Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Cold Saturday Evenings ❯ Cold Saturday Evenings ( One-Shot )

Disclaimer: Hey, guess what I own? Huh? Huh? I bet you can't guess. It's not Gundam Wing though, that's for sure.

Rating: PG

Warnings: Shounen-ai hints, some sappiness

Pairing: Vague 5+2

Author's notes: A birthday one-shot for ForeverM'Rose, whose birthday is on the 26th of September. Happy birthday! I hope this is what you had in mind when you emailed me asking for it. And I'm immensely flattered that you requested me to write something for your birthday! ^^ And yes, I promise I'll update Panther sometime.

 

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Duo Maxwell couldn't write very well until he was nearly sixteen.

 

He's not dyslexic by any means, it's just that he “never got no proper education”, in his eloquent words, and doesn't get much opportunity to read.

 

We were all very surprised when we found this out, especially seeing as we knew he could speak Spanish, French and a little bit of Russian. I suppose that just because a person knows four-and-a-bit different languages it doesn't necessarily mean that they can write well, but you know how it is. The educated human mind jumps to such conclusions by itself.

 

It was a cold Saturday evening and he'd just got back from a mission about an hour before. I was sitting on a lovely crimson sofa, reading a book - `The Once and Future King' by an author called T. H. White. It's very old; over three hundred years, I think. But I digress.

 

Quatre was at the other end of the sofa, reading some sort of report that Instructor H had sent him. I never really found out what it was, come to think of it. It was something to do with Sandrock's engine system, but what specifically I couldn't tell you. I didn't show much interest in the other pilots back then; I was much more of a loner than I am now.

 

After drinking a cup of tea (Quatre wouldn't let him drink coffee unless it was just before a mission) and debating out loud to himself whether he should go send Professor G his mission report now or later, Duo had settled down on the other side of the small room with a piece of charcoal and his A4 sketchpad. Silence descended on the room as Duo grew absorbed in whatever it was he was drawing, and I could concentrate on my book.

 

Nearly an hour later, I decided that I had better drag myself away from my book and go get something to eat from the tiny refrigerator in the kitchen. I put my book down and I was about to do so, when I happened to look at Duo. His heart-shaped face bore a puzzled frown as he stared at his sketchpad. I observed him curiously as he tilted his head to the side, then to the other side, seemingly attempting to inspect it from all possible angles. He even turned the sketchpad upside down once, I noted with quiet amusement. Finally, he sighed and looked up. I hastily averted my eyes, not wanting to be caught watching him. Not that I think he would have minded, I just thought it a little disrespectful. Although I did of course continue to look at him out of the corner of my eyes.

 

“Hey, um, Quatre?” he said. I was surprised to hear the slight hesitance in his voice; something I'd never heard from him before.

 

“Hmm? Yes?” Quatre answered distractedly, still leafing through the pages of the report thing.

 

“Um, how d'ya spell ya name?” Duo asked, looking just a tiny bit sheepish. He was fiddling with the end of his braid, twisting it between his charcoal-covered fingers and tainting the chestnut black.

 

Quatre looked up at this and smiled. “Just like the number `four' in French,” he replied, before looking down at his papers.

 

“Um, I kinda dun really know how ta spell that either,” Duo said, shrugging. “I spelt it K-A-T-R-E, then crossed it out and put K-A-T-R-A, then K-A-T-R-U, and then I tried K-A-T-T-R-A, but none of `em look right,” he finished, his grin turning even more sheepish.

 

Quatre smiled, evidently amused. “Why do you want to know anyway?” he asked. “What are you writing in that sketchpad?” He paused for a moment, then said, looking wary, “You didn't draw me, did you?”

 

“Yep!” Duo chirped happily. “It was kinda tricky, cos ya kept movin'. Shoulda drawn `Fei instead, at least he kept still…” he muttered. I couldn't be bothered to correct his way of saying my name.

 

“Oh? Can I see?” Quatre requested, holding out a hand. Duo considered briefly, then got up from his perch on the mahogany chair he was sitting on and made his way over to Quatre, handing him the sketchpad.

 

“Ain't very good,” he mumbled, looking adorably like a little child as he stared at the floor. “M'better with paint, but charcoal's in ready supply. An' s'only a quick sketch anyways, I can do much better…”

 

I raised my head, curious to see what the drawing was like. I very nearly gasped out loud.

 

It was absolutely stunning. It literally, no exaggeration from me, looked like a photo done in charcoal. Quatre looked so real, so alive. It was incredible how someone could achieve this level of brilliance with just a stick of charcoal and some paper.

 

If his expression was any indication (it was), Quatre was just as stunned as I was. He looked up at Duo and a shining smile broke out over his face. “It's amazing,” he said quietly, sincerely. “You are incredibly talented. And you call this a quick sketch? I'd love to see you paint something sometime,” he beamed.

 

Duo perked up. “Really? Ya like it?”

 

Quatre's glowing smile banished Duo's doubts and he grinned at Quatre, looking very pleased indeed. “Great! I'm real glad ya like it. Ya can have it if ya want,” he offered. “But ya gotta tell me how ta spell ya name first. I always label my drawin's.”

 

Quatre handed the sketchpad back to Duo. I got the vague impression that he had to restrain himself from looking at the rest of the sketchpad. I wondered why at the time, but now I know that Quatre's Space Heart had picked up on Duo's anxiety that he would do just that; he obviously had some private stuff in there.

 

“It's spelt Q-U-A-T-R-E,” the gentle Arabian boy informed Duo, who frowned.

 

“Really? Q-U-A-T-R-E? But… wouldn't that be Kwatter?”

 

Quatre couldn't help it, he had to laugh. “No,” he chuckled. “Q-U can sometimes make the `k' sound. Like… like quayside, for example.”

 

“…Oh,” Duo said, looking nonplussed. “Heh. Weird.” Shrugging to himself, he scribbled out his previous spelling of Quatre's name and carefully inscribed the correct one, holding it at arm's length when he was done to inspect it. “Huh,” he said, more to himself than Quatre I think. “Really? That's how ya spell it?” he asked, turning it around so that Quatre could see. It was correct, except that the `t' was a capital T, rather than lowercase. Quatre pointed this out to Duo and the sheepish expression returned. “Sorry `bout that. I can't write very well,” he apologised.

 

“That's fine, don't bother changing it,” Quatre said. “I didn't realise. I thought Professor G would have covered that; if he knows you can't read well, won't that get in the way of missions and stuff?”

 

Shaking his head, braid whipping from side to side, Duo replied, “I ain't got a problem with readin'. It's just the writin', is all. Keep forgetting what half the letters look like, cos I dun use `em much. I guess I should practice, but I can't really be bothered, yanno?”

 

Before I even realised (and completely without my permission!), my mouth had opened and I said, “I'll teach you if you like.”

 

Quatre started and Duo blinked at me; I think Quatre had forgotten I was even there. I bit my tongue in reprimand, but didn't retract the offer.

 

“Teach me? What, properly? Like the stuff they teach kids in school?” he asked, looking hopeful and peculiarly wistful.

 

I nodded. “If you like. Whenever we have spare time. I assume you know numbers well?”

 

Duo nodded eagerly, looking more like a child than ever. “Yeah, number's're fine. I'm good at math.”

 

“Good. So would you like me to teach you?”

 

“Yeah! That'd be great! Thanks `Fei, ya fantastic!” Duo enthused, looking absolutely delighted. I thought idly how utterly enchanting he looked when he was smiling like that. I'm hardly a poetic person, but it's so hard to repress that feeling around Duo. It's just something he brings out in you.

 

I taught him for a two brief lessons on the next two Saturday afternoons. He didn't need any more lessons than that; he was very quick to memorise the letters.

 

After the lessons had ended, I admit that I felt… saddened, I suppose. I had enjoyed the short periods of time when we sat down together, just us two, and his entire attention was focussed solely on me. But I buried that feeling, labelling it as a weakness. I became even more of a loner, separating myself from the rest of the pilots in a bid to get rid of my perceived weakness. I gradually pushed Duo out of my mind in favour of training. I forced myself to forget his smile. To forget his sparkling eyes. I even made myself forget the sound of his voice.

 

But I couldn't forget the way he'd so carefully written my name for the first time, in the first lesson I gave him. He'd been so careful, so meticulous, wanting it to be as perfect as possible. The f had an odd flick at the bottom; like a fish's tail, I remember thinking. It was wonderfully Duo, strange as that may sound.

 

After the Marimaia Uprising, I joined the Preventers. I threw myself into my job, not letting anything distract me from it. I think I probably did more work than anyone else in the entire force, except possibly Une herself. Sally Po told me that I should give myself a break, that I was lonely. I ignored her; I didn't think I was lonely. But gradually, I couldn't help but notice that when I returned home to my sparse apartment every day, I would find myself longing for company. For Duo. I hadn't realised just how fond I was of the energy-filled nuisance. I finally decided that the war was over, and seeing Duo again wouldn't be a weakness. And so I tried to contact him, but no-one knew where he was. With the help of Quatre and Trowa, I searched for him for nearly a whole month before accepting that he had vanished, and if he didn't want to be found, well: I wouldn't be able to find him. So I resigned myself to loneliness; Quatre was busy and I found it hard to get on with Trowa for more than an hour a week.

 

But one cold Saturday evening, sometime in late September, I found an envelope on my desk. On the front, in neat black ink, it stated simply, `Wufei'. And the f had an odd flick at the bottom, like a fish's tail.

 

Cold Saturday evenings aren't so cold anymore. Not for me, anyway. I have a bundle of warmth to snuggle up to each day. And I hopefully will for the rest of all the cold Saturday evenings in my life.

 

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Sandy: Heh heh, hope you liked it ForeverM'Rose. Happy birthday again! I'm beyond flattered to asked me to write you this.

Reviews would be nice everyone, but I suppose it's not totally necessary since this was a birthday fic for someone. But if you wanna review, feel perfectly free! ^_^ It'll make me happy, if nothing else.