Fic: Santa Clarita 7/?
Santa Clarita 7
Disclaimer: I still don’t own Gundam Wing.
Notes: I can’t believe its been so long since I posted. I’m just writing this story for my own amusement, I think, but I hope someone else enjoys it.
I’m Heero Yuy. Before the war, I didn’t know that. I knew hunger and how to be a fucking effective predator. Odin might have given me one nice bit of advice, that to be fair, really saved me because it made me pause long enough to see the salvation that burned in my idiot’s violet eyes, but he was shit for a parent. During the war I learned that I was Heero Yuy because that’s what Dr. J told me.
After the war I knew I was Heero Yuy because Duo Maxwell said he loved Heero Yuy and his love is more important than air to me.
Sitting on neatly folded pink comforter that belonged so some other doomed little girl, I watched my world sleep. He really is very beautiful, by which I mean his eyes are spaced just far enough apart, he has thick eyelashes that demark the soft arches of his eye shape well, that his lips are soft and dark, curved, that his nose is curved up enough to make him look... gentle somehow, though I know perfectly well that impression is deceiving, but he is beautiful, nonetheless. Looking at him, thinking about him, it awakens something in me that makes me feel I understand him when he gets into his religious moments. Purpose. Life.
I can hear his voice in my head, see his eyes roll. “It’s your fucking soul, ‘Ro. Don’t tell me you can’t find it now, yeah?”
His hand in my is warm, the palm and fingertips calloused. There are small little burn scars, nicks, the various off color spot from this splatter or that, so many little things that he could have corrected long ago with the technological advances that flourished after the war. I guess the calluses were useful and the rest was just too familiar to get rid of. It’s not like he didn’t have the skills and to be really honest, I am not entirely sure what he has modified about his body. I don’t really like all the modifications that he did.
I do think that some part of him wanted to be able to keep up with me, to be more like me, which was perhaps the most offensive though I’ve ever had, the closest I’ve ever come to being offended by him. I thought I’d become less than human and all he could see was good in me, so much so that he wanted to be like me. He really didn’t understand that I wanted to be like him more than I could ever measure.
And so here we are, seventy years, perhaps, give or take, because the records between now and home are a little spotty, but we’re pretty far from home in a small town, looking for a girl who’s not born yet, who’s going to die at the hand of someone who’s probably a cute little kid still, in a world where homosexuality is considered evil and interracial relationships aren’t really that far behind on this society’s list of sins. I say let the bitches burn, really.
I know that’s not what he’s going to say, when he managed to wake up from the medically induced coma his own damn modifications have put him into. Well, I expect though, that if he hadn’t made such extreme modifications, the fucker who shot him, who is probably mooning around in high school thinking these are the worst days of his life still, that fucker who shot my mate... I wonder if Duo will appreciate that I’ve arranged for that man to experience Hell forever, if we don’t make it back? I think it’s poetic and it comforts some raging part of me that normally sleeps deeper than the gods of Olympus.... but if Duo hadn’t made those modifications, being shot and kicked into the past would likely have been more unpleasant than a short term coma in someone else’s bed.
When he wakes up, my love is going to want to save this girl his attacker was trying to save, and probably every other waif this world can kick up. During the war, we were hiding in this bit of abandoned city under the middle of no fucking where and Duo found a mountain of pamphlets full of primitive colored picture stories.
It makes me smile to think of him standing there, wearing just his pants, which were rolled up to his knees because it was hot under whatever ruined hopes we were hiding under, but there he was, more boy in my memory than I thought he was when it was our present, “Comcs! Heero Yuy! These are comics! I’m going to save them all and after the war! After! We’ll start a shop together! This stuff is salvage! And baby! It’s all ours!”
I still think he was running a fever. HIs constitution was made of shit before all his mods. He was made of will, fire, spit, and smiles.. well, and death, but that ingredient comes under ‘other natural flavors’. He told me so himself.
When my baby wakes up, he’s going to try to save the world. I could totally imagine him trying to dress up like ‘Batman’.
Heero rubbed his temples.
Coming back in time to change the past a second time, to make sure that Duo lived, that had been a real gamble with the lives of every being in the universe and Heero really hoped Duo never figured out how big a risk.
Maybe they could open a comic book shop? Maybe they’d just collect comics.
Heero smirked. The conversation with Wufei was going to be impressive.
Wufei’s eyebrows drew down. “You went nearly a hundred years into the past and while you might have gotten a mind scan of Stephen Hawking or Steven Speilberg.. you might have saved the actual Mona Lisa, no... you come back with a hundred thousand comics wrapped in toxic plastic wrap.”
Heero smiled at Duo. Duo grinned, sitting on a stack of comic boxes, held up a Batman issue. “Yup! Man! We’re going to have the greatest comic shop and coffee place! You wanna read some?”
Yeah, couldn’t wait to get home. If I had a way of putting us both in cryo and shipping us home at just right moment, fuck, I’d have us pop out of a cake at just the right moment. Wufei will be there in all his ceremonial garb for my departure that was supposed to happen the next morning, and wham! Maxwell out of a cake.
Heero squeezed Duo’s hand a little bit, rubbed his thumb over the back of his hand. They say one’s brain becomes more and more intertwined with a lover or close person the longer one is with them. I like my brain on Maxwell.
I don’t like Maxwell on bored or Maxwell on crusader complex. So I needed to carry out the next step of my plan, but I just wanted to sit with him for one more minute. It was like him trying to leave a video game before he was really done.
Heero lifted Duo’s hand, kissed the back of his knuckles, rubbed his cheek against the warm skin.
Shelly padded in, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor in the hallway. His speech bubble appeared and he said, “The process says it’s complete. How did you pack with so little notice?”
“I try to have contingency plans, where Duo is concerned.” Heero said, feeling only a little self conscious that he’d made friends and was relying on a member of another species. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have done better for you.”
“I know,” Shelly said, bounding upon to the bed, tail wagging, as he gave Duo’s sleeping face, voice so nice and reasonable and completely at odds with his tail wagging, face licking instinct.
Heero lifted a still sleeping Duo into his arms. “Yes, we can get beef. Come on.”
There in the hallway a hatch had been cut into the floor, neatly, and then down into the foundation, down a flight of stairs, and into a replica of their bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen at home, Smoothed over and without many of the higher tech features, but it was safe, there was an extensive library of ebooks, and Heero had hopes of building video gaming systems. It didn’t have a bed yet though, or any other furniture. Repurposing the foundation and ground under this house into walls and what he could had been more than he’d honestly planned for, though he wasn’t going to to admit that to Shelly, or Duo, unless he had to.
It was going to be the best honeymoon, and the longest honeymoon, he could possibly imagine. With his coat balled up for a pillow, he left Duo still in his healing sleep, went back up the stairs so he could close the hatch, leaving the hardwood floor looking exactly like it had.
How long was seventy years really? There had been times in safe houses where he was sure a century had gone by. They were going to get a little impatient. It wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle.
He snuggled up next to Duo, arms around him, holding him lovingly. They were alive, together, and safe.