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" Better Than Fine "Written By: Presser DISCLAIMER: This fanfiction is not written for profit. The author claims no ownership of the characters. Pairing: 1x2 Rating: PG Spoilers: The story refers to the final events of the series. Warnings: Post-series AU, light romance Summary: What do you do with a broken heart that never found the courage to say "I love you?"
Duo struggles to find the courage to confess to Heero, but before he can, Heero vanishes, leaving only a cryptic note that explains nothing. Weeks later, Duo finds a letter taped to his shower curtain. Who broke into his apartment to leave it? Why? Does this have anything to do with Heero's disappearance?
Better Than Fine answers these questions with
a surprise twist that will leave your pulse racing and warm your heart. "Better Than Fine " 2
Duo stood on the stoop of his apartment building, waving at Quatre as he pulled away. He was still warm from the ride home -- Quatre liked to keep the temp up in winter -- but he felt a chill that didn't come from the weather. He pulled his phone and called one of his fellow pilots, Chang Wufei. After setting a time and place for dinner, he turned toward the door. No. I can't face an empty apartment again, not today. He checked the time. More than three hours before I meet Wufei. Where should I spend it?
The bus stop at the corner cut the wind a bit. As he studied the transit schedules pasted to the glass at the back of the shelter, he saw a flyer for an exhibit at the Natural History Museum. That'll do. It's not far from where we're meeting, plus it'll be warm -- mostly quiet too. Good place to do some thinking. He checked the route that would take him downtown then pulled his earbuds and plugged them into his phone. A moment later he was listening to Bob Marley's "Redemption Song," hoping the reggae beat would carry him away from his worries.
*
The bright smile of the volunteer at the museum faded as Duo turned away from the ticket counter, unwilling to pay for basic admission to the permanent collection. Not if I'm buying Wufei's dinner tonight. He stared at posters for special exhibits in the foyer for as long as he thought he could without attracting attention, stopping in front of a striking illustration of a leopard frozen in mid-jump, part of its body cut away to reveal gears and springs inside bathed in a blue-green glow. Heero'd like this one. In blazing yellow type the title proclaimed, The Machine Inside: Biomechanics. "From the inside out," Duo read, "every living thing -- including humans -- is a machine built to survive, move, and discover." That's Heero to a tee. Duo caught the guard by the entrance to the main hall studying him. He smiled and left.
The sun grazed the horizon as Duo descended the steps of the museum, zipping up his coat as far as he dared. He determined long ago that the best way to manage his thick braid in winter was to pull it forward and let it hang straight from shoulder to hip, but that made zipping his jacket something not done thoughtlessly. But it keeps me as warm as a scarf would, almost. He pulled his hood up and snuggled into it.
He followed a winding concrete path just wide enough for two. To his left, choppy little waves bobbed in Lake Michigan, the water gray as the sky. Duo shivered and cut through the park, exiting onto French Street. Geez, I'm way north of the place. So much for my famous sense of direction.
At the corner his hood blew back. He pulled it into place as he started to cross the street but immediately jumped back when a car trying to make it through the light collided with a city sanitation truck. People spilled into the street like ants angry at the stick in their nest put there by a child. Duo turned away.
Halfway down the block he ducked into an alley for cover from the wind while he adjusted his braid under his coat. Next to a bakery's service entrance a green awning darkened with age hovered over an unmoving figure bathed in topaz light. Why not? Any port in a storm, right?
When Duo reached the storefront, he was face to face with a life-size wooden Indian wearing a full headdress and holding a fistful of cigars. The look in his eyes was proud and defiant, as if to say, "If you think you can handle my tobacco, think again!" Duo ran his fingers along the arm, polished but pitted by many winters outdoors.
"He's seen better days." The old woman's voice was low, her face lined with age and topped with short, white curls. She wore a tattered man's cardigan and held a long, thin pipe not unlike Gandalf's in Tolkien's saga. "Didn't expect an old crone like me, did you?" the woman croaked.
"N-no, I --" Duo was silenced by a smile that lit up the whole alley.
"Come in and warm up." Duo followed her into another world.
Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls of the little shop. On one, bundles of cigars stood in cloth bags tied up with ribbons; below them there were stacks of cigarette cartons of every brand Duo knew and dozens he'd never heard of. On another there were glass jars the size of small trashcans filled with loose pipe tobacco of various flavors, and everywhere Duo turned there were display cases, ancient but gleaming with constant polishing. Some held cigarette cases and lighters and holders, everything from vintage art deco models of onyx, jade, and lapis lazuli to smooth stainless steel and cheap plastic. A little placard on one announced a collection, not for sale, of novelty cigar boxes from the 1800s. Duo crouched to see miniature log cabins of wood, buses of tin complete with wheels, and some designed to be reused as lunchboxes with a carrying handle on the lid. He stood and moved to a case full of pipes of a bewildering number of shapes and sizes nestled in metal trays lined with very old velvet.
"Jackson was especially proud of the royal meerschaums," said the old woman, indicating a collection of intricately carved pipes. "My late husband," she added when Duo turned toward her.
"Is there any kind of pipe you don't have?"
A throaty laugh cultivated over decades of smoking accompanied another brilliant smile. "Gracious no, there are tens of thousands of different ones. Clay, glass, metal, wood -- just about any material you can think of, and plain and carved too -- you name it. Take our line of --"
Duo stopped listening. He took his first deep breath since entering the shop and closed his eyes.
"The smell bother you?"
"Not at all," Duo said. "I don't smoke, but I've always loved the smell of pipe tobacco. Something about it.... I don't know if I can explain it."
"You're not alone. Used to have one guy come in every Thursday at six, just like clockwork. Knew we closed at six thirty, and all he ever did was look around and sniff the air."
"Huh," Duo said absently. He stepped closer to the back of the store and studied the shelves of cigarettes.
"We got Indian, French, Korean, Brazilian, Russian, Japanese, all of 'em with their own tastes."
"Huh," Duo said again. Then he was aware of the quiet -- not the absence of sound, but the silence of sleep.
"I'm Relena, by the way," the woman said, and Duo looked at her intently, but her back was to him as she moved to her spot behind the cash register with more grace than he expected. "And you've already met Chiefy."
"Excuse me?" Duo said as he followed her.
"The Indian, of course," Relena said as she settled into her corner. She took an enamel cup from a hotplate and leaned against shawls draped over a high-backed stool. "Had to give him a name, didn't I? Couldn't ask him to do his job if he didn't have a proper name."
"No," Duo said, "I meant -- your name is --"
"No relation to the Vice Foreign Minister," old Relena said. "It's not such a rare name that no one else can have it, is it?"
"Of course not. It's..."
Old Relena tilted her head. "It's..."
"Nothing," Duo said.
"So, what's your pleasure today?"
"Me? Oh, I don't smoke."
"I know. You said earlier." Relena smiled again, but this time her eyes sparkled with secrets.
"I saw the -- saw Chiefy -- and was curious, that's all."
"Well that's odd."
"It is?"
"Don't you think? Embers is out of the way at best. Only our regulars even know about us. Odd that you'd be passing this way. Without a reason, I mean."
Duo explained that he'd exited the park farther north than he meant to after visiting the museum and decided to explore unfamiliar territory. When he finished, silence fell between them. He grew uncomfortable. "You must have more than a hundred kinds of --"
"Three hundred sixty-two exactly, some of them rarer than the Hope diamond." How did she know whether I meant pipes or cigarettes? She cackled at his quizzical expression, exposing yellowed teeth that somehow did nothing to diminish her infectious smile. "Well, maybe not that rare, but pretty hard to find."
Duo looked behind her into a glassed-in humidor the size of a closet. Old Relena smacked her lips and drew on her pipe. A puff of smoke vanished over her shoulder. "Say," Duo said, "why don't I --"
"Smell anything back here?" Old Relena pointed to the small fan next to her little TV, then to the cramped office behind her. Duo formed a silent oh with his lips. "I blow it in there so customers can smell the tobaccos they want to buy. Nobody'd smoke what I smoke anyway."
Duo swallowed the comeback that came to him and simply smiled and nodded. He thought about the time and said, "Well, you have a wonderful shop here, Mrs. --"
"Want to know what it means?"
"I'm sorry?"
"My name. Names are powerful, you know. Affect your decisions, your future -- your whole life. Mine means you're a law unto yourself. You finish what you start; you're tolerant and like to help humanity." Old Relena straightened in her chair and recited from memory. "A Relena is very active and warmhearted. She gives freely of her time and energy, and is full of sympathetic understanding. A person named Relena has a universal, humanitarian outlook on life and is full of compassion. Relenas have eventful, exciting lives."[1]
Duo smiled again. "I don't doubt that for a moment." He drew breath and huffed it out. "I really have to go, Mrs. -- uh, Relena, if I want to make my dinner date on time. I enjoyed chatting with you."
"Pleasure's mine." Old Relena turned to her TV. Just as Duo reached the front door of the shop, she called out, "What's your name?"
Duo turned. "Duo, Duo Maxwell."
Old Relena's face lit up. "Ah, like the famous pilot. You owe it to yourself to find out about your own name. You might be more like your namesake than you know."
Duo grinned. "Thanks. I might do that."
----------------------- [1] There's actually a definition/meaning for the name Relena. How about that? http://www.sevenreflectioons.com/name/Relena/
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