Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Besmirched ❯ Rising ( Chapter 1 )

Besmirched

Part One, Rising, by Lady Lye © 2001

Disclaimer: I am making no money off this and using all items created by other people purely for amusement. Right, so, standard: GW ain't mine. Sue and you'll have trouble getting more than a broken desklamp.

Challenge: I wrote the first part. I don't know where to take it. I figure you will. Yes, you, the reader. Are you a writer as well? Now is the time to find out. Read, and write something to continue it. It can go any way you want, get as big as you want, involve as many characters in whatever way you want. Anything is fair game. You want to make it yaoi, be my guest. You think it should be het, do that, too. If you feel you want to jump to another time and place, go ahead. Switch POVs, please feel free. I only wrote what my fingers decided to type. I've wracked my brain, and, yep, I'm in a tight spot. Inspiration fled. So I turn it over to you.

I do feel that this could potentially stand alone, however, I would very much like to see which way other people take it. Responses may be posted. Details at end.

be·smirch v. -tr. be·smirched, be·smirch·ing, be·smirch·es. 1. To stain; sully: a reputation that was besmirched by slander. 2. To make dirty; soil. -be·smircher n. -be·smirchment n.

The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Third Edition

I found myself looking him directly in the eye. Those same eyes that had struck fear in the hearts of brave men and young children alike. Those eyes that could promise death and make enemies in a single glance. The eyes that I could look into without fear. Perhaps instinctively, the rebellious part of me, my chin tipped up, neck and back straightening, so that I could look those eyes straight on, coolly, calmly, in control. Some might have said 'professionally', but there is no professionalism when it comes to human emotions; they are too complex to ever master.

He knows this. He is the most balanced person I have ever met, he knows what is right and what is wrong; because he decided it for himself. He is sure of himself and his abilities to the point that he can accomplish what he needs to, but there is always that healthy doubt that keeps him from growing overconfident. Through this whole war, I swear that Heero Yuy is the only one of us who may rise from it wholly himself.

I am not the only one who knows what a great man he is. My brother chose him in his 'dying' hour to be the next leader of Outer Space and perhaps the world. I'm not sure Heero believes him, yet. He doesn't recognize himself for what he is, or won't admit it. I know that on some level, he has accepted it and is dreaming of being able to peacefully create a stable world, his true dream, and he is merely waiting for the chance to spread his wings. The opportunity has not presented itself yet, however, and he will not provoke it, nor will he let on that he is eager for it. He probably calls it tact.

Ah, Heero, you deny so much in order to preserve so much. Your world is fragile, is it? It is only fragile because you still doubt it, as any teenager would. I know, and I understand, because mine is the same. My goal has always been the same, but the forms my methods have taken have left my resolve more than a little shaken. And I know, staring him down, that he feels the same way.

"Aren't you going to ask me what I'm doing?" My tone is casual, with the underlying hint of venom every politician knows. I mentally kick myself for the bitterness- I have no validation for it. He has done nothing. Instincts are difficult to allay, however.

"I was hoping you would tell me outright so I wouldn't have to," he leaned back against the doorframe, his lanky frame relaxing into it, belying the edge in his voice. If ever anyone knew what they were doing, it's him. To look at him, you would think he had never doubted anything a day in his life. Cool, collected, in control, confident. Thus is Heero Yuy. He should have been an actor. He would have been the most popular kid in school. Even the teachers would have loved him. Childhood was ripped away from us so harshly though…

"You didn't really expect it would be THAT easy, did you?" one eyebrow delicately arches, my composure shaken, and I fight to keep it from being visible. It's so damnably hard to stay firm when he's looking at you that way, like he knows exactly what's going on and is just waiting for you to come to the same conclusion he already has. Damn him. He can't play me this time- I'm going to surprise him if it's the last thing I do.

He shrugs amiably, as though it were of no consequence how difficult I may choose to make it; I am only an errant child who will receive their comeuppance in due course. No, that's harsh of me- I know his opinion of me is higher than that. He just makes it FEEL that way. The first rule of anything is to make it LOOK like you know what you're doing. "I can wait."

Many possible responses scroll through my mind, but I reject them all, allowing the silence to pass between us. Finally, I settle on something. My response, is none.

I turn smartly on one heel and march away from him, my back directly to him. The only down side to this and the great feeling of empowerment and accomplishment is that I cannot see the shock register on his face. Ah, but the far wall has a mirror and I watch his reflection in it.

One minutely forked eyebrow has quirked upward, not surprised, not puzzled, not even curious. But not amused, either. More… wondering… as to what I will do next in this silly game I have begun. It is very, very hard not to feel like a child.

How is it I let him do these things to me? I never did before. When we were younger it seemed I had more confidence. I was so sure of what I was doing, even in my doubts, and my dealings with him were so straightforward. Meet, speak, watch your vying opinions clash in the air between you both, feel the sexual undercurrent and wonder at it, so new and different, and then part, nothing ever really resolved or decided except for the silent promise that we would meet again to discuss this.

Now that we are nearly adults, nineteen in this kingdom I have created, like the rest of the world, it is much, much more perplexing. Forever looking out for the other, wondering when the next time will be, meeting, being treated in the most ALOOF manner imaginable in such a way that I lose sleep over what I am <I>sure</I> MUST have been AMUSEMENT in the vivid depths of his eyes and just what the hell that could mean, listen to myself give embarrassingly petty remarks back (maybe he was laughing at how stupid I am?), the sexual undercurrent very much more there and also- at the same time- frustratingly GONE (maybe he knows that I think he's attractive and he's just laughing at how stupid I am to ever think he could want me back?), and then part feeling completely unsatisfied. No that's not true- sometimes smugness radiates from him when he turns to go. Damn him. He's playing me better than one of the games on his laptop and I, being a girl and all that goes with it, am powerless against it.

No, not powerless. Never powerless. There is always that one thing that will take any man by surprise. But do I have the guts to actually do it today?

I feel a surge of empowerment (ah, adrenaline, my savior…) and lift my head again as I exit the long room on the opposite side. I do not know if he is following me, but that hardly matters just now. Because if he is not, he will. He always does.

I turn a sharp left down another corridor and take the hallway out of the school and its' classrooms and away from him. Into the sunshine and the freshness of spring, where my eyes scan the courtyard. I helped establish this school, and return often to give lectures amidst the higher educational 'community college' courses that I enrolled in. Perhaps this summer I will look further into applying to a real university. Then again, perhaps not. Thankfully, someone else runs this one now, and I am free to be simply student instead of administrator.

I walk away along the gravel path, grateful that the heels on my boots are chunky enough that I do not trip or slide, something that could severely undermine the dignity of this moment. He has probably started to move now, perhaps carefully watching me from a window, or already moving towards the door to follow me directly. He doesn't know that I know that he always follows me. I'm not about to tell him. Yet. I focus ahead on my goal; the lake and its' dock, hidden from the rest of the world by many, many trees. It is still too early in the year for anyone to be out here taking classes and so I know that here will be safe and private enough. He dislikes being seen.

My boots make a satisfying thonking noise as they hit the wooden planks of the dock and I stride down its' length, pausing at the end to survey the spread before me. The lake stretches blue and cold before me, fresh from the ice that melted into it only a few weeks ago. The encircling fence that is severing me off from the rest of the world is jagged; the dark tops of pine trees cutting into the sky and the hazy mountains, pale, and far off in the distance. Sank is my homeland, and I have grown to love it.

Behind me is the sandy shoreline, a small wooden building back in the trees sporting all the equipment necessary for anything. It nestles amidst the spikes of the pine trees until they give way to pale sand, and down to the lapping water, driven by the wind. A boat bobs gently on it's rippling surface, bumping into the dock's support, it's tether keeping it from floating away entirely. Above me the sky is a vividly pure pale blue, speckled by hints of white cotton, the sun a white-hot ball, the day kept cool by the same wind that mars the lake's surface.

I sit now, swinging my booted feet off the edge, enjoying the free feeling of it, as well as the giddy lightheadedness that comes when I think of pitching forward into the icy water. I never would, but gravity makes it seem plausible enough to make me settle firmly on the wooden planks before relaxing.

There. That slight crunch of gravel in the distance carrying on the shifting breeze… he comes… and I await him… and wonder if my courage will once again fail me.

~End Rising~

Not much of an ending, is it?

That's the point.

Write your own. Something final, a continuation, whatever, but do it before the inspiration leaves you. You have one week from this posting (1/2/02, so submit prior to 1/9/02). I have only a few rules.

Submissions must be properly edited- if you need a beta reader, find one. I don't mind an error here or there, but there's some grievous stuff out there and I don't intend this to be more of the same. If your submission is not up to par, I will send it back asking you to please edit it prior to the due date, and delete it from my mailbox. I do not, sadly, have the time to beta (even if I would like to).

Please no crossovers. Stick within the usual boundaries, ne? Course- I never said it wasn't or couldn't become AU…

I'm pretty lenient on content, but all submissions will be posted at my discretion. Submissons not posted at FF.N and/or MediaMiner.org (I'm posting at both) may be posted at my website, Penname: Lady Lye, so don't think it's for naught. I will notify you either way. You will of course receive full credit and I'll put up any contact info you'd like. Having an official penname anywhere is not required.

Which reminds me- how to send the silly things! ^_^;

Send submissions and questions to either:

kawaiiladylye@yahoo.com (preferred)

OR

ladylye@ididitmyway.com

It's all up to you, now.

I look forward to seeing what your little minds churn up…

Ja ne…

-Lady