Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Willingness ❯ Prologue

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing does not belong to us. The assassins do, sorta.

Will: Of course they do, they are you.

The Management belongs to serenahalfelven, who FLAMED our ass for forgetting that in the first draft.

Warnings: Fluff, no plot, possible OOC, slight shonen-ai, death, and Duo-clone

Aki: I'm no damned Duo-clone!

A/N: We're actually going to finish a fanfic! Yay!!! Please read and review!

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Willingness

By Akisawana

"Uh, excuse me? Are you," the stranger paused to check something written on his hand, "Quatre Rabera Winner?"

Trowa did not know how to respond. On the one hand, he wasn't Quatre. On the other, it didn't seem like a good idea to tell that to complete strangers, one pointing a gun at him, the other looking around as if she feared discovery. He had found them creeping around the house, when he had gotten up to get some water. Somehow they managed to avoid all alarms, cameras, and other security measures-but not the remote that someone had left on the floor. One of them had stepped on it and accidentaly turned on the TV. They turned it back off quickly, but it was too late. Trowa had heard the noise and came in to investigate. The taller of the pair pulled out a gun and asked the question. He repeated it now. "Are you Quatre Rabera Winner?"

"He's not, Dumkopf," the shorter one said. Ignoring the finger the gunman gave her, she reached into a bag and took out a book that had obvioulsy seen better days. "Look," she pulled out two loose papers near the beginning, "this is Quatre." She waved a paper with a picture of Quatre and Sandrock on it. "That," she pointed at Trowa, "is Trowa Barton." She showed the other paper to her compainon. It was a picture of Trowa with Heavyarms.

"Lemme see that," Dumkopf said, snatching the papers out of her hand, keeping the gun pointed at Trowa. He looked at the pictures, then Trowa, then back at the pictures. "Eh, you're right."

Smirk. "As usual. So," she said, turning to Trowa, the smirk disappeared as easily as it came, "if you're not Quatre, where is he?"

"Why?"

"So we can kill him." Something must have shown on Trowa's usually impassive face, because the gunman began to explain rapidly, sounding rather too much like Duo for comfort "Okay, it goes somethin' like this; one department of the Management wants him dead, y'see, something about inspiration and motivation by death of Gundam pilot or some Management bullshit like that, they're always coming up with this shit, normally we don't get directly involved, but this is a special case, apparently you can't kill a damn Gundam pilot without going through a whole mound of fuckin' paper work for another hell, er, division, at least that's what the S.O.B.s told us, so we filled it up with random scribbles and took off before they looked at it too close, so we have to find him fast before they figure out that the fourth reason that he has to die is because he's not a dumb blond."

"Why Quatre?"

"Why not?" the girl asked.

Because I love him, Trowa almost said. Now what do I do? 'Follow your heart,' isn't that what Heero said? Let's give it a shot. Before he could think about what he was going to do, because he surely would chicken out, he asked, "Could you kill me instead?"

"What!?" they exclaimed at the same time.

"You said that you had to kill a Gundam pilot. Why not me?"

"Euh…," they exchanged glances. "Can you hold on a minute?" the gunman asked. "I need to call someone. Here hold this," he handed the gun to the girl, "both hands, point it at him, not me, okay, get it? got it. good." He dialed a number on his cellphone, counting the rings under his breath. "Hey," he said, apparently when the machine picked it up, "it's us. I know you're there, c'mon, you can watch the Wings and talk on the phone at the same time. Pick up the phone. Pick up the phone please. MURALSA SINDARIA PICK UP THE GODDAMN PHONE RIGHT NOW! WE HAVE A GODDAMN CRISIS!!! THE CRISIS FROM HELL!!!! No, no, we've got it under control, really, I just wanted you to pick up the phone. Aaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyywwwwwwaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyssssssssssss, anyways, this Trowa guy wants to die. No, not Heero, Trowa. You know, the one with the funky hair? No, not the braid, the bloody funky backwards hair. Blue. I know no one has blue hair. Bright purple. No, his are violet. No, that's a different color. Then you need a bigger box of crayons. What the hell are you doing with my box? Never mind, I don't want to know. Do I? Green. Really. I was being sarcastic. Can he die? Cool. What was that? Really? Woo-hoo! WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?! WHAT'S THE SCORE?!?! HOLY SHIT WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! Sorry. But damn! Yeah. No. No. NO! You tell her. Although I wouldn't advise it. She's got a gun. I did. Uhh…I plead the fifth? right, got it. uh-huh. Don't do anything I would do 'k? Later." He hung up the phone. "Emergency conference, we have a crisis."

"I thought you just said that to get her to pick up the phone," the girl said, puzzled.

"I did."

"Uh-oh."

"Of course, we have to handle this first."

The girl handed the gun to her partner. "You handle this."

"As usual," he sighed. He turned to Trowa, taking a few steps so the barrel of the gun pressed against Trowa's heart. "Do you understand what you have asked?"

"Yes."

"And you know that there will be nothing tomorrow but one dead body."

"There will be one live body, too."

"Last chance to back out. No one will ever know."

"I will."

He shrugged. "Alright, then. It's settled. Time t'go." The gun disappeared. So did the girl. Her partner turned to leave.

"Aren't you going to kill me?"

"No."

"Why not?"

He giggled nervously at that. "Well, we sorta lied. We never meant to hurt the sonovabitch. We were sent to test you, to see just how far you would go for him."

"And?"

"The willingness was enough."

OWARI