Author: Karen, The Huntress
Rating: R
Warning: angst, language, overall weirdness and a touch of lime
Pairing: 1+2, 3+4+5
Archive: DHML Archive
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, its characters or the song "Hotel California".
Mind Games
~~On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair;
warm smell of colitis rising through the air.
my head grew heavy and my sight grew dim,
I had to stop for the night.~~
*********
Space is perpetual night, an infinite ebony shroud where pinpoints of starlight are the only assurance I haven't succumbed to blindness.
Space is utter silence, an all encompassing hush where a gasp or a whisper can be deafening.
But most merciless of all---space is absolute cold, an invisible glacial current that seeps into the cockpit and bleeds through my enviro-suit to numb body, mind and soul.
Engulfed in this solitary, soundless vacuum, my only respite from the icy embrace is humid, sweat-stale breaths sighing inside my helmet. The only reprieve from monotonous gray is the control panel aglow in an array of colors.
Power levels indicators burn red, vid-screens cast pale blue auras and green system-check lights blink in cadence with Wing Zero's pulse.
Adrift on this cosmic highway, no footprints mark my passing. On this trajectory to nowhere, no signal points a path and no one bears witness to my reclusive existence.
"Am I lost forever?"
Zero disregards the speculative query or perhaps the white-winged titian is also ignorant of the answer.
In the distance, nestled among stars studded like lustrous pearls on the inky fabric of space, a shimmer offers hope I may not be alone.
Head heavy, bones weary and eyesight dim from staring into endless gloom I entreat the spirits of fallen warriors for guidance and set a course to my destiny.
*********
~~There he stood in the doorway; I thought I heard the mission bell.
And I was thinking to myself this could be Heaven or this could be Hell.
He lit up a candle and he showed me the way,
There were voices down the corridor; I thought I heard them say.
Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place, such a lovely face.
Plenty of room at the Hotel California, any time of year, you can find us here.~~
*********
I have no memory of my journey to this peculiar place veiled in darkness. Much like my amnesic flight, this vast expanse of sand and sagebrush resembles a surreal dreamscape rather than a factual location.
A lone building--a house I suppose--is shielded by russet plaster and roofed in terra cotta tiles. Arched windows, with no curtains to shield their dusty panes, emits pale amber radiances. A sun-bleached oak door is framed in gray slate.
Above the opened portal a single scarlet light seems contrary to the promise of divine sanctuary, instead it puts me in mind of the Devil's infernal brothel.
As dull clangs of an unseen bell count out the twelfth hour, a silhouette bathed in crimson summons me with a captivating look.
I have no reason to trust this anonymous apparition which may be spawned from sensory deprivation, but tempted by curiosity and desperate to escape my isolation, I'm compelled to take the first fateful step.
Face to face I discover the enigmatic figure, with eyes the oddest shade of lavender, is indeed flesh and bone and male. Although clad entirely in black, his slender physique, flawless creamy skin, graceful cheekbones and silver hoop in each earlobe lends a feminine quality.
"I?m Duo." The name is underscored with the subtlety of gentle breezes rustling fox grass.
"Heero." I reply, but volunteer no surname should the stranger be a spy or enemy agent.
Without a word, Duo puts fire to a candle wick. A nod of his head bides me to follow. Not heeding my soldier's instincts, overruling my common sense or simply because prudence wouldn't decipher the riddle, I copy his pace and don't look back.
Now another secret is revealed. A long braid of honey brown hair, infused with ginger and cinnamon highlights, swishes across buttocks encased in trousers so snug the wriggle of each globe offers an enticing view.
While phantasmal shadows flutter along the walls like mischievous butterflies newly emerged from their metamorphic cocoons, I allow myself to be guided to an uncertain destination.
Then as the candlelight moves ahead and midnight swallows up the murky telescoping corridor behind, mysterious music wafts from every crack and crevice.
*********
~~His mind is Tiffany-twisted; he's got the Mercedes Benz,
He's got a lot of pretty, pretty boys he calls friends.
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat,
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget.~~
*********
The corridor ends at a wrought iron archway bedecked with yellow jasmine and pink honeysuckle blossoms that perfume the humid air with sickly sweet scents.
A sensual poise on his lips, Duo blows out the candle then steps aside to allow entrance to a round enclosure illuminated by torches and guarded by tan stucco walls so high I can't see beyond their solid boundaries.
An impressive focal point, a circular three-tiered fountain decorated with thousands of glazed tiles in variegated hues of indigo and aquamarine spews up azure water which pools on each level before cascading over scalloped edges.
Scattered over the clover-speckled grass in no particular arrangement, white marble benches, large earthenware pots filled with aromatic rosemary and countless jars bearing bundled sticks of smoldering sandalwood incense, share the spacious courtyard.
Intermingled among the pots and plants, three young men, all as handsome as Adonis, seem oblivious to the newly arrived visitor.
Long brown bangs obscuring one side of his face, the first man is dressed in sliver gray trousers, a matching tunic and soft leather boots.
Seated beside the fountain, lean legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his flute verifies the source of the elusive music heard in the hall. What is obvious, the tune coaxed by nimble fingers is ruled purely by instinctual whims with no regards to proper rhythm or tempo.
Never missing a note, the flutist tilts his head so one emerald eye can watch the second male dance.
Flaunting his contempt for modesty, the fair, blond dancer is attired in a short, loosely belted sapphire silk robe that scarcely covers his nakedness.
As if entranced by the flute, half closed eyes tease with a hint of blue. One pink nipple revealed by the slippage of slick fabric and levitating hem granting glimpses of nude genitals, arms sway over his head like willows stroked by the wind and toes touch so lightly he appears to float over the grass.
Lastly, slanted onyx eyes and heavy raven hair brushing bare golden shoulders distinguishes the third man. Also barefoot, black hakama pants cinched with a wide crimson sash is his choice of clothing.
The Asian neither makes music nor engages in mesmerized dancing, but practices the deadly art of the dragon's kiss.
Exceptional muscle control demonstrates the strength of a tiger and supple limbs move with the grace of a crane. Powerful punches aimed at an invisible opponent are delivered with the swiftness of a cobra and soaring kicks are suggestive of a swallow in flight.
Side by side I stand with Duo as we observe the player and dancer and fighter through a haze of incense that blurs the past, clouds the future and causes me to wonder whether remembering or forgetting are the men's ultimate objective.
Not wanting to disturb his friends, Duo beckons with his body language. "Come."
*********
~~So I called for the Captain, "Please bring me my wine."
He said, "We haven't had the vintage here since nineteen sixty nine."
Still those voices are calling from far away; wake you up in the middle of the night just to hear them say.
Welcome to the Hotel California, such a lovely place, such a lovely face.
They livin' it up at the Hotel California, what a nice surprise, bring your alibis.~~
*********
Drawn up tightly, burgundy velvet drapes give no clue as to whether their dense material is meant to conceal a clandestine rendezvous, defend against restless spirits or merely ward off the sun's enlightening rays.
Tempering the permanent darkness, flames from candles in a dozen brass wall sconces paint ever-changing patterns on mahogany paneled walls.
A massive walnut bed covered with fur, with acorns etched in the four posts and scenes of hunters, horses and hounds craved in the headboard, dominates the bedchamber.
I hesitate at the door.
"You've come this far." Duo appraises my bizarre passage before entering his inner sanctum.
Still I hesitate fully expecting the room to evaporate into candle smoke and the bewildering trio in the courtyard to disintegrate into dust.
"The valet de chambre failed to fill the wine carafe." Duo states crossly as he raises the empty cut-glass container to eye level. "I suppose that vintage has been depleted."
Faced with the possibility that nothing here is real, I'm prompted to question my own corporality. Am I a figment of imagination or an illusion of light and shadows?
Am I a hollow eyed corpse with mummified skin entombed in Wing Zero's cockpit; fingers curled in a rigor mortis grip around unresponsive controls and final breath frozen on ashen lips?
*********
~~Mirrors on the ceiling, pink champagne on ice.
We are all just prisoners of our own device
And in the master's chamber they gather for the feast,
They stab it with their steely knives, but they just can't kill the beast.~~
*********
For every Mobile Doll I blast into bits six more takes it place.
System failure warning lights blink with urgency. White noise static crackles over the open com-link and monitors return blank stares.
Inoperative circuits belch whiffs of blue-gray smoke which guarantees gradual asphyxiation if malfunctioning air exchange units fail to filter the acidic vapors.
A direct hit.
The cockpit shudders and I'm suddenly transported to Duo's bedchamber.
Viewed through a sulfuric fog, the flutist and dancer and Asian warrior, nude bodies glistening and arms and legs entwined, perform a m?nage a trios for the voyeuristic hunters, horses and hounds watching from the bed's headboard.
With manic abandonment and a mantra of moans, they kiss and suck and stroke. Enthralled in the throes of unbridled passion they copulate until on the verge of unconsciousness, but still the beasts of anguished memories and tragic mistakes cannot be slain.
Transfixed I don't realize Duo, in an equal state of nudity and arousal, stands before me until with a wave of his hand, like a snake shedding its skin, my clothing slithers from my body.
Taking advantage of my shock, Duo slips his arms around my waist. Despite my protests, he crushes our bodies together and pulls me into a bruising kiss.
"Welcome home." he whispers huskily as his human guise falls away.
In less than a heartbeat the masquerade is undone then massive ebony wings unfurl from Shinigami's shoulders to encase us in an eternal embrace.
*********
~~Last thing I remember, I was running for the door,
I had to find the passage back to the place I was before.
"Relax." said the night man, "We are programmed to receive.
You can check-out any time you like, but you can never leave."~~
*********
Swarms of Mobile Dolls banked in a high arc pause momentarily to savor the kill then swoop down for the final waltz in our danse macabre.
Flashes of white light.
Deluge of images.
Data streams.
Statistical possibilities.
Tactical options.
Breath seizes in lungs.
Heart hammers so hard it threatens to shatter ribs.
Hands clench so tightly fingernails pierce palms.
Convulsive twitching wracks the body and splinters the mind.
Too much.
Too fast.
NO MORE!
I surrender to the demons of war clawing at my senses and drift off into blessed oblivion.
"SHUT THE DAMN THING OFF!" Duo screams as he shoves the supervising technician aside and slams his fist down on the red emergency shutdown switch for the Zero System.
In a nanosecond he's at Heero's side and in a single moment more the hellish helmet is disconnected and removed.
"Heero?"
Not bothering to hide his concern when he finds Heero's pale face drenched with sweat, Duo raises his voice, "Hey, can you hear me?"
Receiving no response, Duo grabs Heero by the shoulders and gives him a firm shake.
A low groan, then confused eyes regains a measure of focus.
Ashen lips part, a barely audible sigh then a raspy "Duo?" struggles through a parched throat. "What happened?"
"It's all right." Duo reassures moping back wet bangs plastered on Heero's forehead. "Can you stand?"
"Yeah." However a sturdy attack of vertigo mounts an exasperating opposition.
Ultimately standing up is accomplished by Duo wrapping an arm around Heero's waist and shoring him up until rubbery legs decide to cooperate.
"Come on we're goin' back to our quarters."
"Wait." Doctor J. calls as he rushes into the control room. "The training exercise hasn't been completed."
Locking a fiercely defiant glare on the devious scientist, Duo uses a low growl to emphasis the seriousness of his warning. "You touch him, old man, and I'll banish you straight to hell."
*********
The door to Duo and Heero's shared room is bolted against unwanted intrusions from J., Professor G. or anyone else foolish enough to insist they return to the research lab.
Duo eases Heero down on the twin bed nearest the window. "Rest while I start the shower."
Heero rubs the nape of his neck in a fruitless attempt to unknot the muscles. "I just want to sleep."
Since every inch of Heero's clothing is damp and sticky, with Duo's help, he strips off completely, slips between soft sheets and relishes the feel of cool cotton against his skin.
Duo scoots a scratched wooden chair with faded green cushions next to the bed, reaches under the top sheet and takes Heero's hand. "Don't worry 'bout J. nosin' around. The bastard won't bother you on my watch." he promises his protection. "Sleep now, okay?"
Curled on his side, Heero gazes at his fellow warrior and friend. Stray stands of honey brown hair, backlit by the bedside lamp, looks like a halo which seems out of character for the God of Death.
Just before Heero answers the Sandman's invitation to slumber, he squeezes Duo's hand. "Thank you for finding me."
Duo doesn't inquire about the odd statement, instead he whispers, "You're welcome." then places a gentle kiss on Heero's temple.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of Heero's psyche, not rent in shambles by his training, the last intact segment of his humanity has now been breached by the Zero System and with that invasive violation his soul has become vulnerable as well.
In the distance, there's a flicker of light, a flute plays a haunting refrain and an all too familiar voice declares. "Let the mind games begin."
OWARI
Back to Karen, The Huntress's Fanfictions Page