Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trouble ❯ Shinigami ( Chapter 3 )

Title: Trouble: Shinigami

Author: mao

Disclaimer: GundamW characters, likenesses, and plot lines are property of T.V. Asahi, Sunrise, the Sotsu Agency, Bandai, and the Cartoon Network. The story is mine and you may have it if you ask nicely.

Author's Notes: When did I get so nasty? Geez, this is worse than the last two parts, but that's to be expected because it's the last one. Enjoy, and be sure to tell me what you think...the waiting for reviews is driving me nuts!

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual content, discussion of rape.

She stood in front of the ticket counter, confused. She was scheduled to return to her flat on the L3 cluster that day - though she had a mansion to live in, left to her by her grandfather, she hated going there because it was full of memories of her grandfather, her father, her mother. People she'd tried long and hard to forget, because they'd all caused her pain in some way. She stood in front of the ticket counter, wondering what she could be thinking, sleeping with him. I'm just a stupid, silly little slut...

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jeans, despondent. She was waiting to check her baggage when she pulled out the threads of hair from her pocket, looking at their gleaming amber glow in the hideous fluorescent light of the shuttle port. As she looked at them, several things became very clear to her. As she reached the front of the line, she stuffed the lock of hair back into her pocket, and heard her own voice speaking, as if in a daze, to the flirtatious young man at the counter.

"And how may I help you today, ma'am?" He asked, leaning over the counter to speak to her.

"I'm scheduled for a flight today to L3. I would like to change my reservation, if I may." She told him, amazed that her mind seemed to have taken leave of her body and was absently watching this exchange. He leaned back and began typing numbers in the computer.

"Name please?" She smiled slightly, knowing the reaction she'd get before it even came.

"Dorothy Catalonia," her voice was soft, but unmistakably the same voice he'd heard preaching about peace over the airwaves of his little radio. His jaw dropped just a little; he'd dealt with famous people before, but never someone who was actually important.He stood a bit straighter, noticing how attractive and young she was, and typed a few more numbers in.

"Ok, what kind of a change would you like to make?" He asked once he'd regained his composure and entered her account. God, she was pretty...he wondered if she would like to meet him when he got off work, or next time she was in the area.

"Is there a flight to L2 today?"

He fiddled around for a moment. "Two. The 13.47 has one available slot, and the 18.17 has four," he told her. "But there's a fifteen credit charge for switching flights on such short notice."

"That's no problem," she told him, pulling out her card. "I'll take the 13.47." He swiped her card and handed it back to her, then tapped out a few more things. Finally, a print-out came up, and he handed her a pen to sign. She did so, and he handed her another piece of paper.

"Could I, uh, have your number?" She rolled her eyes and fled.

"M-A-X-W-E-L-L," he told the boy behind the counter. God, give me strength to handle this idiot, he prayed quickly, wondering how someone so stupid got a job in service.

"Ok, Mr. Maxwell, the first flight we have available is at 18.17," the idiot said. Duo shook his head in annoyance.

"You have nothing before then?" He checked. That was still almost five hours away, and he couldn't possibly wait here that long, could he? He'd explode.

"We had one slot this morning on the 13.47, but you'd never make it now - it's less than ten minutes. Besides, it was taken by some politician." Duo had been on the verge of screaming at this imbecile, but the boy's words stopped him.

"Politician?" His heard skipped a beat. "Do you happen to know which one it was?"

"I don't, but I can find out for you," the boy said, and called down the counter to an older man who was just finishing up with his line. "Oi, Reggie, who was that girl you met this morning?" The other clerk walked over, his pace sluggish. Duo checked his watch - nine minutes until the shuttle left.

"Oh, it was Dorothy Catalonia." The older guy slouched and shot them both a nasty grin. "God, she is such a fox! I just have to wonder what it would be like to sleep with her," he confided in the two of them. Duo half-hid a smile, knowing he'd had what these two could only dream about. "I mean, she can't be too bright, but she's gotta be a great lay, you know what I mean?" He nudged the younger boy next to him. "I hear she's got a mouth like a hoover." Duo's smile grew brittle and cracked, and he forced himself not to reach into his bag, pull out nail clippers, and castrate both clerks right there.

"She took that flight?" He checked quickly.

"Yeah," Reggie said. "But she didn't give me her digits. Kinda pissed me off, you know, all high an' mighty like that," he continued to the two men, but Duo had already vanished, taking off down the terminal at top speed. He arrived at the gate just in time to see the doors close. He collided with a young stewardess who'd just stepped from the shuttle and was shutting the doors.

"Please don't close up yet!" He puffed, stopped as he fell over her.

"Sir, the shuttle has to take off. Please step out of my way so I can close the doors!" She ordered more than asked, and shoved him rudely out of the way. He found himself standing in front of a window as the shuttle took off, and watched it leave the atmosphere at top speed, its jets firing in a blinding flash of gold and vermilion flames.

She gazed out the window as the shuttle took off, confused and angry and unable to bear what seemed to be happening. She'd found her oldest friend only to lose him - she'd found a wonderful lover only to drive him away - she'd found a good man only to hurt him.

She leaned the silk of her cheek on her hand and gazed out the window, watching the shuttle port gradually growing smaller and smaller as they sped away from it. She had the odd feeling for a moment that maybe she'd done something wrong, and should have taken the later shuttle, but then the nice old lady next to her struck up a conversation, asking her what she knew about L2, and the sensation became fleeting, gone in the blink of an eye.

Eventually she dozed off, waking at the landing of the shuttle on L2. As it docked, she attempted to get her bearings together, collect her belongings, fix the hat she wore and put her shoes back on her feet. She needn't worry about things like wearing a coat, because the colony was climate-controlled. She left the station, bags in hand, and found herself on the curb.

It was then she realized she had no clue where to go. She hadn't the faintest clue where Duo lived or what Hilde's last name was, so she couldn't even find a place to look it up. She'd taken a fifteen credit charge, gone far from home, far from her flight, switched her flight, all for him, but it had never occurred to her to find out where he lived so she could track him down. She knew he had mentioned the name of the salvage yard he worked at, but the night before had become such a blur that she found herself sitting on the curb in the artificial night, blinking away tears. She was furious with herself for, for the first time in her life, not thinking ahead far enough to wonder what would become of her when she reached L2, how she would get to her destination. She'd been a fool.

Somehow, she found the tube, lugging her baggage, and ended up in the part of L2 she knew. She found herself in front of her the mansion her grandfather had rented out during their stay, the building still well-kept, the gardens continuously lush and beautiful. She paused at the top of the drive, looking at it with a mixture of confusion, anger, and a slightly wistful gaze before collecting herself again and moving on towards the commercial area.

She wandered the boulevard, looking for a hotel, annoyed and shocked at the lewd scenes around her. Bars and clubs all had young people - people her age, she realized with a shock, though she felt so much older - clustered around outside, gaining entry with bedtime promises and flashes of their cards. It was all obscene, all the people in their tiny tight outfits, all the young girls underdressed and young boys overdressed, cavorting like they were to do all the things she'd done the day before - it shocked and disgusted her, and like an old woman, she hurried to find a hotel.

She found one eventually, booked a room, and hid in it all night, sleepless. The sounds of revelry and crude laughter kept her eyes open, her mind whirling like a top. She sat in the uncomfortable chair by the window, and finally, annoyed, got up to walk.

His shuttle got in early in the morning, and he caught the tube in to his section of L2. He dropped his things off at home, but knew he'd be unable to sleep but for thinking of her. He wandered the streets, laughing off advances from the pretty whores that walked the streets, handing out pocket change to the beggars, fingering the length of hair he'd stuffed hastily in his pocket that morning. He finally came across a small diner, one he frequented.

He walked in, sat at a dirty formica table by the door, fingering with the edge of the table was falling apart. A waitress came over to serve him, and he nodded, indicating the usual, as she poured his cup of coffee.

He wished he'd run just a little faster. He could only hope that she was in fact coming here to look for him. He'd been mildly annoyed that there hadn't been a message waiting for him from her when he got back to Hilde's home, but now, his mind cleared a bit by coffee, it struck him. Of course she hadn't called - she hadn't his phone number, his address, any way to contact him. He barely refrained from slapping his forehead in annoyance. How could he be so stupid, to be angry with her when, for all he knew, she was wandering L2 looking for him, but having no clue where to begin?

He stared into the coffee, pissed off at himself but deciding to eat before looking for her.

She crossed the road as two street punks approached her, unwilling to be spoken to, accosted, or attacked at this time of night. They followed her, the one with the mohawk grinning with broken teeth at the other one, both of them looking decidedly more vicious than she was comfortable with. She walked faster, trying not to look worried and at the same time trying to get away from them. She was rushing along at a brisk pace when she came across the Maxwell Church.

Massive, most of its granite pillars still standing, the wreckage still as intact as wreckage ever is. It shocked her that it hadn't since been cleared away and turned into something else, until she saw the 'L2 Historical Society Walking Tour' sign next to the building. It was more beaten up than it had been, the stone fallen in upon itself, covered in graffiti and crumbling.

"Come on, honey, we know what you want," the man with the mohawk said, getting nearer. His friend approached her from the other side. She'd forgotten them in the moments she'd stood there, gazing like a lost child at the destruction of a building where she'd spent her happiest moments.

"Yeah," the other guy said. "We can make you real happy," and he grinned, teeth like a shark's.

Something in her snapped then. For years, she'd opened her legs or her mouth for anyone who'd asked, anyone who could further her career if she did, or hurt her if she didn't. The night before had been the first time in her life she could recall doing anything by choice - she'd been trussed up like a doll for her family, a whore for her grandfather, a toy for whatever military power wanted her, a bitch for a cause, and was getting back into politics now not because it was the only thing she knew, but because Relena wanted her help and support.

She'd denied herself love because of Relena. Because Relena wanted her to work.

She watched the two punks, seeing how they gained on her, getting ever closer. And then she dove into the heart of the Maxwell Church's wreckage.

He slammed the coffee cup down, even angrier at himself as the seconds wore on. He shouldn't be sitting here, filling his stomach, he should be out looking for her. A Duchess might not know how to handle herself without drawing too much unwanted attention on the dangerous streets of L2.

He stood quickly, calling out to the woman behind the lunch counter. "Rosa, I'll come back for it in a few minutes. I need to go find someone." The redhead nodded absently, too busy flirting with the older gentleman who'd come in and was drinking cup after cup of clack coffee. Duo headed out into the night.

He paused briefly on the sidewalk, wondering where she might have gone. Where was she mostly likely to go? Somewhere she knew, where she'd felt safe.

The Maxwell Church. He started down the road, running to get there.

She had the advantage, having the element of surprise, but she didn't know the building in wreckage form as well as the punks did, and as she scrambled over a particularly large slab of stone, they caught up with her.

"Aw, honey, you don't want to fight us," the one with the mohawk said as he grabbed her arm and wrenched her back. "We're friends." She spat at him, and he backhanded her, his rings cutting a few long gashes on her cheek.

"Now just hold still," the other one said, undoing his belt buckle.

Dorothy lost it, and screamed.

The scream echoed faintly through the streets of L2, and Duo knew it was her. He couldn't explain how he knew, but some fibre in him rang with that scream, knowing it was her, aching to save her from whatever was happening. He sped up, his legs screaming at him in pain as he hurried to her.

She wished for a foil. She'd skewer them and roast them like rats over a fire. As the one was occupied with pulling down his pants and rubbing himself into shape and the other laughing at her scream, she took the opportunity to wrench from the mohawk's grip with a hard elbow into his solar plexus, kick the other hard in the stomach, and make a run for it, down the hall towards what had once been the chapel. After a moment, they rushed after her, cursing her.

"You bitch! I'll get you for that," the one cried about his bruised stomach. The mohawk huffed beside him, gesturing angrily.

She could only run so fast because of all the junk on the floor, all the long charred pieces of wood, the crumbled bits of stone littering the hall. She tripped, regained her footing, and hurried as much as she could before tripping again. Either way though, they were gaining, and she stopped to face them on her own terms.

The mohawk came at her first, being the faster runner. She ducked his lunge, allowing him to fly over, past her, into what remained of the wall, tripping over a pew as he went. A second later, the other rushed her, slower, more cautiously. She kicked, he dodged; she punched, he blocked, grabbing her arm. He was strong, and forced her back easily until she was bent backwards over the altar. The mohawk finally stood and came to hold her arms still while the other unzipped his pants.

She riled up, thinking of all the times she'd been forced into this, thinking of how she only wanted Duo now, could no longer take her mind away. She kicked at the one punk, trying to force him back, but he parted her legs easily, punching her so hard in the stomach she gasped. Even so, she bucked, trying to get free, yelling incoherently.

The mohawk yanked hard on her hair, and she yelped in pain. As the one approached her, she kicked up, over her head, catching the mohawk square in the forehead, knocking him backwards into a column, where he collapsed, unconscious or dead, but she didn't care which. The other grabbed her hands, forcing them over her head, and bound them with his belt.

"You stupid bitch," he muttered. "You're probably more trouble than you're worth," he told her, pulling a knife from his belt. Her eyes widened a little at the sight of it, but she said nothing. He calmly slit her shirt down the front, snipped the straps, and stuffed as much of it as would fit into her mouth. "Now, you're going to be fucking quiet or I'll kill you, is that clear?" He asked rherotically, wrenching her pants downwards, exposing her thighs to the cold stone she lay on. She still didn't respond, but seemed to look disinterestedly behind him, whimpering ever so slightly. He grabbed a breast in each hand, and prepared to enter her.

And then a hand swept across his throat, drawing blood, and the punk collapsed in the gutter.

She'd been kicking ass when he showed up, clearly holding her own against the two bigger men. It wasn't long though before they clearly had the upper hand. It had pained him to wait, but when the punk pulled out a knife, Duo knew he'd have to be careful not to get her or himself killed.

And then he'd pulled down his pants, and Shinigami had filled his mind, beautiful images of destruction, of the death of the man who held her down like a doll, just as her grandfather must have held her down that time he'd heard a scream coming from her house, her little girl voice rising in most eloquent anguish. He picked the knife up off the floor, where the punk had dropped it, and realized Dorothy knew he was there. He crept forward silently, eyes intent with murder and blood lust, and he grabbed the punk by the shoulder.

He slid the knife into the man's throat and across, smooth as butter, just a thin trickle of death falling across the man's neck, a single drop falling to land on Dorothy's bared chest, like a black tear in white cloth, a vortex in space.

He tossed the body aside, and turned back to her, tenderness rushing into his face as he wiped the drop of blood from her, pulled her shirt from her mouth, the belt from her bound wrists, and massaged life back into her.

When she saw his face, there was something different. He wasn't her Duo for a moment; he was someone else, someone ancient, far older, someone with power she would never be able to imagine. The blood dripped onto her, but then it was over, and nothing could make her unhappy as he helped her up, as he cleaned her off, as he removed his shirt to put it on her, the huge shoulders dwarfing her slim frame.

"Are you ok?" He asked. She nodded as they started down the dark street, as she led the way to her hotel.

"I mean, yes. I am," she said after a moment, as the shock wore off. They walked in silence until they reached the door of her suite, where they stood with it propped open, half in and half out, and she started to move inside. He placed a warm, solid hand on her shoulder.

"Why did you come here?" She paused, her head down, moonlit hair covering her face so he had no idea what she was thinking. And then she looked up, all her emotions turned on him full-force so he could hardly speak but for shock.

"Because I want to be with you," she told him. "I'm tired of living for everyone else. It's time I live for me. And living for me means living for you. Living for Shinigami," she told him softly, bringing her hand up to play her fingers over his lips. "That's what I wanted. To be with you, to share your life and your existence, to be your girl."

His face broke into a smile, and he carried her inside.

Sometime later, they lay and watched the dawn come up, golden and dazzling. She lay in his arms, and their collective spread of hair - amber and moonlight - formed their blankets, though neither felt the need to hide their nudity from the other. She dozed a little, playing her hands over his chest, occasionally teasing his nipples, but mostly simply enjoying the closeness.

"I never enjoyed sex until you," she told him after a moment. "I think it's because I care about you as a person," and he smile down at her, kissing the top of her head lightly, the lips lingering longer than they needed to. She shifted, looking awkwardly up into his face. "Why did you help me?"

"Because I heard you scream. Not just last night, but I heard you scream your first time, when we were little. That day I walked you home and your grandfather raped you."

"Old bastard," she interjected, fondling him. He leaned his head back in pleasure and smiled, continuing the explanation.

"When you left me that cross, I promised I'd protect you, you bad girl," he said softly, his voice quickening as she teased him below.

"Am I still a bad girl?" She asked, her voice sultry, leaving behind such sad topics. "Tell me Duo," she continued as she brought him higher. Her voice was smoky now, the voice of bordellos and darkened street corners. "Am I a very naughty girl?"

He laughed as he flipped on top of her. She loved his face like that. "You've always been naughty. But you're my favorite bad girl."

And then there was no more thought.

Finis.