02-Feb-2001
Title: Cold Wind Dancing
Author: Ravynfyre
Archive: GW Addiction, Darkflame
Category: Angst
Pairings: None
Standard Disclaimer: All parts of Gundam Wing are Not Mine. It's all Theirs.
*sigh* Too bad, but otherwise, I guess I'd never get anything done *happy
hentai thought*. Anyway, not makin' any money offa this so dun sue me. You'd
only get some college debt, a few dogs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers
anyway. Ya know... blood. Turnip. Do the math.
Rating: PG
Warning: None (weird, ne? heh)
Spoiler: Series
Notes: This is part four of the True Awakenings arc. Duo's point of view.
More angst from the braided one.
Feedback: Yes, please. All comments welcome (although flames may be fed to
my dogs, who, since they have notoriously gassy intestinal tracts, will be
spending the night with the flamer afterwards)
While the real wind danced playfully through the bangs poking out from under the lowered bill of my cap, another, far too familiar wind reached with icy fingers inside me, chilling me from the inside out. This wasn't the cold of purpose, though, or even the chill of numbness. It was a cold of death, of deep slumber from which there is no awakening. I couldn't even give it any other name than "cold". You don't romanticize that kind of all-pervading ice.
It's yet another sign that, once again, Shinigami has gathered me under his cloak for safe keeping. After all, despite my wanted poster being plastered on every available surface, not a single person seems to recognize me as I trudge down the street.
Wind fascinates me. There's so much more to wind than air pressures and relative humidity and temperature variances. Wind, to me, is Earth's way of dancing. Think about it; the same force that could casually rip the biggest oak from the ground, roots and all, and toss it through the air like a matchstick, could also puff along so gently as to barely keep a butterfly alight. It's kinda humbling if you really think about it.
Have you ever seen a tornado? I mean a real tornado, live, up close, and personal, not on some sterilized, sound-bite-edited, news-at-11 vid. Have you ever actually watched the Earth at play?
I have. I count it as one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. It had to have been, to have punched through my grief.
That day, what seems like an eternity ago now, after Siberia. Hell, it was an eternity ago. Another Duo Maxwell was there that day. The one who still believed in love, despite having had it ripped from him so violently. Not this Duo Maxwell you see here. Not the jaded, beaten, dying one slowly pushing through the blissfully unaware crowd on the street on a colony floating by the moon. The Duo whose soul wasn't slowly freezing under an icy gale.
That day when, as I hid out in that forest, trying to figure out what to do, where to go, a flash of light caught my eye. Quatre, who'd retreated the same way I had, was offering me shelter to lick my wounds and anonymity in numbers.
We waited for the storm to rush across the desert towards us, to use the cover of the sand and the wind to hide us from Oz as we fled. We were halfway across the desert, still carefully concealed in the billowing storm, when I saw it. The Earth dancing. The tornado.
It ghosted out of the rabid clouds of biting sand like a dream emerging from the mists. I've heard a lot of people call the seductive sway of its funnel "serpentine". I disagree. There's something almost sinister about the word "serpentine" that I just can't equate with how beautiful it was to me.
I remember having stopped walking, Deathscythe standing stock still in the storm, mesmerized by the swaying, shimmering creature slowly advancing through the haze. It reminded me so much of Him. Of Heero. Seductive without meaning to be, deadly if taken lightly, a force to be reckoned with, but so ethereal, so unstable. And as it bore down upon my partner and I, I could think of nothing more to do, than join it in the dance.
I don't even know if I was even controlling Deathscythe at the time, or if my partner sprang to life and joined the twister of his own volition. I don't remember my hands flying over the controls. All I remember is watching that writhing funnel just out of Deathscythe's reach, as we shadowed its movements. Twist, skip, step, slide, one arm held out high, clasping the hand of the wind, with the other down lower, crushing its power to us. Everything dissolved into the rhythm and ebb of the wind and the dance, gracefully floating over the sand.
If you've ever even tried to walk through a mass quantity of sand, you should know how impossible it is to do anything gracefully in it.
I'd like to think the Earth was lending me a little help, just then, giving me the power to do the impossible, just because She likes to play.
And then, as quickly as it had come, the tornado evaporated into nothing, and Deathscythe's dancing partner crumbled to the ground to be whipped away in the wind like an unruly dog. Once more Deathscythe was alone, hemmed in by a ring of silent, proud desert warriors standing sentry.
No one spoke of it later. I think it was just too sacred to put into words. Either that, or they were pretty sure I'd gone insane, and didn't want to prod at me.
They just quietly set about fixing all the damage to Deathscythe. All the battle scars were mended with care, and the scratches, scuffs, and scours were lovingly buffed out of the black Gundanium.
All except for the right palm where the wind had kissed my partner's outstretched hand.
Quatre casually explained to me later what a kiss to the palm meant, how significant it was, and how deep a devotion it signified. There was a gleam in his eyes that, if it hadn't been Quatre, I would have called envy. I still can't seem to find an appropriate word for it.
The colonies just can't duplicate a good wind. The air handlers and humidifiers just can't do it justice, no matter how advanced they get.
Fate, however, is another matter all together.
That frigid breeze invading my soul bit down hard, invading my trip down memory lane and snagging my attention. I looked up, seeing the huge monitor on the building as the wind inside me chuckled with malicious intent.
Serenely floating through space, a few bits of junk and rock slowly parted, revealing the massive bulk of some sort of craft. The camera was kind enough to pan closer for a better view.
That cruel wind whipping through me seized my throat and wouldn't let me breathe. Looking about as bad as I did when Heero rescued me from that dark Oz cell, Deathscythe hung motionless in space.
You ever notice that you can predict when the wind will pick up, just by the sudden change in air pressure around you? I could feel it drop so fast around me right then, that I knew I was about to get invited to another dance. Only this time, I wouldn't be the willing partner, gracefully mirroring each gentle sway and skipping step. I would be the unwilling passenger, hurled about within the vortex as it gyrated madly through destiny.
The camera panned out again, catching the Leo as it gravely took a large cannon-like weapon from another mobile suit. The light flared, and the lance of destruction pierced Deathscythe's breast.
Time stood still.
The maelstrom swirled about my partner, harshly lashing out with whips of rage and fire. There was nothing playful about this dance. Vengeful fingers scrabbled at the armor plating, ripping it away, exposing Deathscythe's delicate parts to that brutal wind. He hung there, helpless, as fate violated us both without a backward glance.
Once again, as quickly as it had begun, the dance ended. In a flash of light, Deathscythe was blown away, disintegrating into the teeth of the gale of rage. Time resumed its normal pace.
My throat was hoarse from screaming. Shinigami obviously had me wrapped safely under his cloak; no one on the street thought it odd for a bruised, broken, and obviously beaten boy who was a dead ringer for a terrorist wanted by Oz to be screaming his lungs out after watching the destruction of a rebel Gundam.
With one last malicious chuckle, the icy wind left me. It whisked away leaving me spent and dead inside. My right palm prickled at me and I glanced down to see that I'd clenched my fist so tight, I'd broken the skin. Bloody little half-moons stared back at me. It would probably scar, leaving a mark there for the rest of my life.
The kiss of the Wind of Fate.
With no where left to go, I stumbled back to the place Heero had gotten for me, clutching that hand to my chest. Even the playful breeze had abandoned me, leaving me alone in a wash of unseeing humanity.
All I could do was watch as the colonies took another step down the road to their own destruction. So I watched. And I planned for a way to avenge my partner and help to open the eyes of the colonists.
And as my own wind of determination sheathed me, Fate returned to collect her dancing partner. Twist, skip, step, slide, one arm held out high, clasping the hand of Fate, with the other down lower, crushing its power to us.
And we never spoke of it again.
~owari~
RavynFyre
Here is a picture RavynFyre has created for Cold Wind Dancing.
Please send comments to: ravynfyre@hotmail.com