Blue | By : Switchblade003 Category: Gundam Wing/AC > General Views: 729 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from Shin Kidousenki New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing. I do, however, retain all original characters and storyline in this fic.
Title: Blue
Chapter: I
Author: Switchblade003
Pairing(s): Well, I started this with the intention of writing another 4x3x4, but I’m not sure… Tell me what you guys think.
Rating: R, for now. Subject to change.
Archive: Ask first. This should be posted on ShenLong’s site, soon, and Dian’s site wuffie.net, eventually.
Warning(s): Language, dark content, my morbid sense of humor. The characters might seem a little OOC, but this is my interpretation of them, and this is an AU, so… Also a confusing writing style. I’m writing from first-person present tense, and it’s sort of a stream-of-consciousness flow. Trying to follow the main character’s train of thought is the fun part.
Notes: I’m trying to brew up some ideas to write a different story, one of my manifestos that details my views on religion. It should be started by next year. All of my other fics, "Three," "Logical Progression," and whatever else I had going, are on terminal hold. Chances are I won’t finish them. I apologize, but I’d rather focus my energy on stories that I’m interested in versus putting out shitty work. I know you guys’ll understand.
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My name is John Winner. I’ve been a misguided, pessimistic cop for a little over three years now. It doesn’t pay too handsomely, but I get to carry a loaded weaponcrowcrowded places. Every job has its perks.
I didn’t start out of high school with the intention of being a police officer, but life has a funny way of kicking you in the ass and making you realize your own potential, sometimes, and here I am, lounged around DC’s twenty-fourth precinct, waiting for something remotely interesting to happen.
You would think that we’d be busy here in our nation’s capital, but it’s actually not frequent to receive a call around here. See, I work for a pretty miscellaneous branch of law enforcement—paranormal investigations. It’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. No UFOs or aliens abound in DC, just lots of weird, paranoid residents with rodent infestations that go ‘squeak’ in the night.
My life is fairly mundane. I’ve never been shot, never been in a high-speed pursuit, never even had to discharge my weapon. Most of my loving colleagues don’t really even think I’m a cop. I think there might be some unspoken but understood rule that real policemen have battle wounds.
Or doughnuts.
Whatever.
The only thing around here that makes feel like a law enforcement agent is my partner. Heero Yuy sits across our small, cramped office, sprawled across a chair, counting ceiling tiles. I met him at an odd job that I worked after school. Most people in the office are afraid of him—he looks like the kind of guy who goes postal and kills all of his coworkers in a random moment of uncontrollable rage and gunfire.
He has two kids. He’s really not too bad, once you get around his obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I think the kids are one of those.
We never really found out if they were his, but his wife—ex-wife—claimed that they were and left them. Come to think of it, we never really found out why she left. Not much of a loss, if you ask me, but Heero misses her sometimes. He’s my best friend, and we’re trying to raise the girls together. He’s ‘Dad,’ and I’m ‘Uncle Quat.’
Oh, my given name is Quatre Raberba Winner. Heh. My dad was an American Army Ranger, and he met my mother on an overseas tour. I had the name changed legally, for… well, we’ll say for convenience. While I’m proud of my heritage and religious roots, I don’t feel like getting shot or fired over them. Life isn’t exactly roses for people of my background, these days. It’s unfair, but that’s life. I’m just trying to work around it. To my family—I don’t really have one, anymore—and my friends—Heero and his daughters—I’m ‘Quatre.’ To everyone else, I’m ‘John.’
"The sergeant was thinking about assigning us to parade duty."
Ugh. I hate going on patrol. I always get myself into trouble. I think that might be how I got our asses landed in paranormal investigations to begin with.
"He said that uniforms are in order." Heero smirks a little and rubs a hand over his face to hide the gesture. "I doubt that yours fits, anymore."
With a frown I glance down at my torso, smoothing a palm over the front of my tee shirt and glaring at my Japanese counterpart. t;I t;I don’t eat half as much as you do." For someone so fit, he really does pack it away. I’ve seen him go through a whole pizza by himself and finish the day like a hummingbird.
Damn metabolism…
"Hey, you know Maxwell, from Arson Investigations? He can down an entire case of beer in an hour."
The statement was mildly defensive, and slightly appreciative of the other officer’s prowess with alcohol. Heero isn’t much of a drinker, though he can definitely hold his liquor. I found that out by accident.
I’m an angry drunk. It’s why I don’t drink much, anymore, though lately…
We’ve lapsed back into our companionable silence, and all is right with the world. For Heero, at least. I don’t know how to describe it, exactly, but for the last few years…
I feel like I’m dying on the inside, just wasting away and no one notices.
It’s not an intense feeling, but a slow, steady ache of bereavement, and it has to climax eventually. I’m missing something, something very basic, very obvious, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Nothing would change much if it does end up killing me, though. Heero has his girls, and my family… well, what few of them remain don’t speak to me any longer.
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