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" Everywhere I Look "Written By: Presser
Disclaimer : I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters. This work of fiction is written and shared freely without any attempt to profit financially from it. Rating : R Pairings : 1x2 Warnings : Wistful romance, AU, after Endless Waltz, and departing quite a bit from canon direction Summary: Duo Maxwell is a young, upcoming artist with a hole in his heart. He hates himself for never confessing his love to Heero Yuy, a war-weary mecha pilot running from his past all the way to the Phobos Project—the first manned mission to Mars. Duo longs for the man he loves, but doesn’t know where he is. Can they find love in each other’s arms? And what of Heero’s mysterious collapse when he arrives on Earth to search for the one he loves?
"Everywhere I Look " Chapter 2 “Hand me that wrench, Joy.” The comm crackled as Heero Yuy spoke, and his grease monkey, Joy Parillo, responded. She deftly plucked the wrench floating nearby and handed it to her mech master, willing herself to ignore the spectacular rising of Mars over the horizon of Phobos, the larger of the fourth planet’s two moons. “How long till we’re done here, Heero?” Larger than its sister moon, Deimos, but still not quite seven miles across on average, Phobos was the site of the United Earth Sphere Alliance’s primary thrust into Mars space, a controversial decision finalized only when Vice Foreign Minister Relena Peacecraft lent her legendary diplomatic skills to the issue. “I hope we can be ready by the end of the week,” Heero said without looking at Joy. “We’re a day behind schedule, and every delay is splashed all over the Grid like there’s nothing else in the system to talk about.” Forums and chat rooms still hotly debated the wisdom of making one of the Martian moons humankind’s first step away from the Earth-Moon system rather than Mars itself, but Peacecraft’s insistence that this was the wisest course of action won the argument. When asked to give evidence for her views, she quoted the work of Janus Sarin and directed people to the famously eccentric scientist’s white paper postulating five primary motivations for an initial mission to Phobos rather than Mars itself. Repeated attempts to reach Sarin failed in spite of a media storm unlike any in decades. On system-wide broadcasts Peacecraft said that the scientist was retired and wished to be left alone. The conspiracy crowd went nuts. Rumors flew across the Grid that Janus Sarin was the infamous Dr. J. who designed and built Gundam Wing, the most famous mecha from the war, but no one was able to confirm nor deny the theory. “I understand,” Joy said. “I know getting this first staging platform ready to receive ships is vital in more ways than one.” She paused, then said, “But I was talking about this EVA. We’ve been outside for two hours and forty-eight minutes, and our tanks only hold—” “I know,” Heero said. His tone of voice didn’t change, but Joy noted a slight stiffening of his movement. “Once I get this one bolt secured, the component assembly’s done. Then it’s just a matter of snapping it into place.” After the Eve War, the newly minted Earth Sphere United Nation put considerable influence and money behind the Phobos plan in an effort to push the public’s restless energy in a positive direction. The ESUN Ministry of Science petitioned Parliament to change the name of the Tuberov moon base, once the central hub of mobile doll production, to the Noventa Institute for Space Exploration. The government converted it into a research center and assembly plant for the ships needed to make the half-year trip to the Martian system. The first vessels were constructed at breathtaking speed; the first cadre of scientists and engineers were selected and trained. “Maybe another thirty minutes,” Heero said. “Certainly no more than forty-five. We’ll still be shy of our four-hour limit, and that’s without touching the half-hour reserve tanks.” Heero turned his head. The strong pink light of Mars rise glinted off his faceplate, only half dark because he and Joy faced away from the sun. She thought she saw a small smile behind it. Not one of the top-level crew, dubbed the Phobos Twelve by the media, was less than a superstar, and all were encouraged to be. Good for the public morale, some pundits said. But the larger company was staffed with people just as competent, talented, and in a few cases, just as mercurial. Most weren’t known by name to the public, the only exception being Heero Yuy, who actively worked to stay out of the spotlight. He refused a leading role and kept his head down. He quietly weathered the intense interest he drew as the Pilot Who Won the War until the media grew bored of his rebuffs of their invitations for interviews and appearances on popular HV shows. “Yes, sir,” Joy said. She busied herself with a survey of her toolkit to make sure everything was in place and accounted for other than the few items hanging in space between her and Heero. She looked up to see that Mars now completely filled the sky. Joy knew that it would set a scant four hours after it rose, because Phobos is so close to Mars that it circles the planet faster than its rotation, making the moon rise in the west when seen from the Martian surface. She finished her housekeeping and twisted a shoulder just enough to initiate a slow spin about her axis. This brought the barren rock of Stickney crater, by far the largest impact site on Phobos, into her field of vision. She observed the steady climb of the ground from the crater’s center, where Staging Platform One was under construction, to the horizon a full thirty degrees into the sky. As she continued to turn, the sun came into view, its rays stark against the inky background of space even through the full tint of her faceplate. Joy thought about her amazing good fortune in being selected for the first human mission out of the Earth Sphere, then being chosen for the team to build SP1. This made her one of the first dozen people to feel a non-earth, non-lunar surface under her feet. The sun passed out of her field of vision; the man working mere feet away from her entered it, and she turned her thoughts to her team leader, Heero Yuy. Few remembered that the name had a dual significance: it originally belonged to the colony leader assassinated in AC 180, and was also the code name of the Gundam pilot who many say saved the world from destruction at the end of the war in AC 195. But Joy remembered. She was still in awe of this quiet man, the second Heero Yuy. He wasted nothing that Joy could detect: left not a bite of food for the waste compactor; made not one motion that wasn’t calculated to achieve the desired result with minimum effort; spoke no unnecessary word. She wondered what his real name was, but had yet to summon the courage to ask. She knew it was none of her business because their relationship was strictly professional, but she longed to find a way to extend her connection to Heero, to become a friend. Joy began a second slow turn. This time the planet above captured her imagination, an angry, red-orange marble slashed and scarred by millennia of impacts from the asteroid belt. Still takes my breath away. I expect it always will. The sun came into view again. Joy’s thoughts returned to her relationship to her mech master. Once, while climbing ladders through the outer decks of Phobos Alpha in the zero grav section, Joy missed a handhold and went careening past an airlock, in danger of hitting exposed ductwork. Heero was below her and simply reached up and grabbed her heel, allowing her the point of stability she needed to correct her mistake. When she thanked him he had said only one word, “Watch,” with a tiny smile on his lips. “Joy?” She startled at the sound of her name. She suddenly realized that in her lazy spinning she had drifted away from the platform. She had forgotten to recheck her tether’s connection to the scaffolding after chasing an escaping tubing cutter. She silently cursed her inattention. Heero put the magnetic wrench in his hand against the steel housing of the unit he had completed and checked the line attached to his belt. It was firmly hooked to the frame of the staging platform, so he launched himself toward Joy with a gentle push of one foot. When he reached her he put his arm around her waist and said “Don’t move.” The line tightened; the rebound pulled them back toward SP1 without further effort on his part required. “Careful” was the only other word he said as they reached the platform. Joy was grateful for the darkened faceplate that hid her blush. They re-boarded Phobos Alpha and stowed their gear and EVA suits in silence.
“Always gotta watch” was all that Heero said when Joy apologized for her misstep during the evening meal. As usual, there was no hint of accusal in Heero’s tone of voice or facial expression, yet Joy felt inadequate even though her mistake turned out to be inconsequential. This time, she chided herself. As they ate, Joy stared at the overhead screen with the default mission display containing stat summaries and announcements in the lower quadrants and the system-wide standard feed of NewsCheck covering the top half of the device. Heero had his nose in reports and documents, swiping pages across his DocPad so quickly that Joy thought he was either bored or showing off the first time she saw him doing it. When a careful question posed to a crew member revealed that Heero had a photographic memory, Joy was relieved that she hadn’t made a casual joke about it. After a commercial for Apptel’s new Gamma-8 processor, the newsfeed portion of the screen went completely white. Harp arpeggios accompanied paint poured into an invisible bowl which spun ever faster as it filled. When the multicolored liquid reached the brim, woodwinds and strings spilled into the music as famous paintings from previous epochs emerged from the bowl and slid off-screen in all directions. A reporterette with too-perfect skin (If she’s not virtual, I pity her, Joy thought) materialized and walked forward to a standing desk that faded in as the last painting soared away. The words Fine Arts Today in an ornate script typeface with an antique brass texture formed in the air above her head as the music faded. A lower-third banner unfurled left to right and the segment hostess’s name was speed-written on it in brilliant blue by a floating Rapidograph pen. Joy winced at the woman’s overly toothy smile. She looked down at her meal. “Art from found objects is nothing new,” she said, her tone too perky, “but the subject of this Fine Arts Today report puts a different twist on the genre.” Joy looked up to see two Gundam mechas made from scrap metal on acrylic stands. Their size became apparent when hands entered the frame and picked one up. The camera pulled back to reveal a lithe young man in business casual clothing speaking excitedly. He held the Gundam, nearly a meter tall, at head level as the camera zoomed in for detail, then pulled back again. The man’s luminous aquamarine eyes crinkled as he smiled and turned to his companion, a tall man with long bangs covering one eye. “Using material exclusively from his salvage yard, Duo Maxwell, former Gundam pilot-turned-artist has crafted beautiful replicas of the mobile suits he and his fellow warriors once flew.” The program cut to video of the artist, a slender young man with a long braid of auburn hair streaked with dark gold. He wore plain jeans and a white tee shirt, both loose and comfortable. He and his interviewer sat on stools with a paint-spattered oilcloth for a backdrop. One of the model Gundams from the first footage stood between them in soft lighting. “I knew from the start I’d never find any Gundanium for this project,” Duo said. “The real Gundams were destroyed at the end of the war, of course, and the government forbids its manufacture now. Plus they’ve collected almost all of it for disposal. So I tried a lot of different materials before I found scrap that gave me the look I wanted.” “Didn’t you fly with him during the war, Heero?” Joy said. She looked to her left and saw something she never expected to witness. Heero Yuy, the consummate mechanics master, the most self-controlled and coolheaded person she knew, was staring at the screen with his mouth open, eyes wide. The sandwich in his hand hung loose, grilled vegetables in danger of spilling to the table. “Is something wrong?” Heero reacted as though Joy had slapped him. He snapped his mouth shut as he jerked his head to look at her, eyes still wide. After a moment of silence, he forced himself to answer. “Yes.” He blinked twice. His eyebrows came together. “No, nothing’s wrong.” He swallowed. “Yes, I flew with him during the war.” Heero looked at his sandwich, tightened his hold on it, and raised it to his mouth, eyes stony and unblinking. Joy looked back to the screen. Did I do something— “So, Mr. Maxwell, you’ve completed Gundams Zero-three and -four. What about your own, the Zero-two?” “Deathscythe will be the last one I do, I suppose. I’m making these as gifts for my fellow pilots, so I started with the ones closest to me.” He paused, and Joy thought, I could swear he’s blushing. “I mean, the ones I’m in contact with. Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton live in the city, and I’ve heard that Chang Wufei, the Zero-five pilot, is on Earth, working with the Preventers organization, but I have no way to contact him.” Duo looked directly into the camera and said, “Wufei, if you see this, please get in touch. I’d love to see you again. I’ll—” “That leaves Zero-one, the most famous Gundam of all. Surely you’re going to do the Gundam Wing.” Duo sighed. “I think about that one all the time.” He coughed. “The Gundam. I have some intriguing concepts, but I have no idea where the pilot might be. I don’t even know if he’s Earthside.” Once more he looked straight into the lens. “Heero, if you catch this, let me hear from you, okay? I’d—” “These are just beautiful, Mr. Maxwell, your best effort yet. The entire system is watching to see how far your talent will take you.” The clip cut to the hostess at her desk. Music rose as she began her outro monolog and the Fine Arts Today segment ended. Joy looked at her soup, then turned to ask Heero if she had embarrassed him. She found his seat empty, his half-eaten sandwich dropped to the table beside his plate.
~ * ~ tbc... |
