Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ War Story ❯ Chapter 3
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Vinyl-Koneko 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.27.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 437 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Angst / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 06.27.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.6K | Visits: 437 | Status: Completed
+ Title: War Story - Part 3
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
Trowa Barton, as he had been introduced to Heero, was a tall, athletic looking man around Heero's age with deep emerald eyes and an odd fall of hair that covered half of his face. When he spoke Heero could detect traces of a Scottish accent, and he walked with a limp on his right leg. The major couldn't see why the injured leg prevented Barton from flying - especially if he was even half as good a bomber pilot as Quatre suggested - but Heero had also heard Trowa was a damned good mechanic, which was hard individual to come by during wartime.
He also seemed closed off at first, but Trowa quickly relaxed in Quatre's presence, the pair seeming to always be in contact with each other. It did make Heero a little suspicious that the two men were so casual together, but he knew how quickly friendships were formed during hard times because it was easier than facing the realities of the world alone.
The nearby theater had a large screen and was relatively empty for a Saturday evening. They sat in the back, which was fine with Heero since being near the exit made him feel better should a raid begin in the middle of the show.
The newsreels were black and white, going over events such as the bombing in France, the current activities of the Allied front lines, and a look in one of the Jewish ghettos in Poland. The people looked like skeletons: sick children lying in the streets, begging and pleading and crying for food or freedom. The ever-present yellow stars were pinned to their clothing, shreds of fabric much too torn to keep them warm in the approaching winter months. The newsreel then continued to show a montage of the abuse the Gestapo laid down on anything that crossed their path. One particularly disturbing clip was of a young officer "proving himself" by emptying a barrel into a dog, then proceeding to beat the child who had been walking it.
Heero looked over at his companions, noting how Quatre was peeking through his fingers - horrified yet unable to look away. Trowa was caressing the nape of his neck soothingly. On the battlefield the horrors were different. It was soldiers versus soldiers, no matter how you looked at it, but the Nazis attacked people, taking away the anonymity of war.
Roughly an hour and a half after it began, the newsreel ended with a list of ways civilians could help the war effort, which included Victory Gardens and not buying gasoline when they could walk to their jobs or use public transportation.
'It's the same as back home,' Heero thought as the house lights were turned back on. 'Only in London people have seen it first-hand and not just through the videos.' He looked around, noticing that they were the only occupants left in the theater. "Shouldn't we get going now?"
"Um…Heero? There's just something you should know…about us," Quatre's face looked a little pink and he seemed uncertain. "You see…Trowa and I-"
"We're lovers," Trowa interrupted, hurrying to get to the point without beating around the bush.
"We really wanted to fight against the Axis powers, but none of the other groups would take us because of our…sexual preferences, so we're here in London fighting as the underdog to protect a homeland that isn't our own."
Heero sat silent, slowly absorbing the information. He knew by most societies, cultures, and religions that homosexuality was frowned upon and even seen as a punishable crime, but they were also being persecuted against by the Nazis along with the Jews and gypsies. 'What right do I have to hold it against them? They're good men and allies. Why would I want to bring myself to Hitler's level by holding their feelings for each other against them?' Heero noted their subconscious actions, from the way they looked at each other to the support and strength one lent to the other. 'I cannot persecute them for being true to themselves. I should envy them, if anything, because I took the coward's way out by marrying Relena…'
"I don't have a problem with your relationship," Heero admonished, choosing his words carefully. "But I would still be careful if I were you because my opinion doesn't affect the rest of the squadron's or Colonel Marquise's."
The major stood, and was almost bowled over by a sudden hug from Quatre. "Thank you," he said, voice shaky. "This means so much, knowing that there is someone we can trust."
Heero smiled slightly before mentally scolding himself. 'Damn it, Yuy, you are not in this to make friends, remember? This is war. Death of a comrade hurts badly enough, but that of a close friend is ten fold more so.'
"Let's get back to the car," Heero suggested, partially regretting he had joined them at all. Relena had said that it would be good for him to make friends, but what did she know? She was probably back at the house, gossiping with her friends about who else's husband, brother, or son died in battle without actually knowing the true horror of it all: The guilt that follows a man who is forced to play God by taking another's life.
"You want to stop for ice cream on the way back?" Trowa asked. "It's a warm night."
"Okay!" Quatre responded, all for the idea. "You know, Heero, I hadn't even seen ice cream before until I came to London."
They walked back to the car, Quatre going on with a childlike glee about the different flavors he tried and the best way to go about eating it so the ice cream doesn't melt onto your hand. Heero couldn't understand how the blond man could stay so innocent with his experience in battle. He saw a blur of black out of the corner of his eye but didn't think much of it until he found himself on his butt on the ground.
"Whoa, hey, sorry there, buddy, I must not have been looking where I was going!" came a smooth tenor and definitely American voice. Heero looked up to scold his assailant when he was stunned speechless.
The boy appeared just under six feet tall and barely out of his teens. He had a trim look, thin in a wiry instead of scrawny way. His motions were fluid as he offered to help Heero help, extending his hand as he rapidly apologized and chastised himself for being so clumsy. Heero took the offered hand, noting the boy's strong grip as he was pulled back to his feet.
"I didn't cause you any damage, did I?"
"No," Heero mumbled, clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure. "I'm fine." He watched as the boy nervously started to play with the end of his long, chestnut braid. Heero realized he must look royally pissed off because the boy seemed almost afraid of him, so he tried to be more casual about it. "I should have been paying more attention."
That statement brought a smile to the boy's face; the expression lit up his features, giving him a sort of ethereal beauty. Heero's gaze traveled to the boy's eyes, surprised when he saw their color: a bright, expressive indigo that betrayed his every emotion. He seemed to get nervous at the close scrutiny because he twitched again before re-shouldering his bag and giving Heero a jaunty wave. "Well, I better be going now… I am so sorry about that!" He took off running again before Heero had the chance to say anymore.
"Who was that?" Heero turned to Quatre and Trowa, both who had similarly amused expressions on their faces. They just shrugged in response, climbing into the car and heading to the ice cream parlor Quatre held so dearly.
When they returned to the base, Heero unpacked a little and brushed his teeth before changing into his nightclothes. A nagging suspicion told him he would not be getting much sleep that night, as his thoughts were haunted by the entrancing blue-violet eyes of a boy he had run into outside the theater.
Heero groaned and rolled over onto his side. 'I am married to Relena; I am a major in the US Air Force; and above all, I am not fantasizing about a mere boy!' He opened his eyes, got up, and dug out a picture of Relena that she had sent in one of her earlier letters. 'I could learn to love her. It's not like I have feelings for that boy. He was just unusual and captivated my curiosity.' He smirked, satisfied with that explanation before falling asleep.
*~**~*
End Part 3
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: R
+ Couplings: 1xR, 1x2, 3x4
+ Warnings: AU, WWII era, minor het, yaoi, historical fiction, drama, no Wufei
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. If I did, well, let's just say the 1xR and 2xH fans wouldn't be so happy...
+ Comments: // Written //, *emphasis*, 'thought', [ flashback ]. Heero POV. This story was written solely for the 1x2 AU Novella 25,000 Word Fic Challenge. Inspiration hit watching PBS on a lonely Saturday night and wouldn't let me rest until it was done. ^_^
+ Summary: The year is 1942. Heero Yuy, a pilot for the United States Air Force, gets send to command a squadron in London. There he meets a literature student by the name of Duo Maxwell, and he learns sometimes it takes another person to figure out everything about yourself.
*~**~*
Trowa Barton, as he had been introduced to Heero, was a tall, athletic looking man around Heero's age with deep emerald eyes and an odd fall of hair that covered half of his face. When he spoke Heero could detect traces of a Scottish accent, and he walked with a limp on his right leg. The major couldn't see why the injured leg prevented Barton from flying - especially if he was even half as good a bomber pilot as Quatre suggested - but Heero had also heard Trowa was a damned good mechanic, which was hard individual to come by during wartime.
He also seemed closed off at first, but Trowa quickly relaxed in Quatre's presence, the pair seeming to always be in contact with each other. It did make Heero a little suspicious that the two men were so casual together, but he knew how quickly friendships were formed during hard times because it was easier than facing the realities of the world alone.
The nearby theater had a large screen and was relatively empty for a Saturday evening. They sat in the back, which was fine with Heero since being near the exit made him feel better should a raid begin in the middle of the show.
The newsreels were black and white, going over events such as the bombing in France, the current activities of the Allied front lines, and a look in one of the Jewish ghettos in Poland. The people looked like skeletons: sick children lying in the streets, begging and pleading and crying for food or freedom. The ever-present yellow stars were pinned to their clothing, shreds of fabric much too torn to keep them warm in the approaching winter months. The newsreel then continued to show a montage of the abuse the Gestapo laid down on anything that crossed their path. One particularly disturbing clip was of a young officer "proving himself" by emptying a barrel into a dog, then proceeding to beat the child who had been walking it.
Heero looked over at his companions, noting how Quatre was peeking through his fingers - horrified yet unable to look away. Trowa was caressing the nape of his neck soothingly. On the battlefield the horrors were different. It was soldiers versus soldiers, no matter how you looked at it, but the Nazis attacked people, taking away the anonymity of war.
Roughly an hour and a half after it began, the newsreel ended with a list of ways civilians could help the war effort, which included Victory Gardens and not buying gasoline when they could walk to their jobs or use public transportation.
'It's the same as back home,' Heero thought as the house lights were turned back on. 'Only in London people have seen it first-hand and not just through the videos.' He looked around, noticing that they were the only occupants left in the theater. "Shouldn't we get going now?"
"Um…Heero? There's just something you should know…about us," Quatre's face looked a little pink and he seemed uncertain. "You see…Trowa and I-"
"We're lovers," Trowa interrupted, hurrying to get to the point without beating around the bush.
"We really wanted to fight against the Axis powers, but none of the other groups would take us because of our…sexual preferences, so we're here in London fighting as the underdog to protect a homeland that isn't our own."
Heero sat silent, slowly absorbing the information. He knew by most societies, cultures, and religions that homosexuality was frowned upon and even seen as a punishable crime, but they were also being persecuted against by the Nazis along with the Jews and gypsies. 'What right do I have to hold it against them? They're good men and allies. Why would I want to bring myself to Hitler's level by holding their feelings for each other against them?' Heero noted their subconscious actions, from the way they looked at each other to the support and strength one lent to the other. 'I cannot persecute them for being true to themselves. I should envy them, if anything, because I took the coward's way out by marrying Relena…'
"I don't have a problem with your relationship," Heero admonished, choosing his words carefully. "But I would still be careful if I were you because my opinion doesn't affect the rest of the squadron's or Colonel Marquise's."
The major stood, and was almost bowled over by a sudden hug from Quatre. "Thank you," he said, voice shaky. "This means so much, knowing that there is someone we can trust."
Heero smiled slightly before mentally scolding himself. 'Damn it, Yuy, you are not in this to make friends, remember? This is war. Death of a comrade hurts badly enough, but that of a close friend is ten fold more so.'
"Let's get back to the car," Heero suggested, partially regretting he had joined them at all. Relena had said that it would be good for him to make friends, but what did she know? She was probably back at the house, gossiping with her friends about who else's husband, brother, or son died in battle without actually knowing the true horror of it all: The guilt that follows a man who is forced to play God by taking another's life.
"You want to stop for ice cream on the way back?" Trowa asked. "It's a warm night."
"Okay!" Quatre responded, all for the idea. "You know, Heero, I hadn't even seen ice cream before until I came to London."
They walked back to the car, Quatre going on with a childlike glee about the different flavors he tried and the best way to go about eating it so the ice cream doesn't melt onto your hand. Heero couldn't understand how the blond man could stay so innocent with his experience in battle. He saw a blur of black out of the corner of his eye but didn't think much of it until he found himself on his butt on the ground.
"Whoa, hey, sorry there, buddy, I must not have been looking where I was going!" came a smooth tenor and definitely American voice. Heero looked up to scold his assailant when he was stunned speechless.
The boy appeared just under six feet tall and barely out of his teens. He had a trim look, thin in a wiry instead of scrawny way. His motions were fluid as he offered to help Heero help, extending his hand as he rapidly apologized and chastised himself for being so clumsy. Heero took the offered hand, noting the boy's strong grip as he was pulled back to his feet.
"I didn't cause you any damage, did I?"
"No," Heero mumbled, clearing his throat and trying to regain his composure. "I'm fine." He watched as the boy nervously started to play with the end of his long, chestnut braid. Heero realized he must look royally pissed off because the boy seemed almost afraid of him, so he tried to be more casual about it. "I should have been paying more attention."
That statement brought a smile to the boy's face; the expression lit up his features, giving him a sort of ethereal beauty. Heero's gaze traveled to the boy's eyes, surprised when he saw their color: a bright, expressive indigo that betrayed his every emotion. He seemed to get nervous at the close scrutiny because he twitched again before re-shouldering his bag and giving Heero a jaunty wave. "Well, I better be going now… I am so sorry about that!" He took off running again before Heero had the chance to say anymore.
"Who was that?" Heero turned to Quatre and Trowa, both who had similarly amused expressions on their faces. They just shrugged in response, climbing into the car and heading to the ice cream parlor Quatre held so dearly.
When they returned to the base, Heero unpacked a little and brushed his teeth before changing into his nightclothes. A nagging suspicion told him he would not be getting much sleep that night, as his thoughts were haunted by the entrancing blue-violet eyes of a boy he had run into outside the theater.
Heero groaned and rolled over onto his side. 'I am married to Relena; I am a major in the US Air Force; and above all, I am not fantasizing about a mere boy!' He opened his eyes, got up, and dug out a picture of Relena that she had sent in one of her earlier letters. 'I could learn to love her. It's not like I have feelings for that boy. He was just unusual and captivated my curiosity.' He smirked, satisfied with that explanation before falling asleep.
*~**~*
End Part 3