Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ First Person Plural ❯ Chapter 1

I'm different.

I glance over at Heero. He is across from me, studying the nails he has driven into the wall with a critical eye, one of those board's you use to put bulletins and notes on leaning against his legs. After another second of intense concentration his back relaxes as he crouches down to pick up the board and lift it up onto the nails. He adjusts it a moment, then steps back, the board hanging straight on the wall now. The hammer and the small box of nails are placed back in the toolbox at his side.

I'm hiding something about myself.

I look back to the window, where my attention had been focused just moments before. The ground outside is covered in a light snow, a white blanket reaching back to the thick green trees. The snow seems so perfect resting against the ground, the waning light of the sun making it reflect just enough to catch a person's attention. Out of the corner of my eye I pick up the tracks that we made getting here to the cabin, first of the jeep, and then of our feet as we moved up to the steps. That breaks the perfection.

I have a secret, even bigger than the obvious of being a Gundam pilot.

I look again to Heero. He has placed neat stacks of papers on the small coffee table, covering most of its area; the majority of them printed sheets or diagrams. He has turned his back on them for the moment, hanging something next to the board that looks like a heavy cloth. My hand reaches out and adjusts one of the stacks of paper so that it is no longer at an angle in relation to the others. My hand does this very carefully, the lightest tap, because I know from experience that anything more can throw it in the other direction, or the action might touch another pile, which puts that out of place, and then suddenly I'm on my knees, shuffling and placing the papers over and over again until I'm exhausted from the mental effort.

I clasp my hands together and look back out the window, away from what Heero's doing. Even in this I'm careful, the way I'm sitting and the way my hands are interlaced, the exact position that my arms are resting against my body. This comes from experience as well.

The other pilots don't know, probably don't even suspect. I'm just neurotic, neurotic Duo Maxwell. That's fine by me…by us.

I can feel Heero's eyes on me, questioning even though I know if I turn and look they'll still be cool and detached. I know that look; I've seen it on my own face before in the mirror. I know what he's thinking, or I have a rather good idea of what it might be. He's wondering why I'm not chattering away, why I'm not bugging the hell out of him, touching and talking and `helping' out. It's out of character. But today I'm out of character.

There's something wrong with me.

Heero kneels by the table, picks up one of the stacks of paper, and moves over to the board. Carefully, precisely, he places the papers up in an order he has already determined, making efficient use of the limited space. For that I am thankful. He repeats the process for each small stack of papers, and then begins to unroll the two maps he brought. I turn fully to watch this, swinging my legs out to settle squarely on the worn but well kept carpet. The maps go onto the cloth, pinned in every 3cm or so.

I'm serious, there's something wrong with me. I'm not just saying that my mood is off or that I'm having a bad day and can't figure out why, although that former part is somewhat correct.

Heero checks his watch, and then goes to work on the second map, repeating the process undertaken with the first. It's almost fascinating to watch.

I can think of more fascinating things though…

"Duo. Don't just stare at me stupidly, do something."

I sigh and pick up the duffel bag that I've brought with me, kicking the smaller second one between my feet as I walk down the hall. A part of me protests at this action, the haphazardness of it, but I ignore it as best as I can. The first door comes up on my right, worn with age and partially open, revealing the room inside.

I push the door open fully, reaching out to flick on the light. In the center and against the wall there is the bed, covered with a faded dark blue blanket. Beside that stands a small wood table, a lamp sitting on it and off to the side. There is a desk almost directly across from me, pushed against the wall, a fine layer of dust covering its surface, and likewise the surface of the other things in the room.

Ignoring that I place the large bag directly inside the door, against the wall, touching the sides with my foot to make it as straight and lined up as I possibly can, and then I place the second bag on top of the first. I survey the room a moment before moving to the only window to pull up the shade. I'm greeted with the soothing sight of unmolested snow. Pushing the window itself up I lean against the sill a moment, breathing in the fresh cool air, and when I move away I leave it up hoping the stale air will seep out.

First order of business is the bed, so that I have a `safe' place in the room to start with. Taking my jacket off I fold it slowly and place it atop the two stacked bags, then move to the bed. I begin the systematic process of rolling up the cover that is over it until I have a little bundle that I place on the carpet at the food of the bed. It will be all right for now; it's not in my workstation. Then I strip the sheets off the bed, careful not to shake them even though in my heart I know there really can't be any dust on them, waiting to attack. I smile slightly at that as I work with the pillowcases, folding them and placing them on top of the sheets, which in turn are placed on the rolled cover.

After that I lift the edge of the mattress, this as silent and efficient as every other action taken thus far. Pulling the mattress toward me I slide it back some on its frame, not looking down to see if the frame shows the floor under the bed or not. With ease I lower the mattress down onto the other side, and push it in place. I move to the smaller bag, listening for sounds out of the ordinary from Heero out in the front room, and I find nothing to arouse my suspicion.

Dialing in the combination of the lock on the bag I pull the zipper back and remove several carefully wrapped packages. These are placed atop one another over my jacket, in an order that could only make sense to me, and then I produce a small pocketknife to open the right side of the first.

What comes out is a cotton liner for the mattress, which I carefully lift out and open once I've checked to make sure my hands haven't touched something distasteful since the last time I washed them. Still clean I decide. With that decision made I settle the cotton liner in place, tucking only minimally so that it fits tightly as it should. Next come the sheets, a midnight blue, these in place of the one's I stripped from the bed originally. The other things will wait, I decide, until I shake out the pillows.

Picking each up by the corner I move from the room quietly, walking directly past Heero without even glancing over, and from the corner of my eye I see him look up at me to see where I am headed. I open the door, leaving it open as I move down the three steps off the small porch to shake the pillows out, and then I come inside, closing the door with a tap from my foot. Past Heero again, who in his interest doesn't bother to look down, and as I move back to the room I've claimed I feel his eyes on me with each step.

I turn into the room and silently close the door and twist the lock.

Like some dirty secret, huh?

I swallow, suddenly nervous and unsure, and rub my palms against my pants until I can feel the burn of the continuous energy creating heat friction and I bring my hands back. My arm hurts again, a dull throbbing ache, but that I ignore as well as I place the pillows on the bed, side by side, and bring out the pillowcases.

Less than two minutes pass and I have the bed made again, I've searched the closet looking for a blanket that has been hidden under others long enough that dust hasn't touched it, shaken it out all the same, and then placed this on the bed, tucking and smoothing until I can settle the bags and jacket on the bed.

A safe zone.

I perch on the edge of the bed, surveying the room with a weary sigh. Every move is made natural to me through habit, but I never enjoy doing this work, creating this breeding ground for the insanity that has become my life. But I have no choice.

None at all.

If I don't do it the consequences will be harsh.

But harsher than the action.

Yes.

I push away from the bed, wanting nothing more to leave the room and settle myself elsewhere, doing nothing at all. If my arm had been hurting before, now I was miserable, every movement sending a shock of pain through my system.

Too deep. Too soon. This is dangerous.

I force away those thoughts as I move to the desk, surveying it's top. A light film of dust covers it, telling the tale of several years gone by without a visitor to settle something upon its surface. I step away from it, to the door, and from there my path takes me to the kitchen. There should be something in the small room that I can clean with, and I am rewarded with a cupboard devoted entirely to cleaning supplies.

I wish that didn't bring such relief.

Pulling out the few I can carry I pass Heero, who has now given me his undivided attention, such are the peculiarities of my actions. I place these things inside of the door of the room and move to the hall closet, bringing out the vacuum cleaner. I look to Heero with a smile. "I spilled something."

"All ready?" he asks, irritated, no doubt disgusted by that fact. Here not ten minutes and I've already made a mess.

If only he knew…

I force a nod and turn back to the room, moving more quickly than I had before, and soon I feel that everything that can be cleaned has been. Already the room looks more inviting, and the stale air has been replaced.

Now its time to set up. From the smaller bag I pull out a stack of beaten mangas that have been placed in a zipper baggy to keep them together and assure their safety in case I should meet adverse conditions. After that a video game, another plastic bag for the same reason. These are set on the table next to the lamp. A new notebook, as of this moment still unopened, and a small package of pens join the other items. In the center of the bed, right between the two pillows I place a beaten and worn teddy bear, a patch to keep the stuffing in on its stomach and missing an eye.

Those items taken care of I bring out two books, one on some sort of marine science and the other a serious study on the possibility of extraterrestrial life. These go in the table's cubby, a gun propped up against them, hidden from view.

I pull one of the last items out of the bag and settle back against the pillows, snapping the headphones on and hitting play on the CD player.

That wonderful escape of music greets me and I slowly begin to relax, drowning out the commotion that is ever present.

//Sitting on the bed, or lying wide awake, there's demons in my head and it's more than I can take, I think I'm on a roll and I think it's kind of weak, saying all I know is I gotta get away from me//

Just as I'm beginning to drift away comfortably, lost in my music, a loud knock on the door startles me from my peace. I jump, reaching out and smacking the CD player to shut it up, and listen just to make sure I'm not imagining it.

It wouldn't be a first.

It comes again, this time much louder, or perhaps it was that loud to begin with and the music blasting dulled the sound.

I push the CD player aside and swing my legs over the bed, move to the door on socked feet.

No shoes allowed…

I open the door slightly, peek out, and I'm greeted by the special scowl that Heero seems to hold just for me. I widen my eyes slightly, not sure if I can trust my words to not betray me just yet, and give him a look of `yeah, whadda ya want?'

"The other two are here, and I need to put my stuff away. We're bunking together."

Dread settles as a block of ice in my stomach.

"What? The other two are in on this?" I ask numbly, mouth working as if it were stuffed full of cotton.

The usual hum in my mind has gone silent.

"Yes," Heero answers in that precise, clipped tone that he adopts when he feels that someone is ill informed by fault of his or her own. I scowl, gripping the door tighter. "Why wasn't I told?"

"You weren't sent the necessary information?"

Apparently not.

"No."

How unorganized.

"Yes, a second part has been added to our directive, and because of that we can no longer carry this out on our own. We should be here a week together. It's something that cannot be changed and therefore is non-debatable. Would you open the door so I'm not standing in the hall with my bag?"

I swallow, the soft hum returning slowly. I give a slight nod; hold a finger up to tell him `give me a moment', and close the door, twisting the lock. I pick up the teddy bear and toss it into the small bag, eyes darting around the room to make sure that I've gotten the rest of the stuff that would seem out of character.

I wince as Heero tries the door, finally pushed past his patience with my actions. I move back over to unlock it and step away, toward the bed.

He comes in, scowling even more, and I wonder if it was worth putting the bear away. I can't be sure.

Which is the lesser of two evils?

I give a mental sigh.

Heero's eyes take in the room, the uncanny awareness of his surrounding remind me of a hawk stalking his prey. I try to look nonchalant, bringing the tip of my braid around to brush it lightly over my lips, looking up at the ceiling.

His eyes narrow. "Conference, now. You're lacking in information that you need to have, and from now on I suggest you keep yourself better up to date." He tosses his bag on the bed and moves out of the room.

I stare after him long after he has gone, trying not to frown.

Great, you've blown it. If anything goes wrong in the mission it's your entire fault now. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Can't you do anything right?

"Shut up," I growl, glancing around the room one last time. There is tightness in my chest as I click off the light.

Can we survive?

No. He fucked this one up, he did, he did, he did. Just sit back and watch it all tumble around us…

Why do you sound so happy about this?

"I said shut up."

Make me...

Can you make me?

No, you can't... and you know it.