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Dawn of Light	By : infavilla Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. Just using the characters for my non-profit, fictional stories.

Chapter List
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Warnings: Yaoi, sex in a cemetery. Gracious amounts of implied and described death, but no guro. Weird writing style. Characters are over 18, no minor. No necro, all characters are alive when sex happens. Or close enough. Kind of OC, but it is only there for the first page, trust me.

Summary: Five years post Endless Waltz, Quatre and Wufei are back to collect a debt that’s long overdue. Can fatal scars heal, or are the dead beyond redemption?

A gentle breeze spreads the scent of Spring across the cemetery. Grass is green and fresh, the flowers are in their peak, and the trees, canopies thick and proud, offer the living a reprieve from sun’s glare. Jerome, maintainer of the grounds for longer than three decades, takes a deep breath and smiles; an unusual action for him, in an unusually beautiful day on Earth. Working in cemeteries can teach even the most cynical of humans to appreciate the small joys in life.

More than five years since the last armed confrontation that put the will of Earth and colonies to the ultimate test, fewer and fewer fresh graves are dug, a testament of the newfound peace and prosperity. And it was about time, if you asked him, since the empty lots were increasingly hard to find, even when they brought down the scenic cathedral to satisfy the increasing demand of soldier burial sites. Less lives cut short in battle, less misery, less grief for everyone concerned; that’s all there was to it, as far as Jerome was concerned.

And this graveyard, housing the bodies of hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers still gathered a few visitors to the date, paying their respect to their loved ones, or sitting under the shade in comfortable silence, the ever-kind sun numbing the aches of their loss.

At the end of a humble footpath, a short walk from the neat rows of white plaques glistering like old bones under the afternoon light, there was a circle of unmarked graves. It mostly went unnoticed, wilderness slowly claiming back the fertile plot of land. And Jerome would let the grass and flowers spread relatively unhindered, occasionally removing the odd vine that had lodged itself around the white stones marking the burial site.

If anyone asked, he’d mutter that some dead are better off left to fend for themselves. But since he had yet to encounter a single living soul at this secluded part of the cemetery he keeps his wisdom to himself. Approaching the clearance, his mind reels about what kind of circumstances had those, soldiers most likely, buried in isolation, anonymous and un-mourned. And as he is lost in contemplation, he starts and freezes, as he is greeted by the unfamiliar sight of a blond youth crouching over a white headstone.

Turning around, the blond man –or more likely, a boy- smiles slightly at the startled groundkeeper. Jerome is taken aback by the harsh contempt of that smile, yet the very next second all hints of malice or distaste have all but vanished from the youth’s expression leaving nothing but friendliness, as he speaks.

“Nice day, today” His body language is relaxed, long limps splayed in an almost boyishly awkward way, as if there is nothing more important in this world than basking in the warm afternoon’s glow. Then, cocking his head as if he notices that something was not quite right, he asks “Oh my, I’m terribly sorry, is this area off limits?”

The middle-aged man shakes his head as to clear his thoughts, raising his arms instinctively in a non-threatening gesture. “No, it’s just-” he pauses, feeling for first time in years anxious to impress, guilty for even interrupting this youth’s reverie. “Just not used seeing people here, people above the ground that is” he flinches, finding his own word unnecessarily crude “Not too many people visit this place, is all. Please take your time, eh, sir” Jerome finishes, not sure how to address the youth, a boy caught in the edge of manhood. Not wanting to draw out the encounter, he nods and hurries away from the small clearance.

A low laughter echoes upon his departure; an Asian looking man steps away from the shade cast by the trees’ canopy. “Nice to see you on top of your game, Winner. Is this what you are up to nowadays, mind fucking old men?” Leaning back against a tree, he breaths in the heady, earthy scents. His body is relaxed even with lean arms crossed against his chest, seemingly forgetting the blonde’s presence almost immediately upon acknowledging him.

The blonde called Winner rests on his elbows, throwing back his head and raising his eyebrow, as if contemplating the question. Seconds pass by and then minutes, the sun slowly nodding off towards the west. Suddenly he smiles and the contempt is back, pinching his previously serene features into a somewhat grotesque facsimile of giddiness. “But Wufei, he let the graves degrade into this unholy mess! I am knee deep in grass, moss and a myriad of weeds I can’t even name.” He sighs wistfully. “At least he could have put some effort, you know?”

“Lucky then that green suits you well” Wufei finally glances at him, a spark of mirth in his eyes. “It has been a long time.” A brief nod; yet to someone who knows him well, surprisingly warm. And then a name. “Quatre.”

Quatre smiles at him, and this time it is genuine. A touch of yearning and resignation dancing on his upturned lips, honey colored strands catching fire on the glow of the setting sun, he lays still for another long moment.

As the wind changes, carrying the first hint of evening chill, his light blue eyes harden, and in a heartbeat he is on his feet, straightening his body in one fluid motion. Wufei’s body tenses simultaneously, both of them looking towards a high building far in the distance. Fully alert now, they move not unlike predators catching the smell of their prey.

“Shall we get going, 05?” he drawls darkly and then they are gone, and Jerome, half-way across the cemetery, feels the chill of the wind cutting into his aging bones. Maybe he is getting too old for this, he thinks, maybe it is time to let the graves go.
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