Author: PlaidDragon
Rating: PG-13
Warning: One-shot
Disclamer: Gundam Wing and its original characters do not belong to me.
I've been pretty out of it lately. Lots of real life wank that just sucks the life out of me and makes it really hard to write. The words are in my head; it's the getting them out that is the problem. Lotta little bits of things but not much in contiguous form. D= The IP things are IP-ing along, just way more slowly than I would like, but I can only stare unproductively at an incoherent sentence for so long before I have to scuttle off to something suitably mindless. On the plus side, my game of Mahjongg Goes Green is getting better everyday. ^___^
Again, my ability to reply to comments or to email is pretty much limited at the moment. Sorry if it takes me forever to get back to you; I do try. Just don't make much sense. ^___^ Kind of waiting for a doctor to tell me I had a stroke and didn't know it. O.o It's been that sort of year.
The reason for all this is below. ^___^ This is a stand-alone ficlet. It may one day grow up to be something more, but for now, it's just an hour or so in the life of The Maxwell. Enjoy. ^____^
Worn
As brilliant as the Mads were, you'd have thought they could have invented warp drive, thought Duo to himself. Even after all this time, he still detested the long shuttle flights. Not the being in space aspect; oh no. He hated that he was required to fly commercial except in emergencies. Neither Une nor Sally considered "I want to be in control!" to be an emergency.
Dammit, anyway.
He glanced at the seat display. Only a few minutes behind schedule, in spite of the weather. Gotta love these Grissom-class shuttles; they could fly through anything Earth's weather chose to throw at them. He booked his flights specifically for these babies. Unfortunately, the displays were designed for ordinary passengers; business travelers, tourists, students - not former Gundam pilots. The rotating feed offered weather reports, advertising, entertainment and news of the fluffy, reassuring sort. Nothing about politics, military actions or local uprisings. Nothing that would get people all whipped up while they were stuck in this tin can.
He could have opened his laptop, but it was more trouble than it was worth right now. He would have to show his badge to the steward as well as deal with other passengers who wanted to know why that guy could have his comp open when they couldn't. They were already slowing and descending to match speed with the planet; touchdown would be in less than an hour anyway.
He sighed and rested his head against the seat, eyes closed.
He'd already notified the utilities to turn everything on at noon today. Sent Wufei and Sally an email asking if he could pick his animals up the next morning. Notified Zeus at the Sweeper hootch that he'd be picking up his vehicle sometime tonight. After that he'd stop by the Quikee Depot for some basics and a soda. Whatever they put into the soda bottled on L-3-2196, it left a weird after-taste that he couldn't get used to.
He looked forward to being home again. These assignments made him feel like he was back in the war; always moving, sleeping in strange beds and eating weird food. This particular cycle was finished, so he shouldn't have to move off the planet for at least six months.
Sally and Une had decided on some restructuring of the training cycle, so it might even be longer. He was tentatively assigned to that team, he thought. Maybe he could manage some tweaking of his own. Unless Sally decided she couldn't bear to part with his animals and scheduled him for year-round travel in order to hyjack them. Nah, Sally wouldn't do that. Wufei might, though.
He chuckled softly. One of these days he'd come to pick them up and they'd run away from him instead of to him. Realistically, he shouldn't even have pets, but he didn't much like being alone when he was home.
He'd already gotten some invitations for dinner, basketball, cinema and "whatever". At the moment, he wasn't interested in any of it, although the "whatever" would probably be his first reply. Man did not live by basketball alone and three months spent with trainees had supplied him with a need for some mindless oblivion.
He sighed again. This time his seatmate noticed.
"Long trip, isn't it?" said the woman beside him, turning away from the viewing port.
He opened his eyes and managed a small smile. "Sure is."
"What do you miss the most?" she asked idly. "I miss running along the lake."
"Hm. I miss that, too, but mostly I miss just being home," he admitted.
"Were you away long?"
"Almost four months. I'm a consultant." Technically, that was true. So was educational coordinator, training officer or whipper-in. He'd offered all those and others in casual conversation.
"You do this often?"
"Yup."
"Damn."
"Yup," he echoed with a dark smirk.
"I think next time the boss asks for volunteers for an L-3 job, I'll pass. My kids probably won't recognise me."
"Long trip?"
"Less than you; only a month, but add the travel time and it starts to get ugly."
"Yeah." They would be on the ground in about 30 minutes; he could make out Earth features. Speed was down to less than Earth rotation. As soon as they hit twelve klics of altitude, the shuttle would enter the approach pattern for the port, taking it's place with all the other terrestrial traffic.
"Looking forward to normal gravity again, too," he muttered. The greenies trained in variable gravity; you never knew from one day to the next whether it would be plus or minus Earth-normal.
"You must have been on one of the pups..." The question was implied, but he chose to miss it.
"They'll be calling the landing in a few minutes," he said instead. "Hope you have an umbrella; it's pouring down there."
"No worries; I have a jitney. I shouldn't even get my feet wet." She cast him a sidelong look.
Handsome guy... Early twenties maybe, lean, not too tall... Confident, self-assured, well-dressed... She wondered if he lived around here or if he'd be catching another flight.
Silly, she told herself; he's too good to be running around loose. And he's too young for you, anyway. Being a thirty-something war widow with teenage kids kinda sucked some days.
"Do you have a ride...?" she asked hesitantly.
He smiled at her. "Nah. I'll grab a cab. Gotta pick up my kids. But thanks."
The landing was as perfect as any landing without him at the yoke could be. His seatmate thanked him for handing down her overnight bag and then stuck out her hand.
"Thanks for the little conversation; I don't really get scared, but I worry about landings."
"My pleasure. I'm not crazy about landings myself." Unless I'm in control.
The senior steward recognised him and offered a handshake. "Mr Maxwell; I'm sorry I didn't see you earlier in the flight. Good trip?"
"Good trip, Montez. No broken bones this time."
"Any time you can walk away, sir."
"Yep."
Maxwell, huh? Maybe she'd just google that and see if she could find him. Sure, he was too young, but nothing wrong with looking.
Duo passed easily through customs; his badge sent him to a much shorter and more cursory line. The senior agent there greeted him by name.
"Nice to see you again, Mr Maxwell. That time of year?"
"It is indeed, Kraskow. How's the family?"
"Letitia is going to graduate in January. She's already applied to the Preventors."
"Wow. Congratulate her for me. And she can drop my name anytime if she thinks it will help," he smiled. "I take no position on that, though."
"She's hoping to get in and be assigned locally so we don't have to move, but I'm ready, just in case."
"Good on you. I know she appreciates the support. Good to go?"
"Good to go," agreed the agent, fastening the zipper on Duo's duffle. "Oh, Mr Maxwell... Who would be the first contact to get a training day with the Preventors? We've had a couple of... indeterminate incidents and I think we could use a refresher."
Duo fished out a card and wrote the number for the chief liason of training on the back. "Call her. Lucrezia Noin; she handles all external seminars. Tell her 'Duo says put this on the new schedule.' "
"First thing Monday. Thank you, sir!"
OWARI
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