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"Yestermark"Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Rating: NC 17 Warnings: extreme Asyness Summary: Mingling of possibilities occurs at this vortex source. Don't leave home without your Ticket firmly in your fist. Else you may never return. Pairings: 1x2 other GW characters may appear upon progression
"Yestermark " Part 8. "What's your sign, pussycat?" "Keep off the grass." "Not you, toots. The long haired chick sitting next to you. I really dig the braid." "For your information, he's a dude, dude." "Oh. Uh. Peachy keen. I can relate to that." "Could you kindly relate to that from a greater distance?" The reject in question withdrew to sulk at the bar. He had to be at least thirty. As in 'never trust anyone over thirty'. Clad in a baby blue turtleneck and tight jeans. He had on ankle boots. A short waistcoat in thin-wale corduroy. And a matching cap. Not a baseball cap, mind you. But a cabby hat with a cute little brim and a poufy crown that flopped slightly to one side. Hilde shook her head and giggled into a cocktail napkin. "The Carnaby Street-look, on a male, yet. Pinch me so I can wake up. He looks like one of those big-eye paintings." "As rendered in day glow acrylics on black velvet," Quatre nodded his head, proudly displaying his knowledge of current Western culture, despite his slightly noticeable accent. Oxford with a tinge of the Middle East. "It certainly goes with the setting," Heero hazarded a comment. These people seemed aware of his presence, appeared complacent with him, seemed to know him well enough to accept his staying at their table. He glanced around at the nightclub. In this decade, likely it would be termed a 'discotheque'. The musical recording was homogeneous, and he concluded therefore, monaural. The speakers projecting the rock sound were loud, heavy on the guitar and drums, but did not offer any gut-wrenching qualities. The brightly colored lights were stationary and located fairly obviously at ceiling level. Girls were dancing inside large, stylized bird cages perched a few feet above the level of the crowded dance floor. "Stop staring at them," Hilde hissed in mock anger. "Why?" Quatre pouted. "It's demeaning to females everywhere. Male chauvinist piglet." "I am not staring at their anatomy. Merely studying their dance movements for emulation. After all, I'm here for the purpose of cultural enlightenment. You should tell me the names of the dances they are doing." "Hmm. It's pretty much a mixture." Hilde rested her chin on her fist, gazing at the go-go girls. The one nearest them was wearing flat heeled knee high white boots. Tights patterned with flower print in tangerine and aqua. A madras plaid, hip-hugging micro mini-skirt with a three inch wide zebra striped belt. Body paint that featured a large shocking-pink dove's foot peace symbol, which covered her entire abdomen and lower thorax. A sleeveless blouse that went only as far as mid chest. But still managed to feature four tiers of ruffled flounces standing proudly off a youthful bosom. She had a perfect, cocoa colored complexion. Shoulder length black hair with bangs that flopped over her forehead. The hair had been ironed straight and then curled into one continuous curve. All except for one topknot that was tied with a large velveteen bow. Her almond eyes were made-up with vast quantities of shadow and mascara. And her mouth pursed with lipstick that was more silvery than rose. "She is a co-ed. I recognize her from my advanced political science class at the university. Clearly an educated woman. Earning her way honestly through school, with a job that is pleasant and good for the physique. Where is your demeaning chauvinism now?" Quatre snapped his fingers triumphantly. "Behave yourself and pay attention. That footwork that she's doing there. That's called 'the pony'. But the part with her hands is called 'the swim'." "And that, which looks very reminiscent of belly dancing?" "A variation of 'the Watusi'." "And now that she looks like climbing up a rope?" "She's doing 'the monkey' now." "And this which looks like it might dislocate the cervical vertebrae altogether?" "It's 'the jerk'." "Oh," Quatre groaned, rubbing his hands over his forehead, ruffling his golden fringe until it gleamed purplish in a stray black light beam. "It was so, so much easier when doing 'the twist' sufficed for modern dance." Hilde laughed and took a sip of her drink. Next to her, the other boy gazed into distant space. "Doesn't he talk?" Heero elbowed Quatre. "No. Never." "Duo?" Heero waved his hand in the staring kid's field of vision. Maxwell turned his attention toward Yuy and smiled softly. "How do you know his name?" Quatre clearly was astonished. "We met before." "I didn't realize you knew each other." "Hn. Not very well." Yuy thought he had better temper his revelation, to adapt to whatever the local history was, into which Point on a Line he now had stumbled. "As far as we can tell, he's permanently on a trip," Hilde patted Duo's cheek gently. "Groovy," Quatre shrugged and sipped his cocktail. Suddenly he gestured toward the front of the establishment. "They're here." Hilde twisted to glance over her shoulder. Then grimaced, grinning at her companions. "Unbelievable. 'The Spy who Came in from the Cliche'." They were two powerful looking male forms. Wearing homburg hats, with the brims pulled down over aviator sun glasses. And black trench coats over business suits. White dress shirts and thin silk ties. "FBI. CIA. M-o-u-s-e," Hilde hummed the mouseketeer theme song. "Talk about being on a bad trip. Stoned enough to have memorized the script. Stop the espionage film, I want to get off." The two men scanned the crowded club, then zeroed in on their table. "Mr Winner?" the one asked in a deep voice that easily pierced the surrounding racket. "Yes. You are the persons who telephoned?" Quatre studied the two with evident puzzlement. "Correct. Have you brought the object with you?" "Yes." "You will show it to me now, so that it may be authenticated." "Very well. But I don't understand. It's old. But not at all valuable." The blonde boy, blushing from the newcomers' scrutiny, pulled his wallet free of his blue jeans. "I don't know how you even came to hear that I own it." He reached into the change pouch, pulled out a dull bronze coin enfolded in a small translucent envelope, and handed it over to the spy masqueraders. "A Maximian follis. An approximately 2000 year old Roman coin in merely good condition." Quatre shrugged extravagantly. "I did say it wasn't rare or valuable." "Whatever you consider its current worth. I will give you twice that, in order to purchase it from you." The blonde scratched his head. "But why? Its just something I found last summer vacation by the Adriatic. I don't need your money. And the coin has sentimental value for me." He glanced at Duo a moment, then blushing more, looked back toward the newcomers. "I am willing to go higher with my bid." "You should have it appraised first," Hilde suggested to her friend. "Make sure its what you think it is, and not some priceless antiquity or other." "That sounds like a good idea. You gentlemen have my number. Maybe you could call me again next week." The two men just stood towering, staring down at the youngsters. "Listen," Hilde insisted above the music. "I'm an American citizen and I know my rights. And Quatre's embassy keeps track of him. And Heero there knows jiu jitsu and is just tons dangerous. So don't try to intimidate us with your lousy fascist facade, understand?" "Certainly not, miss." The taller one bowed and they both withdrew. Quatre laughed out loud, meanwhile looking relieved. "Clearly they were terrified of Yuy." He nudged Heero's foot with his. "Neato," Hilde grinned across the table at them. "Well, boys. Now that Dashiel Falcon and the Maltese Hornet have left the premises, suppose we split? I'm not into this scene, you know what I mean, jelly bean?" "Open channel D," Quatre agreed, rising from his chair. "As always, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your actions," Hilde responded, accepting the blonde's gallantly offered arm to hold. "I asked you not to tell me that," Quatre volleyed. Heero looked around, to see if he needed to pay for a drink. But none of the waitresses seemed interested in his departure. He waited for Duo to stand, looking as vague as before. In order to keep from losing him in the crowd, he grabbed the kid's arm and pulled him along after the others. "Let's get a checkered cab," Hilde suggested, walking dismissively past a green and then a yellow taxi. Her bell bottom trousers swirled over sandaled feet as she skipped upon the pavement. "Why, specifically?" "Black and white. Yin and Yang. Good versus evil. White hot stars across the velvet icy darkness of infinite space." "Are you smashed?" "On plain orange crush with too much stinkin' ice? Not hardly, brother." She grabbed Quatre, flung her arms around his neck, sucked him into a kiss that appeared to have plenty of tongue in it. Heero hugged Duo to him, as tightly as he dared, wondering how the boy would respond to a similar intimacy. They stood, watching the other couple and mostly staring down at Winner's butt, which had a large union jack sewn all across the cheeks. At last they found a taxi that suited Hilde's philosophical needs. The four of them crammed into the back of it, laughing, squirming and tickling each other. The driver, looking down his nose at their assorted beads, slogan lapel buttons, bandanas and hippy clothes, made them pay for the ride up front, before ever he took his foot off the brake pedal. Much to Quatre's delight, Hilde pointed out that this demand for pay before delivery of service was illegal. She quoted the city ordinance extensively, the cabby shifting nervously all the while, glaring at the girl through his rearview mirror, paying more attention to his antagonist than to the dangerous city traffic. When she finished explaining to him minutely how he could lose his chauffeur's license, and specifying what fines and jail time could be imposed upon him by the city courts, the man gave up and shrugged. With a disgusted look, he handed her money back to her, as they paused at a red light. It became apparent to Heero that Hilde was studying for the bar. And was very likely indeed to succeed in her future as an attorney. They arrived at their destination, and Hilde repaid the fare, along with a reasonable tip. The cabby noticed the conciliatory gesture with patent surprise. "Flower power. Make love not war," Quatre told him succinctly. "Nothing is trite that is truth." The four of them linked arms as they made their way to Hilde's building. The little newsstand that stood in the cornerstone was not yet open. They stood still in the chill early spring air of predawn, their pursed lips puffing little clouds of glittery condensation, and shivered quietly against each other's bodies. "No sustenance to be had yet," Quatre concluded. Heero looked up, his view cutting through the aggressive urban smudge toward the clear spread of stars, impossibly distant. The clatter of too many people colliding in too tight a corner of the universe nudged his notice away from sublimation and he sighed. They were knotted in a huddle, Heero's arms around Duo's body. Quatre nuzzling under the kid's braid, while the blonde's hand groped Hilde's breast. The girl leaned closer to nibble at Heero's ear lobe. "Upstairs awhile. Then doughnuts at dawn," she softly decreed. The old brownstone had an elevator from another era, with an internal door of decorative ironwork. They arrived on their floor with a thump and a jolt of machinery that reminded them of their sinister mortality in spite of youthful health. Inside the efficiency, there was little in the way of household decor. A small old radio, tuned to a twenty four hour jazz station. The past midnight disc jockey had a husky dusky voice that suggested he had long since succeeded in seduction and was now sharing satiety with his listeners. The music itself was sinuous saxophones and sizzling cymbals hissing serpentine. The notes drifted dreamily around the room, where walls were edged with naked pine boards on cinder block supports. Serving to shelve the current sum of eclectic wisdom, textbooks mingled indiscriminately with private volumes. Legal pads galore, since she was to be a lawyer. As well as novels, maths and science in a variety of Mediterranean and Eastern tongues, so that he should not suffer too acutely from homesickness. He had contributed a Persian carpet. Intricate of pattern, luscious of color, decadent in plush thickness. Duo knelt upon the rug, tracing the images with delicate fingers. "You should put the kid to bed." Quatre nodded agreement but found he couldn't tear his attention away from her. He continued to suckle at her nipple. Heero sat cross legged next to the boy and unbuttoned Duo's blue workshirt, caressing the skin beneath as he went. The mattress sprawled upon the floor and they upon the mattress. The sheets were clean and the bodies sweet. Later when a few scant motes of new light crept into their peaceful oblivion, Heero stirred, murmuring endearments into Duo's flesh. He felt his own heart beating reluctantly in his chest and wondered why his corporeal self continued this semblance of living. But he dressed in compulsory fashion, knowing that he would go ahead, because he had already made that decision. "Duo and I are going for a walk," he whispered into Hilde's ear. She muttered some incomprehensible agreement before snuggling closer to Quatre. Heero groped to find the wallet in the cast off jeans, and extricated the old coin. At least this time, he was leaving two of them in each other's company. Unlike that Point with Trowa, lonely and desolate. He fought against tears until his throat felt like a swallowed rock.
"You've brought the coin and the boy." "Yes. But you will have to wait, now, until I ask my questions. You don't want an ugly scene here with witnesses taking exception to brutality, I would guess." "Very well. Ask, if you will." "Why is he speechless this time? He's so helpless here, it's killing me. I feel like a thorough scoundrel." Treize eyed Duo. He reached over and ran the back of his knuckles down the curve of downy cheek. The kid did not seem to notice. "It is a smaller fragment of him, this one. Scarcely cognizant. We are reaching the point of diminishing returns in our search. I begin to think we will have to make do with what we have already gained. Meanwhile Zechs had drawn the lethal looking weapon from his coat. "I'm not through asking." Heero hastened a step back, pulling Duo against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him. "Tell me you aren't hurting him. Say it out loud. Convince me I'm doing the right thing." "He has had a terrible accident, a traumatic event. You are helping to rescue him." "Professor Gee said you were 'reassembling' him." "Yes, yes, and we need to get on with it." Zechs turned, whispered in Treize' ear. Then Treize offered a coaxing look toward the boys. "I shall try to give you two some time together, at our mutual end Point. Mind you, I make no promises, except that I will make every feasible effort. Duo will reassure you then. He will thank you. You'll see the favorable culmination of our efforts. You will understand our reasons. I believe you will agree with our motivations. Now kindly give me the coin." "Quatre came across his coin on the beach. He associates it sentimentally with meeting Duo, I could see that. I believe the events coincide. Is it, the coin, is it a semblance of something that belongs to or belongs with the kid? At a different Point on a distant Line?" "Very good, your deduction is excellent," Zechs appeared sincere in his compliment. "I guess I'll have to trust you still." In spite of his efforts, a hot tear rolled down Heero's cheek as he dragged the stolen coin from his pocket. The bronze felt strangely hot as he handed it off to Treize. Heero turned to kiss Duo. His eyes were tightly shut when the sweet form of the kid's body sizzled from his grasp and vanished. Always again the prior future loss. ~ * ~
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