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"Free Falling"Written By: Kaeru Shisho Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Gundam Wing
or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, rated for language, yaoi pairings Pairings: 2x1, 3x4 Summary: Duo searches for the key to happiness and love while free falling through life A/N: I couldn't have done this without Waterlily's
invaluable editing "Free Falling" Chapter Seven The shuttle trip from L5 to L4 was doomed from the start. I was in a foul, foul mood. Hurt to the core. I felt betrayed, unfairly used, and I was completely aware that everyone else involved felt the same way too. My heart beat, but felt numb alternating with tortured, having been ripped from my chest and left behind with Heero, unwelcome in what had been my home. The mother of my child to be sat beside me a prisoner, too, of circumstances. She didn't look terribly happy either, though, she'd gotten what she'd wanted, hadn't she? She got me. Heero lost me. No. He gave me, handed me over to her, of his own somewhat free will. What I'd wanted had gotten ignored, pushed aside for the sake of this, this...unborn child, which, I might add, I had serious questions about being half mine. For all the radiation I'd been subjected to flying unshielded spacecraft throughout the war and from L2 colony defensive mishaps, I'd bet every cent I had against my little guys having much impact. I had decided first thing back on L4 was to get tested. I wanted proof that that child was mine. I didn't trust the tests she said proved I'd be a father. I didn't trust her with that information. I wasn't on L4 half the time; what did I know about her love life when I wasn't there? I hadn't expected her to be faithful. I hadn't been! Not that I wanted to leave Hilde raising a child on her own. If the actual father was unable to assist, I'd help out financially and physically—when I could and because I wanted to, not because I was shanghaied into something. Hilde snagged an attendant's arm and pressed for answers. "What's taking so long to take off? We're way behind schedule." "A few minutes," he corrected her, unnecessarily, I thought. "We were waiting on the L3 ambassador. She's just been seated and we will resume takeoff as soon as we get clearance. Would you like a pillow?" "No, thanks." Hilde huffed a bit. "Wouldn't hold the shuttle for me thirty seconds, but for the ambassador--." I recognized the sounds of securing latches and engines primes for takeoff. I ignored the steward's safety instruction recitation, knowing our real chances of survival under emergency conditions in space. As our ride peeled away from its colony restraints, I knew the only thing keeping us alive was the skill of the pilot—well, and me, if it came to that. I was always secure in the knowledge of my skills, abilities, and determination to stay alive. I closed my eyes to concentrate on the shuttle, sensing what I could, alert for any miscues. I know all my other pilot friends did the same because it had become part of our nature. Keeping focus was difficult with my present circumstances crying out and pushing to the front of my limited attention span. The even thrumming indicated that we'd pulled away and were on route in space. I felt her eyes on me as I continued stewing away in my rank juicy thoughts. I had nothing to say to Hilde. No patronizing words of comfort for either of us. "You're mad. I don't blame you. I didn't plan to destroy your happy camp with...him. But I don't like being insulted by you either, denying you're the father. It's not like my life's not messed up." "Shut up, Hil. I ain't in the mood to discuss this in public. I ain't feeling particularly polite." Her elbow nudged my side. "Don't hate me for this." "You should have told me when I was on L4." "You should have told me about Heero. I thought we were, like a couple." "We were kids fooling around. No strings. I was under the impression I was sterile." My penetrating stare, copied from Heero, frightened her. I could see it in her eyes. "Still am." "You said... you really love him?" "Yeah. I just figured out my life and then... this," I snarled. "Forget it. Just leave me be." I closed my eyes and leaned back, putting darkness between us. "Duo—I, uh—" I opened my eyes just in time to note a fleeting dark shape outside the portal behind her head. "What the hell was that?" "Please, don't yell--" The explosion rocked the cabin and the lights dimmed. Air shut down. I felt as much as heard airlocks sealing around us. Systems going off-line. I leaped from my seat and made it halfway to the crew's compartment before the steward blocked my path. "Return to your seat, sir. Everything's under control." The funny things that go through my head at a time like that: I wondered if Quatre's space heart could sense the panic? A whirring sound overhead, cables scraping, the interior lights brightened, the air stream hissing. Systems going on-line. But not all systems were go. The thrusters chugged unevenly. "I'll be the judge of that." The well-intentioned flight attendant was no match for Shinigami on a mission. I overpowered him, shoving him into an empty seat with a tight clutch to his neck, and I was racing up to the flight deck seconds later. The two-level crew module had a forward flight deck with the pilot's seat on the right. The co-pilot and, I counted, five other staff members on the lower level were too busy to look my way. The pilot flashed a glance at me over his shoulder as I watched, studying the meters and dials and gauging reactions—this all in less than a second. "You don't belong in here," the pilot said. "Duo Maxwell, Gundam pilot. I could take one of these apart and rebuild it so I just might know something you don't. Hey, I just can't trust my life to others." The commanding pilot had the shop under control, mostly. "One man-- emergency return is off-line! I need you all at your stations. Whoever did this knew exactly where to hit us." I'm quick. "You think this was intentionally aimed at the Ambassador to L3? One curt nod was enough. "Hit to the last payload door. Partition off complete. Mid-fuselage secured." Whew! That meant that the airlocks to passenger section were holding and secure. Okay, in addition to forming the payload bay, the midfuselage supported the payload bay doors, hinges and tiedown fittings, and various system components. These reports were all good as could be expected. "Reviewing damage to aft fuselage." The aft fuselage contained the maneuvering systems and main engines, among other things. "aft... running diagnostics—" That left the internal thrust structure supporting the three main engines, the turbopumps and propellant lines— The attendant I'd way-laid shot into the compartment. "Sorry, sir! I tried to stop him!" His voice was raspy from my rough handling. The commander waved him away. "He's another pilot, another pair of eyes. He can stay." Did I gloat? Did I smirk? Not a bit. The steward had just been doing his job, just as I was doing mine, only I wasn't getting paid. "Tail clear." All right, engines online—I figured all that from the readings or we'd be floating, but it was good to know there was no damage to them directly. "Lines compromised." "Shit." We weren't goin' nowhere at anytime under our own power. This crew was good. They had the ship secured, passengers safe, and the damage isolated in only minutes. I told the commander what I thought and he acknowledged the compliment by not ordering my ass off his deck. We were out of range for the L5 colony tugs to simply haul us back to port. I heard the crew report to L5 dock services for emergency help and the commander place a surreptitious call to Preventers for security. When he finished, he turned to me. "The ambassador to L3 has made some unpopular decisions of late. Her supporters love her, but there's a splinter group hounding her for more radical reforms. We were forewarned of delays at takeoff, but not something like this." The commander sighed and shook his head. "I would have recommended a charter flight for her." "I'll bet heads are rolling at the Preventer's agency," offered the second-in-command. I hoped Heero's wasn't one of them. I sure as hell didn't need to add guilt to the rest of my emotional brew. What if the mess up with me and Hilde had distracted him from his work and led to this? Then I remembered his department was incoming security, not out going, and that his worries were over microscopic invaders at that. Damned terrorists. "Can I get a closer look at the damage?" What harm could I do? The commander must have agreed and gave permission. "Dave? Get him a visual." The crew member skillfully adjusted the shuttle's robotic arm, using it like a boom to reach around the ship and scan the damage to the fuel and steerage lines. The highly trained damage screeners, image analysts and system experts scrutinized pictures of the shuttle's organs, and outlined the repairs required. Problem was, this was a passenger mission. They weren't equipped for major repairs, not this close to colonies with fully staffed docks. I was. Not that I was in any special hurry to get back to L4, but just the thought of drifting about for hours in a cabin with Hilde for company sucked. "I can fix that good enough to get us to L4. Only take me suit-up time and half an hour, max." I can't say this was met with awe and applause. It wasn't until a four hour ETA was received from the towing service, and I agreed to sign away all my rights and the commander's responsibilities for my actions that I was given the go-ahead. A crew member helped me into the suit and provided that sweet "buddy check" of the airlines and all. "This is deluxe," I noted, seeing the top-of-the-line SAFER backpack. This wasn't the norm for all flights, as far as I was aware. "Yes, sir! New regulations require we use these. Never had to before this." Things were changing. The pack was called a Simplified Aid for EVA Rescue, a fancy acronym for saying that if for some reason my two tethers have come loose and the worst has happened and I've floated away from where I've been attached to the station, I can activate this SAFER, and it's got some nitrogen jets that to fly back to the station and grab hold and get re-tethered. Very, very cool. "I feel better and better about this," I told him. "It's the deluxe pack, sir! Never been used." Enough of that stuff. "Great. Better pray I get the job done without having to resort to testing that it works." He tapped my helmet. "You'll be in contact with the shuttle at all times. Joel will be talking to you. He's on the RMS boom." The boom was the robotic manipulator arm. "Oh, thanks. I feel a lot less alone with a voice in my head that's not mine." "Better you than me," he added with a handshake at the airlock. "Better me than anyone. I used to do this for a living, sorta. Kinda now, too." We exchanged salutes and the airlock closed. Goodbye gravity. Love that Free Fall feeling! The tasks I did for Winner Industries were actually rather mundane. Luckily, the environment I worked in, the great void of space, provided plenty of excitement and challenge. This trip was proving to be emotionally disturbing and an ordeal, but aside from the inconvenience, this repair job didn't look to be challenging beyond belief. Scoot over to damaged area, fix the problem and scoot back. My current challenge was awaiting the Elevator ride. "Hello, Duo. Joel here. I've got your ride on the way." "Ah, thanks, Joel. Beats crawlin'. I'm happy to wait." And I was. I don't actually walk in space. There's nothing for feet to walk on, in the sense of gravity holding you down to walk. I did more of a space crawl. Like climbing something that's going straight up, I'd just grab a hold of one handrail then grab a hold of the next one. Then let go of the last one and use the free hand to lock on next to the first one, then grab the next rail. And that's literally how it's done, from one after the other handrail to wherever it is I'd be going. This was a slow and tiring process and we were, obviously, pressed for time. There was one other way, called the Elevator. The moment the (RMS) remote manipulator system came into position, I attached my tether lines and climb aboard the end of the arm. Whether or not the original designers engineered the arms for this, I don't know, but the RMS could actually deliver me wherever I needed to go—fast. The wire, spring-loaded spool was attached to me and the shuttle at all times, or in this case the robotic arm which was attached to the ship, because should I ever let go of the station, the tether would reel me back in, or I could grab it and pull myself back in. If I didn't have that tether and let go, even if I was only two inches away from the ship, I'd be doomed 'cause no one can swim without water, or air. That's why space is called a void. There's no material to create forces against. So it's critical from a safety perspective that I be tethered at all times, regardless of my fancy-ass new jet pack. I had two of them and snapped the second tether to the arm as quickly as possible. "Secure?" "Yep. Heave ho, Joel!" Space. Dangerous and beautiful. Cold and dark—oh, thanks, the external spot lights brightened my destination. Cool. I loved working with this crew. Serious multi-processing was one of the things I learned to do as a kid surviving on the streets and later learning to operate a Gundam suit. It made me good at what I did now- no- it made it possible to work in space. In addition to processing the required details of the job and thinking two or three steps ahead, I also had to be constantly thinking about where my damn tether was, where my "buddy" was, where his tether was, and where the airlock to safety was, so that at any point in time I'd be prepared. If something should go wrong, like a leak in a suit, I'd know where my "buddy" was, how I'd get to him, and how I'd get us back to the airlock. That was how it was on the job. The point was to avoid thrills and the need for deft-defying acts of bravery. Problem was, in this case I had no buddy helping me on the outside. Plenty of competent dudes at the controls listening and helping as they could, and Joel in my head, but I was on my own out there in the big void. But suddenly I noticed I wasn't alone. No. I had for company an information gathering satellite, a news bug. The news bug sent out from the media, probably attached to our shuttle before takeoff, and now with a story of interest to occupy it's little nanobrain sensors, buzzed about in an annoying fashion. Super. I'd be on the late night broadcast. I wanted sooo much to swat at it. About that. No swatting in free-float. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. In the vacuum of space that law of physics is THE LAW. "Let me explain, while I work—yes, Joel, if you're listening, I talk to myself." I received a crackle in reply. Heh, heh, everyone oughta try this job once in their life. Inside the suit, I gotta constantly be flexing all of my muscles to keep control. A good example was now. Here I was spacecrawling the last foot or so over to the damaged cable region, where I needed to stop. If I put on the brakes with one hand, I'd just go pitching "up," feet flying over my head. No good. Instead, I had to constantly sense any rates changes of my body while simultaneously applying a force to null that rate. So when I'd go to stop, I'd be stopping with one hand while pushing up with the other, so I'd not pitch out of control. A constant full body and mind workout. So, I didn't whack the news bug. I had my hands, literally, full and I didn't need to go flying about testing my tether strength. "Joel?" He'd been exceptionally quiet. "Shuttle, come in?" The com line was down. Extinguished. Except for the news bug, I was very, very alone. I was nearly done, too, thankfully, so if I couldn't get a signal for an Elevator ride, I'd crawl back. I taped over the hose slits with duct tape, pretty much, with a special vacuum discharge and release system for removing strips with gloves on-- which was rather funny. Give me duct tape and I'll save the world! "Well, Joel, if you're listening, I'm not hearing you so this is a one way communiqué. Ah, I see you have the cameras on what I've done, so you maybe can hear me?. Okay, damage was just what you thought. It's fixed to hold for a month of coasting between colonies, but I know you'll want to get it all checked out and repaired to code at the L4 dock. I'm just saying you can go all out to make your schedule. And I'm ready to go—whoa, what's this?" Another ship from outta no where snuck up on us? They ID'd themselves as the FCA [Free the Colonies Alliance]. These were the dudes who'd attacked us earlier. I'd been so focused, I'd forgotten about them. "We saw you on tv." Aw, fuck! They could communicate with me. "You're Duo, that Gundam pilot for L2." "Yeah, that was a war ago." "You should be on our side." "I'm on my side. Move back." "But you're protecting Kalaya Srisai! She wants L3 to give up its independence!" They actually said a lot more than that, but I mentally edited the tripe down as they went along. "Listen, I really don't give a shit right now. Deal with her when she lands on L3, or L4, I don't care-- just not here! She's only one of fifty people on board the ship. I wanna get...home and deal with my own life, but to do that I gotta get this baby in working order. So back off." "But--!" "Listen, asshole. I'll give you a bit of wisdom in exchange for your leaving, 'kay?" I didn't wait for an answer. I had completed the repairs to the shunt hose, and wanted to get back inside the relative protective covering of the shuttle. "Preventers are on the way, so I recommend high-tailing it outta this airspace ASAP." I could hear high-speed chatter and then the first voice returned. "Thanks, man. Some of us feel we owe you. We want to do you a favor." "Favor? Stay the hell away. There's too many free lines here to get tangled in. Just stay back." In the meantime, the shuttle crew, who musta been monitoring our communications somehow, took action. The ship's manipulator arm swung around, heading out toward the invading ship, who not only wasn't backing away, but was instead lurching forward with what could only be assumed was the intention to bash the delicate repair job I'd been doing. I felt a pinch. The fucking FCA ship had a robotic arm on me! "ERK!" My tether snapped, snagged by the shuttle's manipulator arm. Of course, this wasn't the end of the world because I had two lines, right? Well, yes, had the second one not been yanked to its breaking point by the FCA arm. Now I was the meat in the Shuttle-Duo-FCA ship sandwich. If I freed myself, who knows what crazy mess the FCA arm would make of the fuel lines and my fabulous repair job?! But there was more! I couldn't free myself without tearing my protective spacesuit! "Argh! You M..F...assholes--!" We were slowly turning in space, distant stars flashing in and out of view. My mind was reeling with the lack of possible ways to extract myself and survive. I couldn't think of a single good plan. Not one. And the circling stars were pretty. A light in my helmet blinked. It might have been a warning, but it was so pretty. Little lights go blinky-blinky... A jerk and tug on my suit crystallized my mind temporarily. "Hey! This is no fun!" I shouted at both sides, whether they could hear me or not. "Jesus, you move and you might puncture my suit!" All the while, news bug recorded the ridiculous event for prosperity and swept in for a close up. I had one option, one that I could think of. I did what I could to make my minutes of fame memorable and did a desperate thing. "Heero!" I shouted. "I need you, Heero!" That got translated and chewed and spit out onto the airwaves with me looking as if I was about to be torn in half to the tune "Holding Out For A Hero." I could even hear the music emanating from the irritating news satellite: "...Isn't there a white knight upon a fiery steed...?" "Dear God above... not this. I do not want to go out this way!" I was whimpering, yes, but in my defense, my brain had gone offline. I always thought I'd go out quietly; certainly not headline news with a theme song! Gundam pilot war hero ripped apart by robotic arms! Maxwell—untethered! Duo Dies—the Musical! "...I need a hero I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night He's gotta be strong And he's gotta be fast And he's gotta be fresh from the fight I need a hero...!" I would have laughed with the rest of the fucking universe had it not been so tragic, in reality. Instead, I joined in on the chorus, my lungs filling with the thin air of my suit. Too thin, as it turned out. "Duo?" Hark! A familiar voice? "Yeeees?" "Duo! Switch to your other air supply... NOW!" "O...kay." I could do that, as soon as I found the switch, and there was one more round of the chorus to sing. A/N: Holding Out For A Hero-- song Written by Jim Steinman and Dean Pitchford, originally recorded by Bonnie Tyler. (Thanks for the idea, Waterlily)
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