20-May-2003
edited: 01-Sep-2005
Title: Three Seconds
Author: Kitty Chou
Archive: None... ask and you shall receive. *^-^*
Category: AU, Deathfic (or is it!?), Shounen-ai, First Person POV
Pairing: Mentions of 3+4, 1+2
Disclaimer: *clears throat* I do not in any way, shape, or form own Gunam Wing or it's wonderful characters! I just pull them out to play and then clean them up and put them back when I'm done! I'm making no money and if you sue me you will receive no money because *shock* I have none.
Rating: R
Warnings: Violence, language, death (or is it!?)
Spoilers: None, unless you don't know that the good guys won the war.
Author's Notes: Thank you everyone who has been so patient with me, and even those who haven't, I understand your feelings entirely, so thank you anyway! I've reached a point where I'm ready and eager to start writing again, but I've realized that in order to go forward, I need to go back and revise what I've written to make sure the story and I are up to speed.
Feedback: Please send feedback! It would mean the sun and the moon to me! Any comments are welcome! Even if they're bad! At least I'll know I'm not doing something right, ne?
Three years. Three months. Three days. Three hours. Three minutes. Three seconds. That's how long it's been since I last saw him.
It's now AC 200. March 28. Seventeen seconds away from 8:15 PM. I'm drinking a cup of tea, it's tangy and I don't recognize the flavor. I'll ask Sylia what it is in the morning. I should be going over the report from Mars, as I am partially sponsoring the terraforming project there. In three days, I have a meeting with Foreign Minister Darlain, among others and I need to finish preparing for it, but instead I'm just sitting here, drinking an unknown tea, thinking about him.
Not that I don't usually think about him, no he plagues my thoughts every time I start or finish a project in L3. Every time I see a mask in a store window. Every time I see the color green. Every time I take a breath. But the sheer irony has struck me this time. Three... Of course, the moment is gone now. It has been for several minutes, but still, it stays with me. Another moment like it will never come to pass.
There's a pulling in my chest, a sadness and a longing which are surprisingly not my own. Frowning, I rub at my chest, concentrating on the emotions. It's far... none of my people. Familiar too... Perhaps it's one of the other pilots. Trowa?! ...No. Wufei? No. Heero? No. Ah! Duo.
Flipping open the cover of the dial pad to my rather expensive (and rather large) vid phone, I hit the button that automatically connects me to Duo. We talk often so he's the only one of my former comrades that I can reach through speed dial. The phone rings three times before my friend answers, his eyes red and glazed. Three again... how strange.
"Quatre?" he asks uncertainly. His eyes flick somewhere off screen for a moment. "It's two in the morning. Is something wrong?"
"It's eight PM here and you weren't sleeping anyway," I state calmly, giving him a knowing look. "You two have been fighting again, haven't you?"
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, which is loose around him. It's significantly shorter than it was during the war; he had to cut a good two feet off when it became entangled in the engine of a mobile suit he was salvaging parts from. He never explained how he let it happen, though, and I never asked. He left the salvage yard a few weeks later though, and went to Earth to join the Preventers. A few months later, he met Heero again when he was sent on an assignment to deal with terrorist threats against Relena, as he was working as head of her security. They started seeing each other and have been ever since.
"No, Quatre," he murmurs tiredly. "We've had THE fight. It's over. Heero can go be Mr. Relena Fucking Peacecraft, I don't care."
"Duo!" I exclaim, startled. Heero... and Relena?! "What happened?"
"It's the same damn thing that always happens, Quatre!" he's suddenly angry and it's like he's not even talking to me anymore. "It always comes down to her! She has him working every fucking moment of every fucking day and I just can't live like this anymore! She acts like he's her personal prince and he doesn't do a thing to keep her from doing otherwise! I don't think she even knows we were together! Knew... knew we were together. So it came down to her or me and..."
The anger that had filled him so suddenly dissipates, leaving Duo sagged in his chair, his eyes watering. I sit frozen, staring at my friend in shock. I had known that Duo was upset with Relena and the situation she inadvertently created, but I had no idea that it had gotten this bad.
"Duo-" I start, but he cuts me off.
"Don't, Quatre. Just... just leave it? Please, I... It's over and... I don't want to talk about it anymore," he pleads, straitening in his chair and errantly wiping away his tears with a sniff. Suddenly, he lets out a harsh bark of self-deprecating laughter. "So, what new with you?"
I can feel my ears heat in embarrassment because I know that this, in truth, is the other reason I called him. "I-I miss him... Trowa," I manage around the guilty coloring of my face.
The side of his mouth quirks in a sly half-smile and one of his eyebrows raises in a way that makes him look roguish despite the redness of his eyes and the tear tracks on his cheeks. "I take it this goes beyond nostalgia."
"I don't know," I sigh, suddenly wishing I too could cry out this emotion inside me. "Maybe I am just nostalgic, but... I don't know."
"Do you want me to fly out there?" he asks, his face changing from impish to concerned.
"No... You've got enough troubles of you own without worrying about mine. Besides, I'm flying out for that meeting with Relena about the Mars project in a few days. I'll stop by then."
"Pinky swear?" he asks jokingly, his lips twitching into a grin again. I've known him long enough to know how badly he really needs me right now, though.
"Pinky swear," I reply, smiling sadly before we bid one another a good night, knowing neither one of us would.
Three days later I step out of Gate B3 from flight 333 at 3:03 AM. The irony is not lost on me and I frown at the almost impossible coincidence of it. If I were superstitious, I might even take it as a sign. But I'm not, so I wont.
As I exit the concourse, I'm immediately faced with my driver who spots me easily as he has worked for me for over a year. He flew a week ahead of me, as he usually does, to acquaint himself with the area. It's good to have someone as competent as him. I think I'll give him another raise.
Flanked my bodyguards, Maganacs of course, I quickly make my way out of the crowded spaceport and into the spacious comfort of my limousine. Only Rasid rides with me, my other bodyguards driving ahead and following behind. Rasid, the dear man, tries to engage me in small talk, but I'm too depressed to pay attention. He understands though, and after a few minutes he leaves me to my self-pity.
We arrive at the hotel in short order and I happily collapse on the large, expensive bed in my large, expensive suite. I didn't dream and three hours later I wake when Rasid gently shakes me. After a nice hot shower followed by a nice hot breakfast, I am again in the limo, on my way to the meeting.
Relena and I almost always have our meetings in Rome, and today is no different. Not much remains of the original architecture, the buildings destroyed by time or war, but a lot has been rebuilt since the end of the Eve War. It's not the same as the original Rome, I know, but it is beautiful. I think we hold our meetings here because of that old saying, "Rome wasn't built in a day." Rather appropriate for governments trying to bring peace and world order, no?
We pull up to the building and I groan inwardly. The press is a plague of locusts, swarming around the front steps and creating a horrible noise. The door opens and microphones immediately shoot forward, followed shortly by the flash of cameras. Smiling politely, I ignore the mass of reporters competing for a comment on this or that, trusting my Maganacs to get me through safely.
A voice reaches my ears as I near the building and I turn, searching out Relena in the thinning crowd. I see her talking to some reporter from ESNN, looking petit and professional in her lavender pantsuit. Heero is a few feet away, keeping the dwindling number of journalists from getting within touching distance of the Foreign Minister.
Looking at Heero closely, I can tell that he hasn't been taking the breakup well either. His usually immaculate appearance as Relena's bodyguard looks rumpled and I suspect he is wearing sunglasses to hide red rimmed eyes, because he hardly ever wears anything that might hamper his vision.
A flash brings my attention to a building across the street and before I even take time to realize that it's the sun reflecting off the wristwatch of a gunman in the fourth story window, I'm running at Relena. I wish idly that I was wearing a gun and that Heero was facing the building as I rush through startled reporters. Grabbing Relena, I throw her somewhere behind me and to my right. A second later, a bullet grazes my cheek, followed shortly by another through my left shoulder and a third through my stomach.
Three bullets... how fitting. I remember Duo once told me that Heero got two... I've lost feeling in my legs, I expect from the burning pain in my shoulder and my abdomen, and I'm falling backwards toward the marble stairs. My head lands on something soft, Relena probably, and I think how lucky I am not to have hit my head on the stairs. Heero is covering us both suddenly, gun drawn and firing at the gunman in the fourth floor window. Too bad we both know he's gone by now.
I'm gasping I realize and futilely attempt to control my breathing. I can see Rasid now, along with Heero and Relena, who is crying and petting my hair. I think Rasid is shouting, but I can't hear him. Looking at Heero I see that he is frightened, which is when I know for a fact that I'm dying. All I can feel is the burning in my stomach, and even that is starting to numb into nothingness.
I catch a glimpse of a watch giving off a red flash and stare at the numbers with a kind of sick fascination. Nine thirty-four AM...
Three years. Three months. Five days. Sixteen hours. Twenty-two minutes. One second.
Two seconds.
Three...
Trowa?
Fin
To Be Continued in 'The X-Faction'
(:./kitty/seconds)
