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"Colours of My Sky "Written By: Keiran Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or its characters...
Shame about that. Rating: PG Warnings: shounen-ai, slight Relena-bashing. Should
be ‘murdering Shakespeare’ as well, but my Heero *was* Shakespeare
in a past life (see 'This Gives Life to Thee') Humour, romance-ish
with a ending fluffy like a bunny’s tail. Pairings/Characters: 1+2+1, R+1 AN: This is an entry to the Vault's songfic challenge/contest. The song it was written to is 'Tokyo' by Varius Manx. The lyrics will be posted with the second part. ^___^ Thanks to Shenlong for betaing! "Colours of My Sky " Chapter 2 Finally, the premiere night arrived, with all the hustle and bustle a ‘most important cultural event of the year’ is expected to cause. Everyone who meant anything in Sanq simply had to have a ticket for the anticipated thrilling performance of two widely known Gundam pilots, who had rarely stayed from newspapers’ headlines. Duo found himself perched on a rail high above the stage, in virtually the only place that still offered peace and quiet in the ancient building. That, as well as a strange thrill in the knowledge that his fellow actors were all on the verge of having heart attacks, seeing him so high up with no cords to break his fall. All except Heero, that is. Heero was, most unlike himself, not aiding his partner in helping people get medical help, but sitting with a calming cup of tea in front of his Juliet, lost in discussion. At seven pm the lights in the audience went dim. The curtains rose. It was time to begin. “A my word, we’ll not carry coals!” The play went on without a hitch. Mercutio’s passionate Queen Mab impressions gathered a thundering roar of approval from the aristocratic audience. Romeo’s less enthusiastic, but still profound, performance won a considerable amount of appreciation as well. The events raced until finally reaching the high point – the vicious cycle of fights between Tybalt, Romeo and Mercutio. Just as the latter met his death in the arms of his best friend and was carried limp off stage, the director felt a sudden surge of unease. He tried to dismiss it, but… Something didn’t sit quite right with him. Something had been wrong. But no – the Prince had entered and left, the banishment had been announced – nothing could go wrong now, could it? As the balcony scene drew to a close, Duo’s elbow was suddenly grabbed. “Are you ready?” he heard Benvolio hiss in his ear. “What? I’ve just died!” “Then you know your part. Now play dead!” The next thing Duo knew, he was scooped up in the bigger man’s arms and carried out into the bright neon light. Barely having a chance to react, his eyes closed instinctively, his whole body going limp. ‘Well. If anything is wrong, there’s no way they’re blaming me for it,’ he thought. ‘I am dead, after all.’ “Romeo,” the unfortunate clueless Mercutio heard two feet above his chest. He felt he was being passed into arms he immediately recognized as Heero’s. His mind was invaded by the dancing W, T and F letters, circling each other and changing colours. In the audience William Henslow held his breath. “Ah, dear Mercutio,” Heero began mournfully. “Why art thou yet so faire? I will believe; shall I believe, that unsubstantial death is amorous? And that the lean abhorred Monster keeps thee here in dark to be his Paramour?” Duo’s mind was completely taken over by the WTF factor by now. Like a drowning man he held to one last shred of sanity he still possessed. ‘Whatever is going on, *it’s not my fault*’ Heero continued waxing poetry over the ‘body’ he held tightly in his arms, kneeling in the middle of the brightly-lit stage. He made an effort not to look at the audience, which, as he was aware, was breathlessly watching the stage, even those that he knew for a fact wouldn’t know Shakespeare if he got up and danced naked in front of them. Even the aristocrats who, he knew perfectly well, had the attention span of a goldfish. He also had a feeling William was doing the same, if for completely different reasons. Working his monologue to a poetic crescendo, Heero withdrew a stiletto from the folds of his shirt. “Here's to my Love!” he cried, raising the weapon above his head and driving it back swiftly. “O, true blacksmith: thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die,” he finished dramatically, laying poor, bewildered Duo flat on the stage and insistently pressing their lips together in a fervent kiss. The unfortunate Mercutio lay still under the onslaught, hoping to hell that the world retains some of its senses by the time he’s awake. This was surreal. Everybody who was anybody in Sanq were watching as Heero dragged Shakespeare kicking and screaming out of the casket and murdered the poor man. Everybody was watching Romeo kiss the living – or dead, as it were – daylights out of Mercutio. *Relena* was watching Heero kiss the living daylight out of *him*. He was so dead. They were dead. Romeo was dead. The spectators sat in stunned silence, watching in total disbelief as Benvolio, with Juliet and the prince of Verona in tow, entered the stage and concluded the play. The director sunk in his chair, whimpering pathetically. He was dead. As a doornail. Deader than a doornail. His namesake, William Shakespeare will be haunting him through the afterlife and beyond. But then… a tentative sound of clapping reverberated throughout the audience, soon amplified by hundreds of hands clapping with vigour. The curtain fell. The show was over. xxxXXXxxx “Are they gone yet?” Heero whispered to the nearest pair of legs. Himself, Juliet, the prince and Benvolio were hiding underneath the punch table at the grand reception, trying to avoid both William and, an additional bonus for Heero, Relena. The pair of legs belonged to a slightly disgruntled Duo. “No. Stay and suffer,” the sulking youth replied. “I can’t believe you told me nothing!” he muttered. Heero, risking death from exposure, crawled out in his expensive tux and tugged the braid of his friend. “Hey,” he said. “I wanted it to be a surprise!” “Oh, it was. No question about that,” Duo pouted, looking away. “I can’t believe you did that to me!” “I am sorry, alright?” “Oh, you will be sorry, alright,” the longhaired man smiled wickedly. “Coz here comes Relena with William in tow.” Indeed, the director – trying to look as if it wasn’t him – was coming his way, a storm-cloud of pink at his side. With a sharp hiss of his name, the two vultures pounced on the poor man. Hissing violently, both the theatre director and the princess expressed their displeasure with his actions and threatened bodily harm. “Yuy! How could you! This is *Shakespeare*, you do not rewrite *Shakespeare*! How could you! And the play was cut almost in *half*! Yuy, this is *sacrilege*!” And so on, and so forth. Having been brought up in a family which regarded Stratford’s William as the ultimate oracle of truth and beauty, Mr Henslow felt that an alternative universe in ‘Romeo and Juliet’ was almost as bad as ‘Jesus: Revolutions’ would be for a devout catholic. “Heero! How could you! Kissing that, that… lowlife! And on the stage, no less! What will my friends think of me!” For Relena apparently the highlight of the show rested someplace else. Their chorused protest was however interrupted, when one of the most respected Sanq editors joined the little group. “That was a spectacular performance, Mr Henslow,” the man said earnestly. “I never thought one could squeeze so much out of the old tragedy in this day and age. I was, of course, also hoping for exclusive interviews with the cast and the director. In fact, I've already called one of my best photographers – does Monday morning sound like an acceptable date for a session in the theatre, Mr Henslow?” William hesitated. “Uh… thank you. But it wasn’t exactly-” “Ah, no need to be modest right now. It was quite a brilliant twist, if I say so myself. Old Shakespeare might be a master in his field, but even his skill cannot save an audience from eventual boredom. Ah – and let me congratulate you on your choice of cast – the chemistry between the two pointed to such an ending right from the very beginning,” the editor said, nodding wisely. “Congratulations on your performance, Mr Yuy. Most interesting Romeo I ever had the pleasure to see,” the man added to the young Preventer. Heero grinned unnervingly as he nodded in thanks. “And of course Mr Maxwell – breathing fire into 16th century’s lines! I daresay Shakespeare would be pleased.” “I am glad you are pleased with our performance, gentlemen,” he said, the grin still in place, making use of William’s total stupefaction. “I am afraid I must leave you now though.” Trying to make his way down to where he thought he had seen Duo, Heero was halted by a steel grip of a slender hand on his arm. “Where are you going, Heero?” Relena hissed through clenched teeth. “That is no business of yours, Miss Peacecraft,” Heero replied calmly. “Please let go of my arm, or I will cause a scene.” “Why are you doing this to me, Heero?” the woman asked, almost tearfully. “Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked back. “I never tried. You always assumed. I am sorry Relena. But I want him, not you. That’s the truth.” His gaze softened a little. “Don’t think I do this out of spite. I do not.” The woman’s grip on his arm became almost painful, then surprisingly, loosened. “I hate him,” she whispered hotly. “I hate him. Why him and not me, Heero?” “Why is a rose called a rose? That’s just the way things are. Goodbye Relena,” Heero smiled a little, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead and leaving. “Goodbye Heero,” the woman whispered softly, standing alone in the middle of the grand reception. It might be worth noting that as Relena, feeling rather depressed, left the reception in favour of a balcony later on, she found a dark and handsome man lying flat on the marble. As she kneeled by him to check his vitals, he sprang up as if stung and with a hiss of ‘Injustice’, muffled by his own sleeve, disappeared in the crowd. The next morning Wufei found a lot of body-guarding duty suddenly overriding his schedule. But all that was still in the future, when Heero located his long-haired partner on the dance floor in the arms of Paris. Striding to the couple, he patted Duo on the shoulder gently. “May I cut in?” he asked, eyes tearing the actor to pieces. Snatching the braid, he pulled the long-haired man into his arms, despite the feeble protests. The band started on a waltz. “I’m still mad at you, Yuy,” Duo said evenly. “Mad that it wasn’t your idea?” “… that too.” “Are you mad about that kiss?” “… yes.” “Would you be mad if I did it again?” “Yes, damn it!” Duo hissed furiously, the two of them drawing the eyes of the crowd with yet another spectacular performance, this time on the marble dance floor. “But I want to.” “But I fucking don’t!” “Don’t you really?” “…no.” “Good,” Heero breathed, twirling his partner and just as the beat struck, dipped him low to the floor, pressing their lips together for the second time that day. When Duo was finally back on his feet, in a tight circle of Heero’s arms, he realized that virtually the whole ballroom was cheering them from the sides. The blue-eyed Preventer smirked at him. “You paint colours on my skies,” he whispered rubbing their noses together, before he swooped in for yet another kiss. A blooming sunset this evening brings; ***THE END*** **TOKYO by Varius Manx** I've seen the great big world Chorus Sky's colour changes rapidly Again, it rains today Chorus Sky's colour changes rapidly Somewhere far away Chorus Sky's colour changes rapidly Translated by me. It is a lovely song, nevertheless. |
