Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Melancholy Drunk ❯ The Bar ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: SilverShinigami 
Duo is in the bar, thinking about how worthless he is, and Heero comes away from an end-of-the-war party to take him home. Some interesting emotions arise.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.30.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 491 | Status: Completed
Duo is in the bar, thinking about how worthless he is, and Heero comes away from an end-of-the-war party to take him home. Some interesting emotions arise.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 08.30.2001 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.4K | Visits: 491 | Status: Completed
This is one of my more serious fics, though it'll definitely have a happy ending. I don't think I'm capable of sad fics...it doesn't work. Anyway, I was on my way home from a marching band competition in our band van *snickers* at 1 o'clock in the morning, and this just kind of hit me. Duo in a bar, pondering the unfairness of life, and who of all people comes to take him home but...GUESS!!! I know it's highly overdone, but I really think this is a good version of it. Anyway, I'll just be putting up the disclaimer now. *pouts*
**I do not own much of anything, least of all Gundam Wing. *bows* Thank you.**
There, how was that? Good enough for anyone stupid enough to think that *I* own a TV show. *snorts* Right. In my dreams. Just read this and try to have some fun. I know I enjoyed writing it...though I was horribly sleep deprived for a day or so. Anyway. Continue. *claps hands* *lights dim and focus on text*
*~*
Life's not fair, you know. Yeah, of course you know. Everybody has at least one parent or *snort* "guardian," if you will, who makes it a point to tell (or, in my case, *show*) you that life is, in fact, a harsh, cruel, unjust reality. *another snort* I've been hanging around the Wu-man waaay too much. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, a cruel, harsh reality. It's true though. Even if it is one of those things that parents drill into your head until you know it practically better than they do, that doesn't make it any less true.
I mean, let's face it; how many of us went off on our own for the first time and got that executive job offer, or got that new Camero we'd had our eye on, or made those millions? Not too damn many, let me tell you that. Life's tough on everyone; I just got hit a little bit...harder.
I was an orphan-I don't even remember my parents. The first family I remember was Solo, the leader of our little "gang." But then he died. Go figure.
But life smiled on me for just a bit, and the Maxwell church took me in. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen became my family after that. Sister Helen was wonderful; she had an answer for everything. She made me feel better when I screwed up, or when the other kids picked on me. I smile fondly and my fingers inch up to my neck. She was the one who gave me my cross. It meant everything to me.
Then they we taken from me as well. The rational part of me knows that it wasn't my fault, but there will always be one small, little part of me that asks, "What if?" My smile turns bitter. That was when the wonderful "doctors" found me. That was one hell of a fine choice for Fate to make. It seemed like a good deal at the time, but if I'd had any idea of the heartache and pain that was to follow...boy, things would have been different. Granted, I'd be dead by now, but sometimes I wonder which would be better...I shrug to myself. I've been Death, but I've never been dead before, so I can't really compare.
I'm 17 and I've had more broken bones than a dinosaur skeleton, more stiches than I can count, and enough bruises to turn an elephant black and blue for life. I know more than most people will learn in a lifetime, and I've killed more people than anyone should have to. I smirk to myself as I finger the glass in front of me. Of course, that's to be expected when you're Shinigami.
That isn't what really bothers me the most though. I don't regret my lost innocence; I'd rather have the truth than be naive. What really kills me is the heartache. I go through all that, and it seemed ok when Fate decided to be kind once again and give me someone to love. It's really too bad that he doesn't love me back. I knew by then though, that Fate is never really kind to me; she was just trying to make me let down my guard. I tell myself that constantly, but it still hurts like hell.
I wonder idly if there's a point to all this rambling going on in my head. Because I sure as hell can't find it. I never did believe in feeling sorry for yourself...just wastes time and energy. I must be a melancholy drunk, although I can't be drunk already. I haven't had that many...have I? I sigh. This would be so much easier to figure out if the damn glass...check that, *glasses*, would stop shifting around. Damn impolite of them, if you ask me.
I sigh again and twirl the glass I'm holding in my fingers. Now that the war's over, I don't know what I'll do. After all, what good is Shinigami without Deathscythe? Not too much, let me tell ya. Sure, I act like Mr. Everything's-perfect-now-that-we-don't-have-to-fight, but I really have no clue what I'll do. Maybe Quatre needs an employee...though I honestly can't see myself as a pencil-pusher. I have to smile at the image of me in a business suit...yeah, right. Not on your life, buddy.
I'm just about to start chuckling over the mental images of me in an Armani, giving a presentation at a business meeting, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Now, I may be a Gundam pilot, but even Shinigami knows when he's too smashed to win a fight. So I ignore my instincts that are screaming at me to attack, and slowly turn to see who dared to bother braid-boy.
I squint a little as the world tilts for a terrifying moment, and am forever grateful to the rational part of my mind for convincing my not to move too quickly. I am nearly sick from what little I did move, and now I'm...well, now the world seems to be moving...moving up and to the side...I groan as I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around me. I look curiously at the barstool I had occupied...how the hell did it get all the way up *there*? It was supposed to be below me, if I remember correctly.
Giving up on that particular oddity, I turn to try and see the reason my barstool isn't below me anymore...and see Heero, of all people, passing the relieved bartender some money. Great, now I owe him. He turns back to me and blinks, perfect-soldier mask firmly in place. Not to be outdone, I blink back at him.
I groan again as he picks me up, and bury my head in his chest. I'm pretty sure he won't appreciate it, but it's vastly preferable to throwing up all over him. Thankfully for me, he treads lightly as we, well, *he* makes our way back to his car, so I'm not jostled a whole lot.
Thank God for that small, yet wonderful blessing. Throwing up on your friends is almost worse than throwing up on your enemies. I laugh as I wonder exactly *what* Treize would do if I got sick on him. I'm suprised as I hear the laugh come out dry and strangled. Heero is obviously suprised also, and I wonder why my laugh sounded so...bitter. Must have something to do with the alcohol.
I close my eyes as we stop, willing the world to stop spinning. I wonder briefly why we're stopped, then clench my teeth as I'm jerked backward, forward, and then set down. Oooh boy, my stomach is going to explode. Now, won't that be a pretty sight. I flinch as a door is slammed beside me, and one opens on the other side. So I must be in Heero's car. I hear him flip on the air as we pull out, and I lean back greatfully as cold air washes over my sweating face.
I concentrate on breathing in and out, in and out, as we pull out of the lot and head home. I hope to God I make it that far before I get sick. Heero is going to get so mad if I ask him to stop, or worse, *I shudder*, throw up in here. Oh, the things he'd do to me...
He's not a nice person to piss off, you know. Nope, it's not very smart to make him mad. I remember once, when I painted his laptop lime green and put purple stickers all over it...I couldn't walk for *three days*.
Oookay, all these memories are really nice, but now I don't feel so good...not good at all. I moan, and Heero must notice my distress, because he pulls over and helps me out of the car. I'm half expecting him to just leave me for dead, so I'm suprised when he keeps a reassuring hand on my back as I'm sick. I gasp as I finish and give thanks to any deity listening that he held my braid back.
He murmurs reassuring words to me as he picks me up again and walks back to the car. I think I feel worse than I ever have in my life; I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't here. Which makes me wonder-why is he here at all? Isn't there some victory party going on at Relena's? Why would he come all the way out here, just to help his drunk...friend isn't the right word. Comrade, maybe. Ally, perhaps, but definitely not friend. The Perfect Soldier doesn't have friends, he'd informed me. He doesn't *need* them. I try to give him his own DeathGlare, but the effect is slightly ruined by the way I'm swaying, even in the car seat. He must feel it though, because he turns to look at me. I don't know what happens next, but he must see something he doesn't like, because he tightens his lips and turns back to the road. Oh yeah, *I sneer*, he sees a drunk, sick, dirty, pathetic excuse for a soldier who forced him to leave his girlfriend's party and drag him home from God knows what kind of little booze-hole.
I close my eyes and try to forget the fact that I crashed his party (albeit, unintentionally, but nontheless, I still ruined it). I feel the car stop and his door open, so we must be home. I try and prepare myself, but the movement of being picked up is still nauseating. I hope to God (I seem to be doing that a lot lately) that I won't get sick all over Quatre's house and I clutch Heero's shirt harder.
I put all my effort into breathing as he makes our way upstairs. I feel myself start to get sick again as he leans over to set me down. I pound feebly on his shoulder, and he quickly carries me to the bathroom. Once again, I expect him to leave me there-I'm home, he's done his duty. But I'm suprised again (well, as much as I can be, considering I'm on the floor throwing up) as he stays beside me, holding me up. He even goes so far as to get me some mouthwash. What a pal.
I'm perfectly content to stay where I am, lying in a heap on the floor, but apparently Mr. Personality has other plans. He lifts me up and slings my arm over his shoulders, and we (both of us this time) make our way back into the bedroom. I realize vaguely that it's our room...it seems odd to me that we have to share rooms in Quatre's mansion....hm, oh well. I think right now I'm going to concentrate on getting into bed. Yeah, that'd be good.
Oooh, these pillows are so soft...it's heavenly. But wait...why are my arms moving? I don't remember telling them to move...oo, now I can't see. Oh. My shirt's off. *That* would explain it. I try to help him with the rest of my clothes, but I only manage to get tangled up. He tells me in his deep monotone to stay still, and at this point, I'm more than happy to comply.
I feel a gust of cool air so I assume my pants are off now. Splendid. I might have enjoyed this if I'd been able to think straight. Ooo, we're going to stop that train of thought right there. This is *not* the right time to let my imagination run away...I take hold and strangle it, putting it out of commission for a while.
I see a hand reaching down toward me...a big...blue...washcloth. Oh. You know, this whole being drunk thing isn't helping my already scrambled mind. Now I know why Quatre always insisted on non-alcoholic champagne...smart kid.
I groan again and a weight settles down on the bed beside me. I painstakenly open my eyes and peer at the boy who brought me here. He's in formal wear, which informs me, even in my befuddled state, that I *did* drag him away form Relena's party. Wonderful. Now he's going to hate me.
I don't see hate in his eyes though...actually, I dont' see much of anything. He has that damn soldier-mask on again. I frown at him and he blinks. Yes! A reaction! I'm the one left blinking though, as he reaches down and trails his fingers down the side of my face. Wow. What the hell was that for?
He abruptly stands and retreats, leaving the room. I sigh and bury my head in the feathery soft pillow. I'll think about this in the morning, when the chibi gundams dancing around my head are gone.
*~*Owari*~*
Well, what did you guys think? I know this really needs a second chapter, and I'll write it if you guys want, but I'm asking for some major reviews if I'm going to do it. It's really hard for me to get in a melancholy mood to write this. I'm a very happy person. Well, not happy so much as...confidently content. Or something like that. Anyway, tell me what you think!!
**I do not own much of anything, least of all Gundam Wing. *bows* Thank you.**
There, how was that? Good enough for anyone stupid enough to think that *I* own a TV show. *snorts* Right. In my dreams. Just read this and try to have some fun. I know I enjoyed writing it...though I was horribly sleep deprived for a day or so. Anyway. Continue. *claps hands* *lights dim and focus on text*
*~*
Life's not fair, you know. Yeah, of course you know. Everybody has at least one parent or *snort* "guardian," if you will, who makes it a point to tell (or, in my case, *show*) you that life is, in fact, a harsh, cruel, unjust reality. *another snort* I've been hanging around the Wu-man waaay too much. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, a cruel, harsh reality. It's true though. Even if it is one of those things that parents drill into your head until you know it practically better than they do, that doesn't make it any less true.
I mean, let's face it; how many of us went off on our own for the first time and got that executive job offer, or got that new Camero we'd had our eye on, or made those millions? Not too damn many, let me tell you that. Life's tough on everyone; I just got hit a little bit...harder.
I was an orphan-I don't even remember my parents. The first family I remember was Solo, the leader of our little "gang." But then he died. Go figure.
But life smiled on me for just a bit, and the Maxwell church took me in. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen became my family after that. Sister Helen was wonderful; she had an answer for everything. She made me feel better when I screwed up, or when the other kids picked on me. I smile fondly and my fingers inch up to my neck. She was the one who gave me my cross. It meant everything to me.
Then they we taken from me as well. The rational part of me knows that it wasn't my fault, but there will always be one small, little part of me that asks, "What if?" My smile turns bitter. That was when the wonderful "doctors" found me. That was one hell of a fine choice for Fate to make. It seemed like a good deal at the time, but if I'd had any idea of the heartache and pain that was to follow...boy, things would have been different. Granted, I'd be dead by now, but sometimes I wonder which would be better...I shrug to myself. I've been Death, but I've never been dead before, so I can't really compare.
I'm 17 and I've had more broken bones than a dinosaur skeleton, more stiches than I can count, and enough bruises to turn an elephant black and blue for life. I know more than most people will learn in a lifetime, and I've killed more people than anyone should have to. I smirk to myself as I finger the glass in front of me. Of course, that's to be expected when you're Shinigami.
That isn't what really bothers me the most though. I don't regret my lost innocence; I'd rather have the truth than be naive. What really kills me is the heartache. I go through all that, and it seemed ok when Fate decided to be kind once again and give me someone to love. It's really too bad that he doesn't love me back. I knew by then though, that Fate is never really kind to me; she was just trying to make me let down my guard. I tell myself that constantly, but it still hurts like hell.
I wonder idly if there's a point to all this rambling going on in my head. Because I sure as hell can't find it. I never did believe in feeling sorry for yourself...just wastes time and energy. I must be a melancholy drunk, although I can't be drunk already. I haven't had that many...have I? I sigh. This would be so much easier to figure out if the damn glass...check that, *glasses*, would stop shifting around. Damn impolite of them, if you ask me.
I sigh again and twirl the glass I'm holding in my fingers. Now that the war's over, I don't know what I'll do. After all, what good is Shinigami without Deathscythe? Not too much, let me tell ya. Sure, I act like Mr. Everything's-perfect-now-that-we-don't-have-to-fight, but I really have no clue what I'll do. Maybe Quatre needs an employee...though I honestly can't see myself as a pencil-pusher. I have to smile at the image of me in a business suit...yeah, right. Not on your life, buddy.
I'm just about to start chuckling over the mental images of me in an Armani, giving a presentation at a business meeting, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. Now, I may be a Gundam pilot, but even Shinigami knows when he's too smashed to win a fight. So I ignore my instincts that are screaming at me to attack, and slowly turn to see who dared to bother braid-boy.
I squint a little as the world tilts for a terrifying moment, and am forever grateful to the rational part of my mind for convincing my not to move too quickly. I am nearly sick from what little I did move, and now I'm...well, now the world seems to be moving...moving up and to the side...I groan as I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around me. I look curiously at the barstool I had occupied...how the hell did it get all the way up *there*? It was supposed to be below me, if I remember correctly.
Giving up on that particular oddity, I turn to try and see the reason my barstool isn't below me anymore...and see Heero, of all people, passing the relieved bartender some money. Great, now I owe him. He turns back to me and blinks, perfect-soldier mask firmly in place. Not to be outdone, I blink back at him.
I groan again as he picks me up, and bury my head in his chest. I'm pretty sure he won't appreciate it, but it's vastly preferable to throwing up all over him. Thankfully for me, he treads lightly as we, well, *he* makes our way back to his car, so I'm not jostled a whole lot.
Thank God for that small, yet wonderful blessing. Throwing up on your friends is almost worse than throwing up on your enemies. I laugh as I wonder exactly *what* Treize would do if I got sick on him. I'm suprised as I hear the laugh come out dry and strangled. Heero is obviously suprised also, and I wonder why my laugh sounded so...bitter. Must have something to do with the alcohol.
I close my eyes as we stop, willing the world to stop spinning. I wonder briefly why we're stopped, then clench my teeth as I'm jerked backward, forward, and then set down. Oooh boy, my stomach is going to explode. Now, won't that be a pretty sight. I flinch as a door is slammed beside me, and one opens on the other side. So I must be in Heero's car. I hear him flip on the air as we pull out, and I lean back greatfully as cold air washes over my sweating face.
I concentrate on breathing in and out, in and out, as we pull out of the lot and head home. I hope to God I make it that far before I get sick. Heero is going to get so mad if I ask him to stop, or worse, *I shudder*, throw up in here. Oh, the things he'd do to me...
He's not a nice person to piss off, you know. Nope, it's not very smart to make him mad. I remember once, when I painted his laptop lime green and put purple stickers all over it...I couldn't walk for *three days*.
Oookay, all these memories are really nice, but now I don't feel so good...not good at all. I moan, and Heero must notice my distress, because he pulls over and helps me out of the car. I'm half expecting him to just leave me for dead, so I'm suprised when he keeps a reassuring hand on my back as I'm sick. I gasp as I finish and give thanks to any deity listening that he held my braid back.
He murmurs reassuring words to me as he picks me up again and walks back to the car. I think I feel worse than I ever have in my life; I don't know what I'd do if he wasn't here. Which makes me wonder-why is he here at all? Isn't there some victory party going on at Relena's? Why would he come all the way out here, just to help his drunk...friend isn't the right word. Comrade, maybe. Ally, perhaps, but definitely not friend. The Perfect Soldier doesn't have friends, he'd informed me. He doesn't *need* them. I try to give him his own DeathGlare, but the effect is slightly ruined by the way I'm swaying, even in the car seat. He must feel it though, because he turns to look at me. I don't know what happens next, but he must see something he doesn't like, because he tightens his lips and turns back to the road. Oh yeah, *I sneer*, he sees a drunk, sick, dirty, pathetic excuse for a soldier who forced him to leave his girlfriend's party and drag him home from God knows what kind of little booze-hole.
I close my eyes and try to forget the fact that I crashed his party (albeit, unintentionally, but nontheless, I still ruined it). I feel the car stop and his door open, so we must be home. I try and prepare myself, but the movement of being picked up is still nauseating. I hope to God (I seem to be doing that a lot lately) that I won't get sick all over Quatre's house and I clutch Heero's shirt harder.
I put all my effort into breathing as he makes our way upstairs. I feel myself start to get sick again as he leans over to set me down. I pound feebly on his shoulder, and he quickly carries me to the bathroom. Once again, I expect him to leave me there-I'm home, he's done his duty. But I'm suprised again (well, as much as I can be, considering I'm on the floor throwing up) as he stays beside me, holding me up. He even goes so far as to get me some mouthwash. What a pal.
I'm perfectly content to stay where I am, lying in a heap on the floor, but apparently Mr. Personality has other plans. He lifts me up and slings my arm over his shoulders, and we (both of us this time) make our way back into the bedroom. I realize vaguely that it's our room...it seems odd to me that we have to share rooms in Quatre's mansion....hm, oh well. I think right now I'm going to concentrate on getting into bed. Yeah, that'd be good.
Oooh, these pillows are so soft...it's heavenly. But wait...why are my arms moving? I don't remember telling them to move...oo, now I can't see. Oh. My shirt's off. *That* would explain it. I try to help him with the rest of my clothes, but I only manage to get tangled up. He tells me in his deep monotone to stay still, and at this point, I'm more than happy to comply.
I feel a gust of cool air so I assume my pants are off now. Splendid. I might have enjoyed this if I'd been able to think straight. Ooo, we're going to stop that train of thought right there. This is *not* the right time to let my imagination run away...I take hold and strangle it, putting it out of commission for a while.
I see a hand reaching down toward me...a big...blue...washcloth. Oh. You know, this whole being drunk thing isn't helping my already scrambled mind. Now I know why Quatre always insisted on non-alcoholic champagne...smart kid.
I groan again and a weight settles down on the bed beside me. I painstakenly open my eyes and peer at the boy who brought me here. He's in formal wear, which informs me, even in my befuddled state, that I *did* drag him away form Relena's party. Wonderful. Now he's going to hate me.
I don't see hate in his eyes though...actually, I dont' see much of anything. He has that damn soldier-mask on again. I frown at him and he blinks. Yes! A reaction! I'm the one left blinking though, as he reaches down and trails his fingers down the side of my face. Wow. What the hell was that for?
He abruptly stands and retreats, leaving the room. I sigh and bury my head in the feathery soft pillow. I'll think about this in the morning, when the chibi gundams dancing around my head are gone.
*~*Owari*~*
Well, what did you guys think? I know this really needs a second chapter, and I'll write it if you guys want, but I'm asking for some major reviews if I'm going to do it. It's really hard for me to get in a melancholy mood to write this. I'm a very happy person. Well, not happy so much as...confidently content. Or something like that. Anyway, tell me what you think!!