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"Gomez "Written By: Presser Pairings : 1x2 Disclaimer : Gundam Wing characters aren't mine Rating : NC 17 Warnings : This will involve graphic sex, though
not gratuitous sex. The lyric to "Little Miss Pipedream" (the song referenced at the end) is significant to the story line. You can find it here: http://www.lyricsmania.com/lyrics/wombats_the_lyrics_14942/girls_boys_and_marsupials_lyrics_44151/little_miss_pipedream_lyrics_480046.html
"Gomez"
Chapter 9
"Ee-yah," I groaned to the empty apartment. "I wonder what time it is?" I pulled my watch from the pocket of my khaki shorts and checked. "Four-forty," I muttered. "It shouldn't be so hot that I can't go for a run." I looked down at my notes, and decided to make sure I knew where in the text I was stopping. /Page three-eighty-seven: Process startup and shutdown automation./ I decided to read my last note one more time. /Continuous manufacturing processes have four operating situations: process startup, normal operation, emergency situation, and shutdown. The majority of process control research and development focuses on normal operation . . ./ I put my pen and legal pad on page three-eighty-seven and closed the book. Plain block letters in a bland blue solid rectangle on the cover calmly stated: Process Control Engineering: A Textbook for Chemical, Mechanical and Electrical Engineers By Ming Rao and Haiming Qiu /I wonder if these guys ever did any actual engineering? Or are they just academics who write textbooks?/ The thought of googling them crossed my mind, and was immediately kicked out before it could infest my to-do list. I laced my fingers together behind my head and did a P.O.W. stretch, pretending I was trying to crack a walnut between my shoulder blades, then headed for the bedroom to change. ~ ~ ~ I bent over, hands on knees, sweat dripping from my
nose to darken the curb. "In the Future" by Black Mountain
roared in my ears as I gasped for breath. Movement to the right caught
my eye; I turned my head. A six-year-old girl, dressed in a hot pink
sun suit and holding her mom's hand was staring at me, I didn't think, just grabbed the girl and lunged backward, tearing her away from her mom. Earbuds fell away, and I could hear the girl and her mom scream as I turned to land on my back, holding the girl in the air above me. ~ ~ ~ "All right, Mr. Yuy, you can go now. Sorry for the hold-up." "It's okay, officer." The policewoman walked away, but I remained on the bench
where she had interviewed me. A slight breeze ruffled my bangs, hot
on my face. I stirred, A dozen feet away, the girl and her mom continued talking with a cop. The one who interviewed me joined them. I stared at the grass at their feet. I was waiting for the police to finish with them so I could apologize, but I was dazed, and not because of the incident with the car. My vision went hazy as my eyes lost focus -- something I'd never have let myself do during the war. So when the mother spoke, I jerked my head up. "What?" "Oh, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to thank you for what you did." I looked up into a thirties face with gray eyes framed by short blonde hair. The girl in the sun suit eyed me from behind her mom's thigh, clutching her purse. "Well, I'm sorry I scared you. I didn't mean to frighten you or --" "Angela." -- "Angela." I smiled at the girl; she pulled the purse behind her mother's thigh. Her mom ruffled her hair. "No, you did the right thing, though I didn't realize it at the time. I thought you were --" Her face tightened; eyes narrowed, and she finished with, "I'm sorry." "The one who should be sorry is him." I cocked my head toward the man sitting on the curb, his head in his hands. Three police were standing around him, trying to get him to talk. It was obvious he had been drinking. "Not even six in the afternoon, and on a Sunday." I looked back at the mother, shook my head. "Well, who knows what he's going through?" My eyes widened in disbelief. This -- this idiot almost ended her child's life, her own as well, and she was -- she felt sorry for him? My mouth dropped open. She looked at me, taking my look of surprise in stride. "That could be me. Or you. That could be any one of us. The difference between making it and not is very small, if you think about it." Angela hugged her mom's leg. Her mom looked down. "I know, honey, it was scary, wasn't it? But this kind man -- I'm sorry I don't know your --" "Heero." -- "Mr. Heero -- he saved you from getting hit by that car. He didn't mean to hurt or scare you." She paused. "Can you say, 'Thank you'?" Angela peered out from behind her mother's thigh. "Thanks." A small, high voice. "I'm sorry I grabbed you so rough, Angela. But I'm glad that car didn't hit you or your mom." "Anyway," the mom said, "Thank you again. You were very brave." I looked into those gray eyes without moving for a moment. "I'm just glad no one was hurt." ~ ~ ~ I lay on my back under a tree on the lawn between Trevak Student Center and Buchanan Hall, hands laced behind my head, looking up through the leaves. The sun was still a good distance from the horizon, but the heat of the day was dissipating. The light was strong enough to render the leaves black without detail. I let my eyes unfocus. Black leaves, thin blue sky, gray-white cotton-ball clouds, all shifted aimlessly like puzzle pieces, never finding a match. I was still stiff from my aborted run, but I didn't care. The grass on the backs of my thighs felt good. What little breeze there was moved my tank top against my chest. /Well, who knows what he's going through?/ The question wouldn't leave me. I had always seen the world in black and white. Very little gray. You can doubt whether you did the right thing or not, but it was either right or wrong; no in-between. The idea that the guy who almost hit me could have circumstances that justified his -- /No, "justified" is the wrong word./ I turned over on my stomach. The musty smell of dry earth, the tickle of the grass as I turned. I studied the ground before me, looking for some sign of activity. There. A blade moved. I shifted my head a tiny bit to see better. A non-ant was tussling with a bit of detritus, trying to pull it through the tangle of growth. The wind blew again, still hot and dry. I looked up and saw Buchanan Hall, the words "Buchanan School of Psychology" deeply engraved into the marble above the triple set of wide doors at the top of worn stone steps. /Why is this bothering me? Even better, what, exactly, is it that's bothering me?/ A couple came through the doors of Buchanan, drawing my attention. She was pretty, from what I could tell at a distance. Shorter than he was. They stopped at the top of the stairs, chatting. Her phone rang. He played with his own phone while she talked. When she hung up, he suddenly leaned in and kissed her, right on the lips. She seemed startled, but kissed back. They broke the kiss, joined hands, and ran down the steps together, giggling. /Is that what's bothering me? That we don't do \that\ anymore?/ I knew that Duo had been sinking lower and lower over the past couple of weeks, maybe longer, ever since Howard had told him that work would be hard to come by for a while. But he had kept busy, somehow. He was gone a couple of nights a week -- or had been for the past month. And he did his best to be cheery. Always had a smile for me. But there was always distance between us, too. Maybe that's what's nagging me: he stopped letting me get close to him. And not just physically, though, that was certainly true. No, it was an emotional distance that had -- had cropped up, no, allowed to grow between us. /Was I that blind? That stuck in my studies that I didn't see him withdrawing? Is it my fault that he's pulling away -- because I'm the one who's unconsciously giving him the cold shoulder?/ "I may run and hide, but I never lie." That's how Quatre said Duo had introduced himself at the Magnuac base. /Well, he's definitely running and hiding. But why?/ Suddenly my last note from page three-eighty-seven came back to me: /Continuous manufacturing processes have four operating situations: process startup, normal operation, emergency situation, and shutdown . . ./ /Relationships are like that, too,/ I realized. /There's the startup phase of getting to know each other, the normal groove, an emergency situation from time to time, and shutdown. If this is an emergency situation, then I have to take action to contain the damage. There's no way I'm gonna let this move into the shutdown phase. /No way./ I stood and stretched, my shoulders complaining. I pulled my iPod from the pocket of my running shorts, thumbed up "Little Miss Pipedream" by The Wombats, and cranked the volume. /Maybe he'll be back when I get home./ TBC
Chapter 10 |
