for him by now.
Duo's eyes soften a bit, not fully understanding, but a slight rue of his words. Though I know he meant those words to bite.
"Trowa wants to see Jul," he says instead.
"Don't know where he is," I reply instantly, though I know he's in the other room with Dark and Diego.
"You do, or you wouldn't have let us in."
I stare at him what I hope is icily. I don't like the way he can read me, the way he sees me so well. It's dangerous for your enemies to understand you. But it's also dangerous to knowingly invite them into your home, so that's another rule broken.
My eyes are stung with his, forcing time of unknowing to hinge around us, between us. Drawing us together. I'd rather it push us apart.
"Jul!" I yell, breaking us out of the seeming trance that had bound us only seconds before. The sound reverberates from the high walls, echoing through to the room where I know he can hear me. Lo and behold, he does, and he peers from the doorway, seeing our 'guests'. Before giving me a chance to speak to him, Trowa grits out,
"We have some business to attend to."
Title: Opposing Realities
Anime: Gundam Wing
Pairings: 2+5 (2x5?), 1x3
Category: Angst, Romance, AU
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Warning: AU, angst, violence, abuse, NCS, death, language, OOC-ness,
lotsa OC's, POV switches (Duo-Fei, will be marked at beginning of
section with a +D or +W), prostitution, drug and alcohol use,...
more will probably be added to the list...
Disclaimer: Don't own Gundam Wing of course... haven't you figured
it out yet?
**********
Opposing Realities
Part Three: Encounter
+W
My eyes unite with a violet flare found upon the thin face of another boy. The blade of his knife stands rigid, knowing that I'm not a friend, but beneath the surface of his skin, I can feel a vulnerability radiating from him. Time seems to have fallen immobile, and before I glance over to see Quatre being thrust into a brick wall by a girl who is about a year younger than him, I realize that there is a similarity in our eyes. I stare back at him, and he makes no sign of motion.
"Call off your thugs," I mutter in what I _know_ is a dangerous voice.
"You first," he returns without a second's hesitation, a wicked grin playing on his lips.
"Jul, get off Heero. The rest of you, just stop."
The odd, braided boy nods, knowing that this is fruitless, and although I haven't had a good fight in days, now isn't the time.
"Trowa, let Jul up an' he'll let Heero go." Trowa, once again. I thought I saw enough of him last night.
Trowa's face is set in a face of death; I can nearly smell his will to snap his knife into Jul's throat, and that scares me. But I won't let this kid hurt Jul, as long as Jul doesn't hurt him. Trowa reluctantly stands, glaring at Jul as if fire can leap from his gaze, refusing to sheathe his knife. Jul stands also, and I wonder if I'm going to have to interfere, because he and Trowa look like they're ready to tear each other's throats open, which concerns me because I know that Jul would. I don't know Trowa's nature, but he looks pretty damn serious, too.
"Jul, what the hell is going on?" I snap, not completely clueless, but I still have yet to hear the entire story, and see if any more of the guys from the other gang are going to be listed in the cast of characters. By now, the blonde girl has stopped messing with Quatre, he's rubbing the back of his head where the brick punctured it and is obviously bleeding, and we stand awkwardly, grounded by the tension of an expected attack.
"This is the bitch that gave me these cuts," Jul retorts, gesturing wildly, letting his thin, snake-like braid flap over his shoulder, "Heero, the fuckin' whore!"
Ah, so I finally get to meet the boy who left blood on the skin of my tough guy.
"I wouldn't have had to paint you in your own damn blood if you weren't such a lying son of a bitch, now would I?" Heero shoots back, a ghost of a smirk glinting just beneath the mask of his lips.
"I didn't promise you jack shit!" Jul hollers, rocking forward on the toes of his shoes.
"The hell you didn't! You told me you'd give me fuckin' cash after I fucked you an' you fuckin' lied! I had a fuckin' reason to scrap you up, kid!" He lunges at Jul, throwing all of his weight forward, but the boy with the chestnut braid latches his hand to the neck of Heero's grungy t-shirt, withholding him from harming Jul any further. I heard Heero beating him the other night; he outweighs and out-muscles him, and it killed me to have to listen to it. But my gang fights their own battles, personal fights have to be taken into their own hands. That's the only way they'll learn to be strong.
"Listen, China-boy, you keep your boys from mine and I'll keep mine from you," the braided obvious 'leader' comments almost jovially with a glitter of a smile in his eye, still holding back a scowling Heero.
"My name is Wufei Chang, and I'd be more than pleased to never see you again."
He nods and I see something of surprise just behind the shine in his eyes.
"Right then, Chang. I'm called Duo, but I don't think you need to know that 'cause we won't be meeting again," he pauses thoughtfully, a spark of something coming to life within him, "now will we?"
+W
The familiar aroma of sawdust comforts me as I settle on the legless couch that is placed haphazardly in the middle of the warehouse. We've been hiding here so long, I can't imagine what I would do if we ever had to leave. But tonight there are things on my mind other than my home. I want to think about this death-driven boy that ambled into my life today, and I want Diego to stop cussing out Dark in his native Spanish so I can have some peace of mind. But obviously waiting it out doesn't seem to help.
"Diego, shut the fuck up or go in the other room."
I ignore his grimace as he drags Dark in and slams the door. This quiet is much better. What is it about this boy who calls himself Duo that won't let my mind rest? And why do I care? Aren't I supposed to be avoiding him?
Do I want to see him again?
Two sharp raps echo from the door, interrupting once again the pointless questions in my mind. I watch intently as Quatre peers beneath the crack of the door, checking the number of feet waiting outside. I trust him, and he seems to decide it's safe to reveal our hideout.
"Name," he queries sternly. I hear a muffled response that I can't decipher from here. "Who else?"
I hear the second voice as clearly as if it were spoken directly in my ear.
"Some call me Duo."
Quatre looks to me, awaiting my judgment, and at the same time giving me the familiar feeling he can read my thoughts. I wave a dismissive hand, not quite certain myself whether I welcome him or loathe him, so I hope Quatre can translate my gesture into his own hands.
"Who do you want to see?" Obviously he's uncertain about the situation as well.
"Jul," a soft voice that sounds a bit like Trowa answers, then Duo adds, "Chang."
"Let them in," I call, the sound of my voice echoing off the high ceiling. Quatre squints at me, not wanting to argue, but knowing as I do that this probably is not a good idea. I nod, however, offering final reassurance to grant their entrance, and he slowly opens the door, standing tall to two very attractive, very dangerous boys. I struggle to remember that these are my enemies.
Duo steps in first, sporting a somehow new looking black muscle shirt, and the same loose black pants he wore earlier. My eyes don't ignore the visibly toned chest beneath the fabric, nor the knife strapped to his arm. He's probably concealing more weaponry in those black boots. He stares at Quatre with an expression that is foreign to me, before making way for Trowa to enter. His ragged black trench coat hangs loose, not bothering to cloak the switchblade in the pocket of his fitting blue jeans, and his emerald eyes automatically flicker, scoping out everything, leaving me feeling incredibly vulnerable.
Duo takes no time in making himself at home, and heads towards me as soon as his eyes target me. The closer he gets, the less his eyes mask. He doesn't want to be here, no matter how his smile is trying to pronounce otherwise. I have to wonder though, who is he trying to convince; me or himself? I know very well that there is something he needs to take care of, and it isn't something that involves this place. Perhaps I can use that against him, if need be. But do I really want to?
He stops precisely in front me, rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms.
"There's something wrong with this picture, Chang," he comments, his cool tone separated from his warm expression, "With your doorman, I mean. Shouldn't you be reversed in role? I can smell his money a mile away."
So he wants to play that way? At least he's perceptive; Quatre _does_ come from money. But not anymore.
"He left that life for us, he's not just some rich jerk," I return softly, the tone my voice chooses not quite the one I intended for it to take. I offer a quick glance to Quatre, seeing the hurt hanging over him. He gave up so much for us; his father has given up looking for him by now.
Duo's eyes soften a bit, not fully understanding, but a slight rue of his words. Though I know he meant those words to bite.
"Trowa wants to see Jul," he says instead.
"Don't know where he is," I reply instantly, though I know he's in the other room with Dark and Diego.
"You do, or you wouldn't have let us in."
I stare at him what I hope is icily. I don't like the way he can read me, the way he sees me so well. It's dangerous for your enemies to understand you. But it's also dangerous to knowingly invite them into your home, so that's another rule broken.
My eyes are stung with his, forcing time of unknowing to hinge around us, between us. Drawing us together. I'd rather it push us apart.
"Jul!" I yell, breaking us out of the seeming trance that had bound us only seconds before. The sound reverberates from the high walls, echoing through to the room where I know he can hear me. Lo and behold, he does, and he peers from the doorway, seeing our 'guests'. Before giving me a chance to speak to him, Trowa grits out,
"We have some business to attend to."