24 Aug 2000
About the fic:
Song: "Beauty Has Her Way," by Mummy Calls. On the 'Lost Boys' soundtrack
(which is a whole pile of good GW-resonant music, if you ask me!) c 1987
Warner Bros. Inc.
Notes: This is the songfic-that-swallowed-the-song. No joke. But I like it
anyway. It takes place in and around Episodes 9-10 (with some creative
license, like streeeeeeetching time and space to make room for more angst!)
Pairings: 1x2+R (this is going to look a lot like a quadratic equation
before I'm done, so bear with me)
Warnings: Angst, some sap, some racy language. Ranges from shounen-ai to
outright yaoi (I think), depending on the section. As this implies, some
sections contain citrus (so be sure to read the warnings at the top of
each section!). Possibly OOC, depending on your point of view.
Disclaimer: I don't own these delightful people (Sunrise and the Sotsu Agency do, and Bandai gets to pass them around), nor do I intend to infringe upon the rights of their owners. I don't own the song, either, obviously. Let me know if you're liking this, and I'll post the next bit. (And lemme know if you want to archive, as always.)
Parts 1 and 2: I know what you want/I know where you go Contains shounen-ai (1x2) +R. And basketball! And sympathetic Relena -- this arc will eventually make it to 1x2xR, though this story doesn't get nearly that far.
// denotes lyrics; <denotes thoughts>.
/I know what you want
I know what you need
Better than you do
I know why you came
I promise you/
This cover had been set up weeks before, so he was able to slip into his new identity at the Lauriel Academy without having to hack his way in. It was a good thing. Ever since the disaster at New Edwards, he knew he'd been running on autopilot. His mind kept replaying the fatal beam stroke that had taken down the pacifists' shuttle. He knew they'd been played by Oz's master manipulator, but understanding the precise nature of his failure only made it worse. It made no sense to keep revisiting the mission plans in his head. It was useless to rehearse every move they'd made during the battle. It was not productive to keep seeing the explosions every time he closed his eyes. But it continued anyway. The daily routine of classes and homework kept a lid on the howling in his head, at least during the day, but he and sleep weren't even on nodding terms anymore.
He'd been at Lauriel for almost a week when that other pilot showed up -- Maxwell. Duo. He bounced into fifth period sociology class one afternoon, all eyes and energy and a huge smile. And hair. Very inefficient, that hair. And entirely too recognizable. To give him credit, he didn't blow Heero's cover, greeting the whole class with the same impartial grin. No meaningful look, no semi-covert salute. That much was to his credit, but Heero still had a very bad feeling about this. Two of them in the same place -- for them, there was no safety in numbers. What could have brought him here? If this was someone's idea of a plan (he mentally reprimanded the good Doctor), it was a very bad idea. New orders would be coming -- probably something to do with the naval base just off shore -- and he hoped they'd come soon, so he could get out of this place.
To make matters worse, they'd put Maxwell directly across the hall from him, the small dorm room a mirror of his own. Now he had to see the American every time he came or went, since Maxwell's own door always seemed to be ajar. They even had classes together.
Which wasn't a bad thing -- especially when it came to gym class, as he discovered one memorable afternoon. As it turned out, the two of them could run rings around the rest of the entire class on the basketball court. They worked the court like halves of one person, barely even needing to call out plays. Heero had known his own speed was considerable, but Maxwell could change directions faster than the other boys could register his movement, leaving them staring as he ducked and wove past every attempt to guard him. An impromptu audience gathered in the bleachers above the outdoor court, murmuring with appreciation. The other players scowled, frustrated. Who <were> these guys? And where did they learn to move like that?
"Heero!" Safely passed, the ball was in his hands. The basket was half a court away. Not even a challenge. Maxwell might play the court like a dancer, but Heero powered through defenders like a halfback, gathering himself to reach for a slam dunk. Game over -- the wonder boys win it again.
The watchers in the bleachers broke into excited cheering, girls calling out his name while the other players scowled even more angrily. Impossible -- it was simply impossible for someone that short to dunk like that. What did he have, titanium springs where his knees should be? Maybe it was the shoes.
Grinning with triumph, Duo dipped into an exaggerated bow before slinging an arm around Heero's shoulder, waving his other hand at the stands. "Hey, wave back or something! They're cheering for us!" Heero flinched away from the contact, ducking away with a glare and escaping from the court.
At the side of the school was a wide terrace overlooking the bay, with benches against a metal railing. He collapsed onto one of them, the stiff breeze off the water cool on his heated skin. That had been too much like fun -- he had forgotten himself for a moment in the game, putting aside the soldier to recognize nothing but the pleasure of exertion, savoring the novelty of a battle that wouldn't leave him with nightmares. Dangerous. Much better to collect himself, remember why he was here in the first place. Turning, he eyed the Oz base that loomed out in the bay -- a metal fortress bristling with guns and topped by a very vulnerable communications tower. His next target.
No solitude, even here. Maxwell, again. Not quite bouncing up to him, this time -- he must be worn out -- but still with entirely too much energy. "So that's where you went!"1
He tried to ignore the other pilot, but it didn't stop the flow of conversation. "Hey, that's pretty smart, switching schools when you have to leave. It's only natural for people our age to be in school, after all."
He didn't need any compliments on the way he maintained his cover. And it wouldn't be good for them to be seen chatting. "What's the idea?"
Face still lit with that annoying grin, Duo leaned against the railing and lifted his face to the breeze. "Just trying to be normal."
Normal. Sure. There wasn't a single ordinary thing about him. Take right now, for example. Draped over the terrace's rail, eyes closed while he drew in a deep breath of wind off the sea -- it was impossible not to look at him. And once you started, you couldn't stop. Duo was still pale -- childhood in a space colony didn't give you a lot of sun -- but in a couple of weeks at Lauriel the sunshine had done what it could to brown his cheeks and arms. It didn't make sense: he was several feet away, but Heero could still feel the weight of that arm on his shoulders. The heavy braid had loosened with the exertion of the game, and dark tendrils had escaped around his face. While he watched, Duo bent his head, lifting the plait to let the breeze play over the back of his neck; for some reason, that motion threatened to deprive Heero of speech. He swallowed, hard.
"You stand out." It was almost an admission. Almost.
"You wouldn't stick out so much if you acted natural instead of being so secretive. Why don't you chill out and enjoy being a student? We don't get that many chances to live like normal people, y'know."
"Leave me alone." His face was stony -- that glare would have been enough to make most people abandon the conversation, but Duo had never been much like most people.
"'And stay out of my way,' right?" No response; if possible, Heero's face got even stonier. Duo shook his head. "The two of us are going after the same thing here."
That felt risky. But it got some kind of response: the sea-blue eyes widened a fraction, almost wondering. <Stay just like that -- please don't even blink, if it means you'll stop looking at me like that.>
Somewhat encouraged, he continued on the same risky path: "You can't hide it from me. I can see it in your eyes as plain as day, pal."
The words were meant to be challenging, even taken at face value, but there was an undercurrent of something even more disturbing there, too. What exactly was Maxwell talking about? What he'd been thinking, watching him -- what his mind couldn't help returning to even now -- did it show, somehow? His face slammed shut decisively, the moment of near-vulnerability gone as if it had never been there.
<You're crashing and burning here, Maxwell. Pull up, flyboy -- switch to something that doesn't scare him. Aha -- mass destruction, of course.> "How about the first one to destroy that fortress wins?" They both looked out at the fortress, measuring the distance and calculating the odds of success.
End of Part 1
Note:
(1) For the most part, I've followed the actual dialogue from Episode 9 here
(the subtitled version).
(:./lilias/beauty1)
