Thank You for Calling 2/?
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing, nor do I own the Marvel Universe, or Supernatural...
Note: This chapter is for Laura’s Birthday! :) And likely the next after...
“Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?” He sat there on his chair, alert and cheerful.
“I just have some questions,” a younger girl asked.
“Of course, I’d be happy to answer any questions you may have. I feel I should advise you thought you must be 18 years old to purchase products from Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. May I have your name please?”
“I’m Karissa. I’m fifteen, but I’m going to be sixteen in two weeks. On the page about spells, it says that, well,” she said, pausing and making odd little sounds like she was chewing her lip. “Well, I just want to know if they work. Do love spells work?”
“Um,” Steve said, as if he were giving her question due consideration, when what he was really doing was trying to think how to answer her question honestly without getting himself fired. “They can have some benefits, but you don’t want someone falling in love with you if it’s not truly in their nature to love you. Love is a very powerful experience and sometimes the best part of that experience is to give love. I believe if you look in our book section, you’ll find a seminal work by Starhawk called Spiral Dance. She gives directions for a very powerful love spell that can not do anyone any harm.”
The earthquake shook the building only slightly, but as his chair shivered, he suddenly reassessed the sturdiness of the building his job was in. The girl talked away in his ear about why needed a love spell, some girl named Belinda who was, apparently, the most beautiful girl in school. While she talked, Steve reminded himself that his purpose was to protect the world, protect freedom, and do that he needed to maintain his freedom, not endanger his team. They needed to lay low, pay rent, buy food, stay hidden. “I do believe love is one of the most powerful forces in the world. I believe we may have just had an earthquake. It may be necessary for me to call you back.”
“But what about lust,” the girl asked urgently. “If I get the number 69 candle and I write her name on it, do you think she’ll lust for me?”
Steve rubbed between his eyes. “That might be something best discussed with your mother.”
The girl groaned. “I don’t think you know anything about magic.”
“Magic is powerful. It’s not something to be trifled with.”
“Whatever. I want to order to #69 candles and five blessed ribbons, and some juju fix beans.”
“Do you have a parent I can speak with so that we can complete the purchase, Karissa?”
“No. The card’s in my name. I have a job.”
“I’m sorry. I can not sell certain products to customers who are under 18.”
“Can I talk to your supervisor, please?”
“Of course, would you like to hold?”
And then there was hold music. He was going to lose this job. This was a good job though. It paid enough to cover their expenses and they didn’t have to see anyone face-to-face. It was the last place the government was going to come looking for them at.
His email blinked and he clicked into it.
The new email was from Tony@imanasshole.com On the off chance that it was an apology, Steve clicked it open.
“I need you and Bucky to take out a weapon for me.”
Hold music continued to play. Assholes at his fingertips, assholes in his ears, profanity in his thoughts... it called for a new job, it did.Steve replied, “You can’t email me here.”
Tony’s reply hit his inbox milliseconds before he even hit send. “Yes, I can. Obviously. I’ve just emailed you. You’re going to have a hard time staying hidden if this weapon levels Seattle. Think of all the innocent dead. You don’t want dead civilians, do you Cap?”
“Send the information to my private email.”
“Don’t worry! :) :)” Tony replied. “I won’t let you get fired. It’s the least I can do. Oh and I sent you a package.”
“Are you intoxicated? Is that where this is coming from? You’re never going to win Pepper’s trust like this,” Steve typed.
“Cap, let’s just stay with saving innocent lives, shall we,” Tony replied.
Just after he’d managed to transfer the underage girl to a supervisor who, hopefully, wasn’t going to let her buy anything either, another supervisor showed up at his desk dragging a rather large box.
Steve smiled, a twitchy nervous smile. “Hi Tanya. How are you this afternoon?”
“Put yourself in coaching,” she said, smiling like nothing was wrong.
Bucky had suggested they work as private investigators. That might not be such a poor idea. “Of course, how can I help?”
“You are aware that you’re not allowed to use the business address for packages or mail, right?”
“I did not request any packages or mail,” Steve defended himself.
“Yeah? Explain this,” she said pushing the large narrow box closer to him. “Go on, open it up. I’d love to see what was so important that you had to risk your job to get it. And really? What could you possibly order from imanasshole.com anyway?”
“Um,” Steve said, not really having a good answer for that, but Tony’s apologies were about as poor as one could get. Inside the box though, now that was a decent apology. He pulled his shield up and found a great smile. That apology might be better than it had seemed at first inspection.
“Great,” Tanya snapped. “Fan junk. You know he’s not a hero, right?”
“Yes, Ma’am. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t.”
Steve pushed the box under his desk, a genuine smile on his face. There was hope for the world. “Thank you for calling Acme Supernatural Supplies and Supplements. My name is Steve. How may I help you?”
Duo Maxwell sat on the steps behind the homeless shelter. War hadn’t touched Seattle much. That alone would have made it an interesting city. There was a plaque in the subway about Microsoft and how he or she had brought computers to the world. Elbow on his knee, a cigarette hanging from his fingers, Duo wondered what Microsoft would think of the world now. It would suck shit to see this pretty city fall down. The Emerald City. Trowa’s green eyes.
Duo took a long drag on his cigarette and tried not to think about color and fucking eyes made him hard.
The door opened behind him and a gruff old voice invited him back in, “Son, we’re about to have prayers before dinner. Come in?”
“Yeah,” Duo said, carefully snuffing out his cigarette and hiding the remaining stub in his rolled up sleeve. “Coming.”
Yeah, so god, fucking forgive me for being a faggot, a murderer, and a faggot, a thief, but mostly a murder. Probably.
Duo stood, feeling the soreness in his left knee. A police baton’ll do that to ya.
His pocket vibrated and he pulled out his phone. It was nice, late model played all the games and God, the music was proof of divinity. The text on its lovely big screen was from Heero though. “Location?”
Duo smirked, wished his cigarette was still lit, wished he could tell Heero how fucking gorgeous his eyes were. Howard said that if he just waited it out, wanting to fuck everything would fade with time. It was just a phase. He thought if he didn’t want to fuck Heero when he thought about it him, that, well, that then life wouldn’t be fucking worth living. He knew full well that Heero was asking for his location, but replied, “Location of what?”
He turned on his find friends though and went in for prayers.
Heero stared at the response. Life had been so much easier before he’d met Duo. It had been so much shorter. There had been a putrefying rage that he hadn’t even had words for. He’d been sitting with Duo, a drunk Duo with a scratched up face and somehow more poetry on the tip of his tongue than Heero had known existed. That was the night his secret and covert mission of ending himself had shifted from wanting to end to just not wanting to be someone else’s weapon.
Duo wasn’t always easy to deal with though. He was like color and song and explosions and he never ramped down. Even when he was sleeping, sprawled out on whatever bed they’d found, his braid trailing off into space that wasn’t his, he was still vivid for Heero, still drawing his attention, still a siren into unknown lands.
Three days before, Heero had told him to shut up. Duo hadn’t even been talking, not paused to draw breath, just dancing at the edge of a roof, thirty stories up, the wind whipping that braid around, a can of sugar and herbal amphetamine in one hand, headphones on, hips swaying like he was the dawn and the dusk, the cycle of life, so some beat that Heero could not hear, no matter how hard he tried. There had been this spike of resentment, rage, and he’d snapped.
Duo hadn’t said a fucking word. He just disappeared. He wasn’t answering his calls.
His phone was still on though and with a bit of work, Heero tracked him to a homeless shelter in Seattle. That was the easy part. Now he had to find a way to apologize. So he walked in, looking like a homeless boy, scruffy and defensive, and they let him in... Duo was there... somewhere.