Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ War Above the Clouds ❯ Thowing down the gauntlet ( Chapter 2 )

Quatre sat out on the main balcony enjoying his tea and the morning's artistry. Colony sunrises were usually the same and artificially colored but the colors were so pure that a thin rind of green could be seen between the gold and the blue. He heard Duo off in the distance, pounding nails, impatient to get his house done. Quatre smiled. All that energy…maybe he had had a bag of sugar for breakfast? Wu Fei was off somewhere, researching and finding authentic pieces for the finishing touches on his Chinese temple. Heero, unusually, seemed to be sleeping in. The morning was his to enjoy alone. Until.

"Master Quatre! Master Quatre!" The head servant burst out onto the balcony. Quatre spilled his tea.

"Corbin? What's the matter?" Quatre didn't notice the tea that had spilled in his bowl of Fruit Loops.

"Sorry, Master Quatre, nothing's wrong, it's just that you have a visitor that you might want to welcome." Corbin's eyes sparkled with a secret and he retreated back through the doors.

"Who is it?" Quatre stood up to follow but a familiar shadow emerged.

"Trowa…? Trowa! I'm so happy to see you!" Quatre started to rush forward but his heart suddenly constricted. He gasped and clutched at his heart. Trowa, what happened?

"Quatre! Are you ok? I didn't know that I was so frightening." Trowa furrowed his brows.

"No, no. I'm fine." Quatre took a deep breath and smiled bravely. "But Trowa, you're here to stay, aren't you?"

Trowa smiled back. "If the offer still stands."

"Of course it does." His body relaxed. "But what…why, I mean…" Trowa killed the smile. Quatre relented. "It's ok, you don't have to say so unless you want to. I'm just glad you're here." An awkward pause that was charged with all that wanted expression lay thick and heavy. "Um, have you had breakfast yet? I'm indulging today…Fruit Loops!" Trowa made a sour face at the bowl.
"With tea?"

"But I always have tea!"

"In your cereal?" Quatre looked and fell over in classic anime-style. "Apparently not. I'll go and see if there's anything else."

"Trowa Barton."

Trowa stopped short and smiled lightly at the emerging figure. "Heero Yuy. How the hell are you?"

"Starving. It's breakfast time."

"Quatre ruined his Fruit Loops, and it doesn't look like there's anything else left." Trowa indicated the near-empty table.

"What are you talking about? On nice mornings we eat out here, but Corbin always has our breakfast set inside…didn't you notice the table full of food when you were just in there?" Heero looked closely at Trowa's drained face. "You're usually sharper than that."

"You're right. I think I just need something to eat."

Quatre busied himself with his soggy cereal. "Heero, you're up late."

"Had a long night." Heero said absently, watching Trowa thoughtfully.

Mombasa Sargassi, executor of the Winner Estate, opened the doors to Quatre's office precursed only by a short, heavy knock. Quatre was focused on his work, and was mildly irritated at the quasi-rude interruption.

"Mombasa. What can I help you with?" Quatre tapped his pen.
"Quatre, I still don't think it's prudent to let these boys stay here. I have nothing personal against them, they are war heroes after all, and they are earning their own keep…Trowa Barton just arrived and I assume that he will be working…so I am convinced that they aren't here for your money, but they're all rather unstable, with dark, tragic, and spotty pasts, and I don't feel that this is a good situation." Mombasa lowered his bulk into a sturdy oak chair, his thick lips pursed and white. Quatre groaned with irritation and buried his face in his hands then pushed his fingers back through his hair until it stood on end.

"Are you still going on about that? I thought I made it clear to you that I want them here. I trust them. Completely. Call it selfishness, but it makes me happy to have them here with me. I wouldn't have asked any of them to stay if they wanted my money. Their motives are too pure for that. Letting them live here like this might give them a chance to learn to become more stable, maybe even learn to be happy. We're becoming like a family, they're helping each other build their houses, I even go down and help everyday. Sometimes we argue but we always try to have meals together. They're not living off of me. They have their independence. Give them a chance, and give this a rest, I'm tired of making this same speech to you! I hate it how you insist on treating me like child!" His face was flushed and stood half-way out of his chair.
"Straighten your hair, it's a mess."

Quatre narrowed his eyes and sat back down. "Thanks for your concern, but sometimes you worry too much."
"Well, at least I'm doing my job!" He huffed.

"Your job is executor, not governess."

Mombasa purpled. "My duties as executor preclude keeping you safe at least until you turn 18."

"I survived a war, so I'm positive that I can handle life at home and at work."

"Sometimes, life is more lethal than war." Mombasa said quietly. "How do you think I lost my family?"

"Your family…?" Quatre's anger and irritation evaporated.

"Yes, did you ever wonder about my family?"

"Well, sure, but…"

Mombasa leaned forward, his bulk quaking, and spoke heavily. "They were murdered."

"Mombasa…I-I'm sorry. But how, why?"

"That's all I can say about it. Just like your Father was murdered." He quickly got up and left the room. Quatre was stunned, and after a few minutes of nothing, he cursed and went out to help Duo pound some nails.

~~~~~~

Duo's house was finally complete. He lay content in his own bed in his own home. The scent of fresh paint and milled wood were a heady mixture that made him feel sad. Or was he just happy? He laughed out loud at himself and wondered.

~~~~~~

An unremarkable iron door was set deep into the alley wall. It was the sort of door that no one could really recall seeing, not even the occasional bum that took shelter there for the night. But Duo knew exactly where he was going. Although the door was old and thick with rust it still remembered him and happily pulled itself apart wide enough to let him enter. It instantly sealed up after him, and Duo began to stride down the long hall, turning left, right, right, left, right, up, down, and out into a Desert. He knew every corner of this sub-dimension, it was only truly safe place for a street kid. A prickly old cactus glided over to him. Duo screeched with joy and hugged it.

"Asafum! I'm happy to see you!"

"Duo. What the hell do you want?" Growled Asafum as he changed into a crotchety old Chinese man and awkwardly patted the boy's head.

"I'm glad you're in a cheerful mood today." Said Duo without a hint of sarcasm.

"Yeah, well my new crop of beetlewort has come in nicely, and it's about time, too! So what the hell do you want, Duo? No one comes to see me unless they want something."

"Asafum, I came to see you. You're my mentor, remember?"

"Yeah, I bet you've practiced a lot in the last year that you've been screwing around, haven't you?"

Duo blushed. "Well, um, no, not like I should've, but I was fighting a war, remember? Hey, I've got that bone-mending spell pat!"

"Hmph."

"I want to continue my training…"

"I see. Well, for a dimwit, you have a lot of talent. But I've got to harvest and store that Beetlewort first, so it will take me a month before we can even think about doing anything else. I don't want your help because I know you'll end up storing my beetlewort in that endless stomach of yours." Duo turned green. "I want you to go home, but take this book and study it -if you can figure it out- before we begin."

"What book?"

"Oh, of course, getting ahead of myself. Crash Course Come!" He thundered. A small book bound in black leather with white trim shot from a nearby rock.

"I like your new décor."

"So what? Here's your book and make sure you read it before we restart your training, got it? Come see me in a month."

"Thanks Asafum! "

"Get outta here kid." He growled affectionately.

~~~~~

Duo picked up the old book from his bedside table and thumbed through it. It had been his for years and he was still no closer to figuring it out. Asafum had O'd on his own damn beetlewort before they could begin. His stomach growled from hunger. He glanced at the clock that read 18:00.

"Oh yeah! Dinnertime! Wu Fei's night to cook!" He laid the book down, ran out the door, spun around, and ran backwards to look at his house. American Gothic painted purple and… going surreal? Hehe, he had tripped. He brushed off his pants and ran -forwards- to Wu Fei's Chinese Temple for dinner. Who knew that Wu Fei was a gourmet chef? Duo sniggered just thinking about Wu Fe's new nickname: The Iron Chef. Wu always got so mad, but he loved it, he just refused to admit it The heavy temple doors were shut and the lights were off. "This is strange… Wu Fei always cooks for us on Thursdays. Well, maybe he went to Quatre's…Quatre…oh shit, how in the hell could I have possibly forgotten after we've been talking about it all week?"

"Duo! Where the hell have you been? We've been waiting for you! You're not wearing that to Quatre's birthday party, are you?" Chided Rashid.

"Rashid! Hi! Good to see you! Oh Shit! I forgot!" Panted Duo.

"Good to see you too, but hurry up and go put on something decent!"

Duo looked at himself. Grubby work pants, black work boots, and a Heero Yuy green tank top…what the hell was the matter with him today? He ran back to his house and searched through his closet….damn, nothing fit for Quatre's party was clean. Asafum's book laid on the bedside table.

Duo quickly flipped through the book. As usual, it was blank.

"Damn you, Asafum! You're no help. Where the hell is a spell?" He heard a soft "pop" and a spell appeared on the page before him. Duo screeched. "Was that all it took? A rhyme? Eesh."

He read silently, knowing that one mispronunciation could earn him a pair of elephant balls, or worse. He stood still, cleared his mind, concentrating.

"Here is a spell

to make me look swell.

Hair brushed and clean,

my body is long and lean.

Suit of black and white

and shoes the same."

"Ugh, how cheesy!" Duo groaned. The tie binding his braid was coming undone and the weaves of his braid was coming loose, his clothes were disintegrating, and his shoes were sinking into the floor. A full-length mirror showed off his lithe, muscular body. A dozen little scrub brushes gave him a whore's bath, and then he noticed a hairbrush appear and began to smooth out his hair. Unfortunately it seemed to have its own ideas and began to sculpt a beehive. "Ack! My hair!" Duo flipped through the book, which had revealed all of its wares, and began to chant:

"My hair- long and sleek-

in a braid looks tres chic!"
The brush tamed the bouffant back into long straight strands. The brush disappeared and his hair wove itself back into a perfect braid. Meanwhile, black and white wing tips appeared on his feet while thousands of silk worms crawled out of the floor and began to weave around him. Black silk slacks, white silk shirt with a mandarin collar, and a black silk vest swiftly materialized on his body. He turned around, looking at himself from all angles.

"I could get to like this! This is better than a fairy godmother! You guys have great taste! Gotta jet!"

Quatre sighed as he finished brushing his hair. He stared at the tears splashing onto his vanity table. Father had always taken great joy in planning fantastic birthday parties for him. Now Mombasa saw to them and they were so stuffy! One more year until he would turn 18 and could take these matters into his own hands. Meanwhile, he would just have to deal with what was more like a state dinner than a good time for a teenage man-child! A knock on the door brought him back to the present. He quickly wiped away his tears and made himself presentable.

"Yes? It's open!" He called. Rashid strode in.

"Master Quatre, perhaps you and the other boys would like to come to a real party after the morgue closes up for the night? We decided that we weren't going to come all this way without making sure that you actually get to enjoy yourself!" Quatre's eyes welled up again and sparkled beautifully.

"Rashid! Thank-you! You don't have to, but of course I would be happy to come!"

"Very good. I'll come get you when we're ready. Mombasa's apartment is in the other wing of the house, right?"

"Sure."

"Mombasa never did appreciate our presence."

"But you know I do, Rashid!" Said Quatre fiercely.

"I know, thank you Quatre." Rashid murmured as he slipped away, closing the door behind him.

"It's wonderful when people care about each other. But why is there still a hole in my heart that has yet to be mended?"

Duo slid into his seat between Heero and Wufei just as the salads were being served.

"Maxwell, you finally got some taste in clothes!" Said Wufei, eyeing the mandarin collar appreciatively. Duo couldn't retort; his mouth was already stuffed with salad. "When did Wufei ever care about what anybody was wearing?"

"Duo!" Exclaimed Quatre. "I'm glad you made it!" Quatre caught Duo between mouthfuls.

"Oh, yeah, I was just taking care of some unfinished business."

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah, it's great!"

"You seem different somehow."

"It must be the clothes," said Wufei.

"Wu, since when did you ever give a tinker's cuss about what anybody wears?"

"I don't. I just think it's great that you're taking an interest in my culture."

"So, when is the Iron Chef giving lessons?"

Wu Fei harrumphed, but before he could retort…

Mombasa stood up, rapping on his water glass with a fork. He looked down the full length of the vast banquet table, paused, and began the customary birthday speech.

"Family, friends. Thank you all for coming to the 17th birthday celebration of the hope and the future for the Winner family, Quatre Rababera Winner! In one year from today, he will be 18 and will come into his full inheritance of the Winner family fortune. As we all know, he has demonstrated exceptional leadership abilities and bravery during the war and there is no doubt that he will make a fine heir. However, when he became a Gundam Pilot, he directly disobeyed his Father and his pacifist beliefs. This upset him enough to write in extra conditions to Quatre's inheritance. Mr. Winner did not complete the document before his death, but it is still legally binding. Mr. Winner loved his son, of that there is no doubt, and these conditions are fully intended to protect, show love for his son, and hopefully guide him back to the correct path." Mombasa cleared his throat, and Corbin came forward, ceremoniously bearing a sealed papyrus envelope. "Thank you. I shall make public these conditions:

I, Raberba Kundalini Winner, do hereby swear that I am of competent mind and request the following supplemental conditions to be added to the existing conditions of the inheritance of my son and heir, Quatre Raberba Winner. In order to become heir he must complete these tasks:He will personally destroy any Mobile Suits in his possession. He will not do business with those that manufacture, buy, sell, support the use of, or trade in weapons. He will swear to total pacifism. He will marry by his eighteenth birthday, adhering to all marriage laws of Moslem tradition."

Signed by: Raberba Kundalini Winner

Witnessed by: Kirby Morrow

Brad Swaille

Mombasa finished to meet a tense silence. The corner of Trowa's eye was twitching and he gripped his fork, wondering, briefly, who the hell was Kirby Morrow? Everyone stared at Quatre, waiting for his stony expression to react. He drew in a shuddering breath and stood up.

"Please let me see that document." Mombasa nodded curtly and reluctantly handed it over. Quatre carefully read it. "Will you all please excuse Mombasa and me? We must have a few words in private." Quatre tilted his head up slightly, eyes flat, and strode out of the room. Mombasa watched him for a moment, then followed him to the offices. The crowd began to murmur quietly while the servants served the soup.