Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The One-Eared Neko ❯ YELLOW FANTASIZING ( Chapter 3 )

Part 3 YELLOW FANTASIZING

It was only very early the next morning that Heero was able to lift his head from the pillow so that his head didn't instantly spin and pitch him about. The alcohol paired with the inner stresses his life brought on had formed a vicious alliance and taken hold of his brain and shook it violently. Spun it around like a forty-five. Somehow he had found himself at his own door, no small feat during the middle of the night in a city, and had thrown himself into bed with the last bit of strength he had in him. No need for a cold shower; he was unconscious before he finished falling into bed. But now, he ached for one. A hot one. Maybe to melt him away and take all this away with him down the drain.

The Japanese man rolled stiffly over in his bed with his shoes still on and squinted in the pre-dawn darkness. Across the bed he spotted the stark red light proclaiming it to be 4:27 in the morning. As much as he regretted being awake, he managed to pull himself out of bed. He stumbled toward the door of his shower and nearly tripped when he miscalculated where the doorknob would be. The hung-over man kicked off his shoes less-than-gracefully and shut himself in for a long, searing hot shower.

It was some time later that he collapsed back into bed. He didn't bother with clothes. He'd left his own lying scattered on the bathroom tiles and reeking of bar smokers and certain bohemians. He shivered at that thought, but gritted his teeth and rolled over onto his face. Nothing he could do would smother the memories, but if he were unconscious, they would cease to bedevil him, at least for a while.

Heero Yuy was awoken for the second time when the sun was well above the horizon, this time by an external force. While he'd been sleeping, he'd dreamt of wild passions with the stranger and moaned uncomfortably. And he had drifted out of those dreams unwillingly and felt the warmth of a hand on his ankle. So now he looked sleepily over his shoulder, over the folds of the thick white comforter, and around his whitewashed room.

"Oh, you're awake!"

At the foot of his bed, hand wrapped around his ankle beneath the cover, sat whom he thought, at first, was the stranger, with his bright blue-violet eyes and fine brown hair. But it wasn't. The voice was higher and as attractive as root canal in comparison.

Heero sat up stiffly and rubbed at his head, looking grubby and unshaven in general. His hair was still half damp. "Good morning, Relena," he grumbled as best he could. His eyes traveled to her face reluctantly, as sunny and yellow as a sunbeam but still blinding in her peppiness. The long, honey-brown strands of her hair were pulled back into a half ponytail, secured by little braids extending from above her ears back. Her hand rubbed his ankle methodically. He knew she was only trying to be encouraging, but it only increased the desire to pull away ten fold.

"Good morning, Heero! There's some orange juice for you on the table," Relena said sweetly.

Heero glanced at the bedside table and grunted a thank you. He picked up the cool glass and tried desperately to quench the perpetual dryness of his mouth with something other than the memory of how the gypsy had tasted.

"My, you're late getting up. Are you feeling alright now?"

"What time is it?"

"It's almost ten 'o' clock, Heero. But I came this morning to see if you were alright after the party last night, and you seemed very sick!" she said worriedly. The blonde turned to sit on the bed and stroked her hand along his calf, her cornflower blue eyes liquid with concern.

"I was?" he narrowed his eyes, his lips pressed against the rim of the glass. "I don't remember feeling sick."

She watched him take long-drawn drinks from the fresh orange juice, then nodded. Relena's voice was all squeaky-clean innocence and her painted red nails trailed along the bones in his ankle. "Yeah, you were moaning so loudly in your sleep. You must have had a very high fever. But it passed by morning, I guess."

Heero sputtered on his orange juice, remembering in bright vision what he had dreamed that night.

"Be careful, Heero!" she cried out in concern, crawling up and easing the glass down from the dark-haired man's mouth. "You shouldn't drink it so fast like that. You're going to upset your stomach, chugging it down like that! You boys…!"

Wiping off the trails of orange citrus off his chin, the Japanese man nodded wordlessly in agreement. It was getting worse. He had so difficulty keeping his mind away from that seducer, that odd-eyed gypsy it was getting almost physical. He hadn't been made out of nicotine-it'd only been a few hours for Christ's sakes. Meanwhile, Relena's lean arm wrapped around his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and she stroked his shoulder like the clingy blonde she was becoming. She even moved a strand of disheveled brown hair from his face with an affectionate smile on her face. "I think you need to stay in bed for a while. Don't you?"

"I don't care," Heero mumbled.

Her lanky, manicured hand pressed against his forehead without invitation, and his dark blue eyes flickered toward it. The annoyance was clear to see in his eyes, though it never had dawned on the poor girl that he didn't like unnecessary contact. It likely never would.

"You don't seem very warm," she said to herself, biting girlishly on her lip. "But I think you should stay in bed today anyway."

"No. I've got work to do." The Japanese man sat up and was about to peel back the starched white comforter and start the day as unwilling as he was to do so. "I have a schedule to keep. I'm out of food, and I've got a major social sciences report to research."

"Heero, please go easy on yourself. You look exhausted!" She pleaded with her eyes as well. "It's vacation! You'll have plenty of time for that, but for now just rest. Please!"

"I'm fine." What she had said was true, though, and he had to lie to block it. He was exhausted through and through to his bones, and he knew exactly who had exhausted him. In his own manufactured dreams, with the glittering jewelry and cat-like smiles. The gypsy. The gypsy with his violet eyes centering in his clean-cut, heart-shaped face, and the voice of Eros. And clipping little sarcastic bites coming out of his mouth whenever they pleased, which was somehow intensely attractive.

"I just need some breakfast then I'll be the same as ever," he grumbled, scratching at his bushy bed hair. "You're overreacting about this, Relena. You know I never get sick so easily."

Her face shifted to disappointment, and she forced her hand on his shoulder. He dared not to brush it away though it was all he could think of doing right now. Even if he had a genuine affection for her, he wouldn't have been able to face her after a near fling with a boy in a Romany costume and jewelry on his wrist. He wished he had had a fling, he wished he had been thrown on the ground and ravished, if only once, if only to be abandoned once the sun rose. At least then, he could have had everything he wanted with the same amount of guilt unloaded on his shoulders. It would give the girl a reason to hate him and walk out without having to crush her heart in his very hand himself.

"Where were you last night, Heero? I went looking for you."

Damn it. He couldn't do this.

"I stopped at a bar for a while, Relena." He turned his prussian blue eyes finally to look at his so-called girlfriend, and found no ache in his stomach nor affectionate ache in his heart looking at that face of beautiful but plain blue eyes, and beautiful but plain wheat yellow hair. But that was no reason to shatter the only friendship he had ever had in earnest. "That's all."

"Oh, alright."

Heero flinched. It was too easy for her to accept what he said; it stung him to know he was breaking the innocent's heart without her even knowing it. But he couldn't pretend forever. The girl with the cornflower blue eyes just added to the large black hole forever growing within himself. She was another tooth on the bear trap of life closing in on him.

He looked at her again, almost regretfully, and noticed something that might have made him suspicious if he weren't so tired. "Why aren't you hungover? You had much stronger stuff to drink than I did."

"I took a chaser," she said sweetly, though it was strange to hear it from the innocent mouth of his adoptive sister. "I'm sorry, do you want one? I have some in my purse. I'm sure it might make you feel better-"

"No, it's fine."

"Heero, I think you should stay in bed for today," she implored again, this time sounding sweeter and more genuine only for the doubts in the Japanese boy's mind. "I don't want you to go making yourself even more sick than you are."

He searched her face tiredly, then sighed and lay back down. He wouldn't break her innocent little spirit today, even though everything she did reminded him more and more. More and more.

Heero lay in bed for another few hours beneath the white covers. He drank the rest of his orange juice without event and accepted the breakfast that Relena brought to his bed in a paper bag from a local donut shop with a faint, listless smile. His girlfriend first propped him up at the head of the bed with an array of carefully placed pillows so that he could lie down and still view the television. She would most often sit at the foot of the bed, considerately massaging the tense lines in the bottom of his feet with her uninteresting, shy fingertips. For a few minutes, they sat in silence and the room was filled only with the noises from the television, flickering from channel to channel at the blonde girl's questionable discretion.

It was ended when the remote control finally surfed around to the ever-prestigious CNN and fed their eyes with an image of Relena's father and major political figure. He was being interviewed in studio with a blonde reporter about the current issues of the world, the topic in white letters at the bottom of the screen, intermittently flipping from name to topic and back. Then, Relena began to touch endlessly on the subject of her father.

And Heero found it was equally comfortable to put his head beneath the pillows as it was to lie on top of them.

She talked at lengths and more lengths of her father's politics and his great deeds for humanity, almost as proficiently as a political figure herself. Economy, school systems, conflicts with bordering territories and countries. And the most controversial-the piece de resistance-the ever talked about issue of Nekos and their conflicts with the human race. It was what every politician seemed to focus on intently. It was almost an invasion of sorts to the American public, a constant threat to be considered highly dangerous and keep the terror alert at a constant burning color. The Nekos were a feline, humanoid race sprouting from the days of old, and were the fuel for hundreds of frightening myths told to keep children behaving. They were said to have no human ears, only a furry feline pair on the top of their heads, usually with brown, orange, or grey humanoid hair. Their eyes were definitely credited to their feline ancestry, with large, slit pupils with an impossible array of iris colors from pitch black to brilliant red. They had generally humanoid bodies, gentle fur extending up their arms, feline tails, and superhuman senses and reflexes. The only reason they didn't begin to overpopulate human beings was because of their relatively short life spans and tough, carnivorous lifestyle in the cold wilds. But they were no cavemen. Nekos were just as proficient with languages as human beings, if not better, for they all spoke a feline native tongue and could master any other human dialect they chose. They were creative and strongly bonded with their kin and rarely had the warring skirmishes of mankind. Environmental, clever, and highly matriarchal.

There were even two unique strains of the half-cat, half-human sentient creatures. One, the Northerns, lived in the upper parts of North America, Asia, and Europe, while the Equatorials had lived in central Africa until their extinction some centuries ago by the heavy hand of poachers. The Northerns were darker and more exclusive, while the Equatorials had been bolder and mostly golden-colored. They were ruthless night hunters as well. Until the most modern of days, the mysterious race was more than happy to live separate of mankind in their own arctic homeland. That was until they mysteriously couldn't sustain themselves where they had lived for thousands of years, and were forced to move south into populated areas and merge into human cities. Many of these were the older kinsmen who didn't speak the human languages and were unusually hostile to "ignorant" humans, spreading animosity to the young ones just as human cultures had about Nekos.

That's when it had begun. This waging of war, of sorts. Nekos were fighting to gain rights in America, and humans were fighting to keep the savage beasts away from their families. After a few human children slaughtered in spite and a massive Neko hunt ensuing, it had spiraled out of control. Killings, bounties, and organized attacks ruled the day, while Americans lived in fear and innocent Nekos were hunted down and skinned alive, and the politicians scrambled frantically to bring a healthy, media-friendly end to it all. And Relena's father was one of those men.

His most accredited action was the decision to pull a large group of soldiers from an unseen Neko nest inside human borders and narrowly saved them from being slaughtered. Since that day, he'd been slowly climbing the pack of political figures and popularity, toward an almost inevitable presidential candidate nomination.

"Those terrible things," Relena said darkly under her breath, most likely just agreeing with something her father had said in the interview. Few people knew anything about the Nekos aside from the tales that they would suck the bones from your still living body if you didn't finish your vegetables or go to bed early. The only reason Heero had been even partially educated was because of a long report he'd done on it in freshmen year.

"I hope we never see one of those creatures, Heero. That would be awful. They'd kill us on sight!"

"Sure," the man sighed. He pressed the pillow tighter around his head and attempted to fall back asleep. "Terrible."

Like an old man long tormented by his wife's aggravating words, which were protected by her innocence, he had learned to just agree vaguely in order to stay out of trouble. To be left in peace.

Relena made a disgusted face tinged with hatred on her face, an expression that did not take on her innocent features. She folded her arms tightly. "Nasty things," she hissed at the television screen. The ignorant animadversion was palatable in her voice, though she had no idea of what she criticizing, judging by her lack of studies in class most of the time. "My father is going to get rid off them. He's a good leader, and because of him we'll all be safe to let our children play outside again."

The Japanese man's eyes, in the shadows beneath the covers, flickered dully, being somehow reminded of the strange, delicate scent of the bohemian on his clothes and his hand lingering for hours afterward. It was torturous.

Meanwhile, Relena put the remote control down by his hand as she left the room for the bathroom. Once she had shut the door, he grumbled and lifted his head from under the pillow. He had had enough of listening to all of Peacecrafts preaching, though he still respected the family very dearly and appreciated the generosity they had shown to take him in. He flipped through the channels for a few seconds and quickly grew tired of the surfing around. He adjusted himself against the pillow so he was sitting somewhat upright, and lifted the remote up so he could distinguish the numbers on the buttons. The image of CNN and the regally suited and regally tongued Peacecraft was exchanged for the local news channel and a young ethnic anchorwoman shuffling with her papers. The camera readjusted on a close up as the caption came on underneath a tiny computerized graphic.

"Tonight, the top story is one of great concern for the greater metropolitan area. A warranted criminal, just recently identified as a very successful con man, has disappeared from police radar in New York City and is suspected to be traveling through our area."

Heero grunted unhappily to himself. Another thing to upset Relena and cause her to cut the circulation from his arm in panic whenever they stepped outside.

On the screen, they flickered from the anchorwoman's average face to blurry images of a young man taken from a far and in bad conditions, peoples' heads and buildings obstructing the view. One of a man in an alley, walking quickly. Another of him, in a rational suit, dealing cars to what appeared to be an unsuspecting customer. The most noticeable thing was long plait of hair that seemed to disappear and reappear in the different angles of photos, sometimes tucked in to a shirt or sweater or hung over his shoulder. Something vague and suspicious reacted in the pit of his stomach as he watched, and the woman's voice resumed.

"This twenty-four-year-old man has been conning at large in nearly every state, at every imaginable business. His arrest warrant was issued two days ago, after he was caught forging checks in a Manhattan restaurant. Though not much is known about him or his whereabouts, police have identified him as extremely crafty and most likely armed and dangerous. The reward for Duo Maxwell's capture or any information leading to his arrest has risen as of late from $1,000 to $25,000 after he was identified as a clerk who laundered thousands from a Washington D.C. bank last October."

The image changed to a close up of an obviously false I.D. with a large emphasis on the portrait in the corner. It was the only clear picture they had captured of him, but his face was still somewhat shielded by a black baseball cap.

"He may be using any number of clever aliases or business fronts to keep himself hidden. His most distinctive feature is his unusually long hair, which he keeps braided at all times. Despite this obvious telltale sign, police are still having trouble finding this con man. If you have an information of his whereabouts, we urge you to call us at…"

Heero only blinked quietly as he stared at the image of the bohemian on the screen, hovering over a criminal hot line number. His face was stone still. The colors of the screen danced across his face as it shifted back to the anchorwoman's face, plastered with a false concern.

The door to the room opened casually and Relena reentered, wiping her hands on the side of her conservative pink dress. She glanced to his face and noticed something strange in the way he blankly lost himself in the television screen, normally being a man opposed indulging in such a brain-rotting thing.

Heero, meanwhile, lifted his wrist and frowned sourly at it.

"Heero, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Relena." He didn't bother looking at her.

The blonde girl mouthed a quiet, "Alright," and turned he attention to what he was watching with such devotion. "What's happening in the news?"

The anchorwoman, in her pale blue business suit and high turtleneck, stared unknowingly back into the Japanese man's flat blue eyes as she finished up the report. "Police also urge you that if you do see this man, that you do not attempt to capture him yourself. He is, we repeat, suspected to be armed and dangerous. Authorities believe that he also may be a--"

The power to the TV cut and the screen went black, as Heero put the remote calmly down on the bedside table. He pushed aside the empty glass and rummaged under a stack of loose-leaf papers for his keys. All while his girlfriend watched him in silence. After retrieving all he wanted, he flung the covers off of him and sat on the edge of the bed still without clothes. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes dull, at the blonde woman in his room and she met that look with an expression of curiosity.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "You know you should be staying in bed today."

Without grunt or snort of response, he turned back to face the wall and stood up. He went to his dark wood dresser and began to dress quietly, giving almost no sign that he even acknowledged her presence behind him. Mechanically, he picked out a pair of black slacks and simple white dress shirt, one that made him think of the frills of fabric around the bohemian's neckline. They were already folded into neat, immaculate squares, and after selecting underwear and socks, he secured the clothing under his arm and smoothed out the comforter with the other. Heero spread the various articles out, as he had done in routine for every week of his life since the passing of his parents, and dressed methodically.

'Heero?" Relena implored again, walking up to his side and in concern, placing her hand on his arm as he finished adjusting the sleeves. "What are you doing?"

He brushed her off innocuously, but face vacant and visibly cool to her display of consideration. He walked silently across the white room and opened his closet door. A mechanical click ensued; light flooded the small compartment and the pale incandescent light bulb rocked rhythmically back and forth above his head.

"Heero!" she snapped after him.

The Japanese man browsed casually through the assortment of ties strung along the wall of his closet with no more flair than a moving corpse. Dark ones, pinstripes of black and white, diagonally colored strips alike. He chose a simple, matte black tie and strung it effortlessly around his neck and into a smooth and graceful knot.

"Why won't you even speak to me, Heero? What's wrong?"

Heero smoothly moved back to the bedside table, retrieved the keys and adjusted himself in the tiny mirror laying there, Prussian eyes detached and cold. Very cold. Something had taken a hold of him, and it fretted away at the fragile nerves of his girlfriend. She stood beside the bed, staring at him, anger and sadness finding an ambiguous middle ground in her innocent looking eyes. They pleaded in his direction, lamented even.

"Heero, please say something to me."

He glanced back at her, paused in his fluid motion, but only brushed by on his way to the door. On his way out, he was apt to notice the sound of heels following him through his spacious wood floored empty living room. When he skimmed through the kitchen and into the hallway, she began to trot hurriedly after him.

"Heero!"

Without a word, he opened the door and paused to scan his gaze over the array of locks on the edge. His precise blue eyes flickered momentarily toward the woman following him, just turning the corner, then back to the large, rusty dead bolt at eye-level with him. With a powerful appliance of force, he inched the lock to a semi-closed position and slammed the door, jarring it into place. The man gave one last look before the door closed completely, and he waited for the response of his girlfriend.

"Heero, come back!"

One or twice her hand beat on the door. But nothing threatening. It was like a humming bird tapping at a brick wall. Then she began to claw at the deadbolt he'd forced into place and squealed in frustration.

She never had been strong enough to move that rusty thing.

Heero put his hands calmly into the pocket of his black slack pants, and stepped lightly down the stairs at the end of the hall. He passed the fire engine red fire extinguisher and exit sign on the wall as he took a right. He nudged the glass door open with his hip, stepping impassively out in to the stark, innocent sunlight of the parking lot.