Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Remember the Good Times (3/3) ❯ Remember the Good Times (Three of three...so far) ( One-Shot )

((((To any Rendezvous people who happen by...this was done with love, I swear!))))

Gomen, people, it's another one of my rant-fics in Duo POV. Feel
free to flame, tar, or ignore.

(Somewhat sequel to 'Restless' and 'Revelations Kept')

Title: Remember the Good Times (though I think of it as 'Restless,
revisited')
Author: AKA Anonymous
Disclaimers: I don't own anything but the left over chicken. Yum.
**********************************

If it wasn't for that earthquake this morning I probably would have
slept `til noon. My stomach rolled along with the ground,
remembering all the unknown (but deliciously homemade) crud I had
devoured in generous amounts throughout the day before. (1)

God! What a day! I don't remember the last time I rolled on the
floor laughing so hard...well, besides that after the slightly
humiliating mission involving dance lessons, ungodly amounts of
glitter, and fake guns (that were supposed to fire, but didn't when
you *really* needed them to). Oh, well, in twenty years I'll look
back on that and laugh, I'm sure...once I destroy all evidence I
*ever* wore those ridiculous costumes. (2)

Ahem! Anyways, as you can tell, life has settle down a bit more for
me. No, I'm not cured, but I finally told the guys the truth. The
whole truth--not the roundabout answers that I shot off before
slipping out the nearest exit as fast as my feet would fling me.
When I told them...well most of that night was spent rolling on the
floor, too.

Not that way, you pervert!

We were staying at a real dive of a hotel. Not as bad as some places
I've been, believe me--being a teenage terrorist, on the run from
various military factions and sent to the damnedest places to keep my
identity hidden, but *still* make a difference in the big picture,
yeah, I've seen some really ugly, infested, rundown death-traps--
having the some of the guys with me always made it worth it, though.
(I hope your mind isn't in the gutter again, it's completely
innocent, I swear!)

We hadn't been legal before, though. Don't you love how different
countries have more lenient rules? (3)

So we get back from a long day of surveillance and other peacekeeping
activities on a warm night in a very bad part of a very lively city
were you can drink at an age before your country (or colony) of birth
considers you a legal adult.

Of course we bought alcohol, we're healthy, not-well-adjusted, young
men!

We were just very careful to make sure our superior for that day's
mission was sleeping far enough away not to be disturbed by our merry
making.

What about the people around us? Well, it so happens that our newest
recruit, Justin (4), had already gone to bed when the others made
their way back, and as I had the room next door and was only bunking
with Wufei--who was a half-sheet to the wind already--I quickly
offered our room for the night caps (definitely plural 'caps'). The
room on the other side of that was Trowa and Quatre's; Heero's, being
on the opposite side of the hotel and across from the superior's, was
out of the question.

Who cares about the people above and below us! We sure didn't once
Wufei accepted his first Heinstein. (We found out in the morning
that that was a *really* bad idea, but at the time it was great to
see him loosen up and stop being suck a stuck up prick. In case you
ever read this, Wu, you do know you're a great friend,
right?...Right?) (5)

While the others were using hotel coffee mugs and Styrofoam cups to
distribute the 'Voodoo Vodka' I sat back and nursed a Mike's. I had
to beg off on anything else; I don't know if it was my regretful
looks or the work of the alcohol, but it wasn't ten minutes into our
little party before Quatre asked me straight out 'what the hell was
wrong with me, anyway?' (6)

I believe he and Wufei had had some drinks before they even got back
to the hotel from the liquor shop. I think I gaped a little before
chugging about half my drink in .05 seconds. When I looked around I
found four *very* curious faces waiting for me to spill my heart out.

Well, I'm Duo Maxwell, damn it and I'm no baby. I look Quatre right
in the eyes and tell him in scientific detail (for once thanking
those white-coat-wearing blood suckers, not that I'm not grateful
anyways, but I just had my arm jabbed once again) what is happening
to my healthy-looking body.

An autoimmune disease, my friend. No thanks, I'll pass on the immune-
boosting teas, my system's already working overtime--against me. The
only symptoms I have so far are the red marks, which have spread
regardless of the increases of crummy medications that drain my
energy like leeches. There's also some thought as to the likeliness
of juvenile arthritis, seeing as I can't curl my fingers or toes
without some slight pain. A few moments of muscle fatigue and
weakness aren't enough to warrant worry, yet.

That, coupled with the red crap accumulated in the creases of my
grip, make lifting or holding heavy objects quite hard and sometimes
very painful. The Raynaud's phenomenon makes sure I can't hold cold
things for very long, either. Remember that stunt with Heero and the
gloves? Well, I can't even hold on to the slim bottle of Mike's now
without cringing a bit, which is half the reason I'm playing with the
mouth of it instead of drinking.

The other reason is the immunosuppressants that I'm choking down once
a week. They're doing a number on my liver, or so I'm told, so as
much as I want to, I'm stuck being the odd one out this night--forced
sobriety sucks. They seem to think it's funny and though I'm the one
on the farthest bed, I have to answer the door whenever someone
knocks.

It wouldn't have been so bad if Quatre, who was lying on the next bed-
-between the door and me--wasn't such a wiggle-worm when
schnockered. I swear he must have had bruises from my knees all over
his back by the time the night was through. I don't even remember
*why* people kept coming to our door. There *was* the 2 am beer run,
but the gang shooting two blocks down dampened that. Cops all over
the place finding rumpled children in Preventors uniforms running
around looking for booze? No, I don't think that would have been
good. (7)

Anyways, the things you learn about your friends--people you *think*
you would know, given all the shit you've gone through in the last
few years--turn out to be *very* different when drinking games are
introduced. Yeah, most of us have bad pasts, but we are also just
plain *wierd* in some cases. The situations...my mind boggles,
really. Any more details than that have been vowed (and threatened)
into secrecy.

Life has gone on pretty much as usual, though. This year, though
thoroughly peppered with a lot of stuff I wouldn't wish on my worst
enemy (except maybe Tsuberov), has evened out, thanks to the company
of my friends--old and new.

I spent yesterday in `Vahalla on Earth' (in my opinion), a warrior's
paradise, a.k.a. Quatre's mansion, with my comrades. We all brought
food to munch on--I was bone-tired that morning, so I picked up fried
chicken--but the most of the others made their own `special' dishes.
(I'm still not sure that wasn't some sort of fish part that was
liberally spread on the French bread Wufei spent a half hour baking.
(8)) We chatted in the den, the others sprawled out on the country-
styled furniture while I stretched out on the sinfully thick carpet--
our conversation ranging from colleges to gay ducks to the rainforest
and something about cheese. (Together. Strange, I know, but *very*
funny at the time.) (9)

We had to quit our rather colorful debates when the Lady dropped by
to wish us a good vacation--we cut back the vulgarity to inside jokes
while she politely overlooked the blatantly dirty minded half-
speak. The moment she left Trowa and Wufei reenacted their favorite
scenes from various b-rated Kung Fu movies and wrestling shows. The
help of a giant trampoline made their slow movements and forced falls
that much more hilarious. Thus was born the Bushmaster (for Trowa's
unusual hair--note: he *really* needs a hair cut) and the Yellow Blur
(Wufei's new secret identity that referred to his brand new neon
running shoes, not a racial slander, though he sputter half-heartedly
about that for a few moments before Trowa `put the smack down'.) (10)

I really need to get them out of the States before this behavior
settles in permanently. It's kinda scary. After I get pictures,
though. It's only fair considering how much they've teased me about
those damn costumes. I wasn't my idea or my choice to wear only that
white leotard, a glittery cowboy hat and little else--let along
*dance in front of a crowd* wearing said outfit. (2, again)

Still, even that had it's fun moments and the daily routine of life
was nice, only broken every two or three weeks with more blood tests
and new medications to try. Now I'm awaiting something new.

I've come to see that I'm not good at waiting. It's a personality
flaw that I cling to when it comes to hospitals, no matter how many
times I've gone or how much I know I need to, I'll always wait up the
night before in slight anxiety.

The last time I was this wound up I was awaiting the test results,
now I'm awaiting a test to be done. A CT scan. They expect me to
happily gulp down a *vaguely* milky concoction in the eight hours
prior, get injected with a tracking-dye-agent of some kind, and lie
still while they looks at my insides with a magnifying glass.

Well, at least it's not an MRI...not yet, anyway. That would really
freak me out, considering all the concussions I had during the wars
never warranted having one.

Okay, now I'm freaking myself out again. I started writing this
again to vent; to remember all the cool times I've had, which really
do out weigh all the other stuff...not being able to go outside this
summer, the stress of work, the *huge* spider I found on my favorite
pillow...

Ack! Happy thoughts, think happy thoughts...(don't pick at the marks
left by that band-aid from drawing blood! Idiot.) Shoot, I'm off to
rent more anime--my obsession to distract from *everything*. I
wonder if Wufei's ever seen Gravitation...that could be interesting.
Especially with what popped out during `I've Never'...
****************************************

Foot notes: (Remember, Duo is actually me. The other guy boys are
shared between my choir friends.)

1--There was an earthquake this morning, but the party acutally
happened on Friday, when I started joting this down. End of the year
party. *sniff*

2--From my college's musical, 'Crazy For You' where I played a
showgirl (never again!). Lots of fun--bad costumes and jokes abound.

3--I'm legal, but couldn't drink more than the Mike's. Not that I'm
a big drinker, but it kinda irks, ya know?

4--Justin Case, of course! (Inside-ML joke, sorry.) Actually we had one 18 yr old boy in the group (total sweetie) that crashed early even when we offered water for playing the game.

5--One girl, who I connect Wufei's headstrong attitude to (but is actually a awesome friend and singer), was sick on the way home. *_* Not pretty, especially with the guy next to her telling her encouragements...to throw up more. Oi, he is such a blonde!

6--Same blondie as above. Nice guy, but it turns out my director had hinted to the group about my disease and told them to ask me to my face. The guys just didn't have the courage until they had packed a few down, but they were actually very worried. Sweet, but blunt.

7--This did happen. Except the guys went out in street clothes.

8--This version of Wufei was actually Ben Lee. (Oh, the jokes the
guys made of his name--most of the *from* him.) He made a great
French bread with lots of cheese and a few things that even he
couldn't say *where* they came from.

9--Gay ducks. Honest to God, we actually talked about that, a spin
off from a comment on the duck pattern bordering the room. Now how
we got from that to the rainforest and cheese involves the
words 'crotch' and 'moist' and that's all I have to say on the
matter. *blush*

10--The Yellow Blur. Yes, it's Ben again, and yes, he's Chinese-
American--and the most racist person I've met in my life. Against
his own people, but only in joke. The Yellow Blur is mainly a light-
hearted slur, but he LOVED it.

So, that's what my quarter was like. Now I have a count down to do.
ten hours til I gulp down the first dose of milky-crap, twelve before
they put me through the donut. *Twirls a finger* Yeah.

Hope your day goes better than mine,
--Anon=)