Memories of Love 1/? - Gundam Wing
Sep. 30th, 2004 10:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeDisclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and I make no money from any fanfic I write.
Pairing: 5xM
Category: I was going for romance and angst... I don’t know about romance, but I KNOW it’s angst!
Warnings: Violence
Rating: R
Title: Memories of Love in the Dark
Author: yellowhorde
Feel free to send comments and criticism to yellowhorde@hotmail.com.
The man who reclined in the plush leather chair behind a massive cherry wood desk was usually a very friendly man with laughing chocolate brown eyes, a sunny smile and an easygoing disposition. That is, until someone was foolish enough to double-cross him. Then he became a whole new breed of man - a ruthless killer that had clawed his way up the ladder of success with blood drenched hands. His name was Luciano DiMauro, the current head of the DiMauro family, the most powerful mobster in the Colonies, and he was NOT smiling now. No, now his white bushy eyebrows were furrowed between narrowed eyes, like twin albino caterpillars, the merry smile turned upside down into a frown that would send any wise man running for the hills, his lined face a very unhealthy shade of reddish purple as he stared down at the 8x10 glossy black and white photos sprawled out on the desktop. In agitation, he ran one gnarly knuckled hand through his thinning white hair.
The photos revealed two men seated across from each other in a cheap diner. The man to the right was fairly young, maybe 17 - 18 years old, with dark curling hair and a handsome face. In the picture he was wearing a white tee shirt under a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of black jeans. His name was Carlos - Carlos Domingo. He had worked for the Family as an errand boy, a messenger of sorts. Luciano DiMauro had trusted the young man, had had high expectations for him. Now all those plans were dead. The man seated across from the boy was a bit older, in his early to mid- twenty’s. His gently bronzed face was calm and attentive, obviously VERY interested in what the other person had to say. Shiny black hair pulled away from his face with a leather tieback, coal black eyes all but glittering at whatever it was Carlos was telling him.
Arthritic hands slowly, deliberately gathered the photos together in a small neat pile, tapping them against the level surface with sharp tak! tak! sounds. Unceremoniously, he leaned over and slid them into the wastepaper basket hidden from view. Later, the contents of that container would be incinerated. Angry eyes rose to meet the cool emerald gaze of the man seated across from him.
“I want that little stool pigeon Carlos out of the picture, IMMEDIATELY! Put your best man on the job!” The words hung in the air, filled with hot venom, with deadly intent.
The silent man, known as Trowa Barton, was clad in a snug fitting forest green turtleneck and black slacks. He smiled, a mere tilting of the lips. It was not a friendly smile, oh no. One green eye, the one not concealed by long brown bangs, glittered coldly, like sunlight off of a piece of glass.
“My pleasure.”
Smooth as a dancer, the banged man rose and glided towards the door. His footsteps made no sound against the thick carpet. As his hand touched the doorknob, the voice of the drug lord was heard again.
“While you’re at it, get rid of Detective Chang as well. He’s been a thorn in my side for far too long.”
*****
Carlos strutted confidently down the paved walkway enjoying the late afternoon sun that flirted through the rustling canopy of leaves over his head. The sounds of people chatting and laughing and the delighted shrieks of the children swarming over the playground equipment wafted through the warm summer air. Casually, the handsome Hispanic youth strolled towards the familiar figure reclining gracefully on a green park bench. Smiling, he waved at the ebony haired man, who was dressed in a royal blue silk top and loosely fitted white pants. Some sort of black slippers graced his narrow feet. As usual, the policeman remained still and silent, his expression cool and calculating. Undeterred, the youth shrugged his shoulders and slid his large hands into his oversized jeans pockets. A cool breeze tickled along his skin, rippling the red fabric of his shirt, playing invisible fingers through his hair.
(That man needs to learn to lighten up a bit and have some fun!) Carlos thought with a grin. Suddenly, his pace faltered and he came to an uncertain stop a few feet from the bench, his gaze traveling past the Chinese police officer to the long braided man besides him. Sudden hostility blazed in those once cheerful eyes. He never lost the grin, though; it just altered subtly to become a menacing snarl.
“What the hell is this, Chang? You trying to pull a fast one on me?”
Chang Wufei pulled himself slowly, fluidly to his feet with a calm grace that all but screamed martial arts training or dancer. Carlos was willing to bet on martial arts. The second option seemed unlikely. He simply could not picture the usually sour Detective boogying down. The thought of Chang posed dramatically on a dance floor in a polyester rhinestone encrusted jumpsuit, disco ball flashing and glittering wildly above him as he swayed and thrust his lithe body to a pulsating rhythm came to mind and the Hispanic youth bit down sharply on his tongue to contain the harsh laughter that threatened to bubble forth from his throat.
Without even speaking a word the chestnut braided man, dressed in black from head to toe, rose with Chang, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, black hat pulled low over his face. A disarming grin beamed along his features. See, I’m harmless, that smile said. Yeah, riiight!
Chang met the suddenly hostile glare with an unruffled patience. The faintest smile touched his lips. “No, I am not trying to ‘pull a fast one.’” His voice was as smooth and as calm as a mountain spring.
“Who’s this then?” snapped Carlos, interrupting the Chinese detective rudely, jerking his chin towards the accompanying man, all hilarity vanishing from thought, face and mind. His instincts were telling him to leave- to just get out of here right now. He had been feeling twitchy and nervous all day. He did NOT want to deal with any of this happy crappy BULLSHIT!
“This is my partner, Duo Maxwell.”
Duo’s friendly grin grew even larger if such a thing was possible. He inclined his head slightly, violet eyes looking out over the rims of his shades and extended his arm out towards the youngster.
“Hi. How ya’ doin’? Pleased ta meet’cha!”
Instinctively the nervous boy took the smiling man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Now, I believe you have some information you were going to give me?” The Asian graciously motioned towards the bench like a maître d' ushering an important guest to their table.
*****
The short haired blond man in the building across from the park leaned a little further out of the open window, but not too far out. He was on the fifth floor, but he didn’t want to risk discovery. Didn’t want to be seen, oh no. Didn’t want any possible witnesses. Witnesses were nothing more that a nuisance- just loose strings that needed clipping. Staring with intense icy blue eyes through the telescopic sight of the high-powered rifle, he lined up the cross hairs with the first intended target, a vicious grin spreading over his pale face. One calloused finger caressed the trigger like a lover.
“That’s right, me boys, keep on talking. Don’t mind me, one little bit. Just passing through.” The assassin, dressed in a black tee shirt stretched over a very muscular chest and a pair of matching tailored slacks laughed at this last comment for no apparent reason, a high sniggering sound that clashed with his Bad Ass exterior. The finger pulled the trigger gently, lovingly and...
*****
The head of Carlos Domingo exploded violently, splashing blood, bone, and brain matter all over the two police detectives who flanked him, even before the retort of the rifle was heard.
“What the hell?”
Duo recoiled from the suddenly dead informant’s body, which slid off of the bench and flopped bonelessly to the ground, arms and legs twitching uselessly as it hit the cement. The braided man’s gun appeared almost magically in his hands - practice really DOES make perfect – the sunglasses gone, wide violet eyes searching, searching frantically for something, anything to shoot, his handsome heart shaped face a mask of disbelief and utter loathing as he felt thick goblets of goo slide down his cheek. He crouched down besides the bench making himself as small a target as possible. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Wufei crouched down besides his partner, almond eyes narrowed, blood and thicker things peppered across his face, his own gun at the ready. “Shit, shit, shit!” He cursed softly and uselessly under his breath.
Obsidian eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area for their invisible assailant. Where was he? WHERE? Everywhere he looked he looked he saw frightened civilians, a few men, but mostly women clinging to terrified, sobbing children, crouched or laying on the thick, well-tended grass, hands over their heads as if that pathetic action would actually do them any good. Screams and prayers drifted to his ears, which seemed to be ringing from the gunfire blast.
A second shot rang out, quickly followed by a third, each one echoing through the air like thunder before the storm. Wufei jerked violently, hot agony slamming into his chest, his side, stealing away his breath before he even had a chance to cry out. He felt himself falling, hitting the ground with a soft thud. But it didn’t hurt for he had apparently lost all feeling in his body. And that was good, that was fine, that was just peachy for he knew that when he woke up he would be in a world of hurting. Oh, yes, indeed!
With darkness clouding his vision, Wufei watched in helpless fascination as his pistol seemed to slide in slow motion from his loosening grasp. An odd tugging sensation was felt, as if invisible hands were plucking at his soul, leading him away from the rich coppery scent of blood and death, taking him someplace full of warmth and love and peace. Much to his surprise, the oriental detective found himself eagerly complying as his mind drifted away...
Dimly, before he was sucked under into unconsciousness, Wufei heard Duo shouting frantically into his two-way radio; panic barely held in check.
“We have a man down! Heero! Quatre! SOMEBODY! We need back up, immediately! Repeat: We have a man down...”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Pairing: 5xM
Category: I was going for romance and angst... I don’t know about romance, but I KNOW it’s angst!
Warnings: Violence
Rating: R
Title: Memories of Love in the Dark
Author: yellowhorde
Feel free to send comments and criticism to yellowhorde@hotmail.com.
The man who reclined in the plush leather chair behind a massive cherry wood desk was usually a very friendly man with laughing chocolate brown eyes, a sunny smile and an easygoing disposition. That is, until someone was foolish enough to double-cross him. Then he became a whole new breed of man - a ruthless killer that had clawed his way up the ladder of success with blood drenched hands. His name was Luciano DiMauro, the current head of the DiMauro family, the most powerful mobster in the Colonies, and he was NOT smiling now. No, now his white bushy eyebrows were furrowed between narrowed eyes, like twin albino caterpillars, the merry smile turned upside down into a frown that would send any wise man running for the hills, his lined face a very unhealthy shade of reddish purple as he stared down at the 8x10 glossy black and white photos sprawled out on the desktop. In agitation, he ran one gnarly knuckled hand through his thinning white hair.
The photos revealed two men seated across from each other in a cheap diner. The man to the right was fairly young, maybe 17 - 18 years old, with dark curling hair and a handsome face. In the picture he was wearing a white tee shirt under a plaid flannel shirt and a pair of black jeans. His name was Carlos - Carlos Domingo. He had worked for the Family as an errand boy, a messenger of sorts. Luciano DiMauro had trusted the young man, had had high expectations for him. Now all those plans were dead. The man seated across from the boy was a bit older, in his early to mid- twenty’s. His gently bronzed face was calm and attentive, obviously VERY interested in what the other person had to say. Shiny black hair pulled away from his face with a leather tieback, coal black eyes all but glittering at whatever it was Carlos was telling him.
Arthritic hands slowly, deliberately gathered the photos together in a small neat pile, tapping them against the level surface with sharp tak! tak! sounds. Unceremoniously, he leaned over and slid them into the wastepaper basket hidden from view. Later, the contents of that container would be incinerated. Angry eyes rose to meet the cool emerald gaze of the man seated across from him.
“I want that little stool pigeon Carlos out of the picture, IMMEDIATELY! Put your best man on the job!” The words hung in the air, filled with hot venom, with deadly intent.
The silent man, known as Trowa Barton, was clad in a snug fitting forest green turtleneck and black slacks. He smiled, a mere tilting of the lips. It was not a friendly smile, oh no. One green eye, the one not concealed by long brown bangs, glittered coldly, like sunlight off of a piece of glass.
“My pleasure.”
Smooth as a dancer, the banged man rose and glided towards the door. His footsteps made no sound against the thick carpet. As his hand touched the doorknob, the voice of the drug lord was heard again.
“While you’re at it, get rid of Detective Chang as well. He’s been a thorn in my side for far too long.”
*****
Carlos strutted confidently down the paved walkway enjoying the late afternoon sun that flirted through the rustling canopy of leaves over his head. The sounds of people chatting and laughing and the delighted shrieks of the children swarming over the playground equipment wafted through the warm summer air. Casually, the handsome Hispanic youth strolled towards the familiar figure reclining gracefully on a green park bench. Smiling, he waved at the ebony haired man, who was dressed in a royal blue silk top and loosely fitted white pants. Some sort of black slippers graced his narrow feet. As usual, the policeman remained still and silent, his expression cool and calculating. Undeterred, the youth shrugged his shoulders and slid his large hands into his oversized jeans pockets. A cool breeze tickled along his skin, rippling the red fabric of his shirt, playing invisible fingers through his hair.
(That man needs to learn to lighten up a bit and have some fun!) Carlos thought with a grin. Suddenly, his pace faltered and he came to an uncertain stop a few feet from the bench, his gaze traveling past the Chinese police officer to the long braided man besides him. Sudden hostility blazed in those once cheerful eyes. He never lost the grin, though; it just altered subtly to become a menacing snarl.
“What the hell is this, Chang? You trying to pull a fast one on me?”
Chang Wufei pulled himself slowly, fluidly to his feet with a calm grace that all but screamed martial arts training or dancer. Carlos was willing to bet on martial arts. The second option seemed unlikely. He simply could not picture the usually sour Detective boogying down. The thought of Chang posed dramatically on a dance floor in a polyester rhinestone encrusted jumpsuit, disco ball flashing and glittering wildly above him as he swayed and thrust his lithe body to a pulsating rhythm came to mind and the Hispanic youth bit down sharply on his tongue to contain the harsh laughter that threatened to bubble forth from his throat.
Without even speaking a word the chestnut braided man, dressed in black from head to toe, rose with Chang, his eyes hidden by dark sunglasses, black hat pulled low over his face. A disarming grin beamed along his features. See, I’m harmless, that smile said. Yeah, riiight!
Chang met the suddenly hostile glare with an unruffled patience. The faintest smile touched his lips. “No, I am not trying to ‘pull a fast one.’” His voice was as smooth and as calm as a mountain spring.
“Who’s this then?” snapped Carlos, interrupting the Chinese detective rudely, jerking his chin towards the accompanying man, all hilarity vanishing from thought, face and mind. His instincts were telling him to leave- to just get out of here right now. He had been feeling twitchy and nervous all day. He did NOT want to deal with any of this happy crappy BULLSHIT!
“This is my partner, Duo Maxwell.”
Duo’s friendly grin grew even larger if such a thing was possible. He inclined his head slightly, violet eyes looking out over the rims of his shades and extended his arm out towards the youngster.
“Hi. How ya’ doin’? Pleased ta meet’cha!”
Instinctively the nervous boy took the smiling man’s hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Now, I believe you have some information you were going to give me?” The Asian graciously motioned towards the bench like a maître d' ushering an important guest to their table.
*****
The short haired blond man in the building across from the park leaned a little further out of the open window, but not too far out. He was on the fifth floor, but he didn’t want to risk discovery. Didn’t want to be seen, oh no. Didn’t want any possible witnesses. Witnesses were nothing more that a nuisance- just loose strings that needed clipping. Staring with intense icy blue eyes through the telescopic sight of the high-powered rifle, he lined up the cross hairs with the first intended target, a vicious grin spreading over his pale face. One calloused finger caressed the trigger like a lover.
“That’s right, me boys, keep on talking. Don’t mind me, one little bit. Just passing through.” The assassin, dressed in a black tee shirt stretched over a very muscular chest and a pair of matching tailored slacks laughed at this last comment for no apparent reason, a high sniggering sound that clashed with his Bad Ass exterior. The finger pulled the trigger gently, lovingly and...
*****
The head of Carlos Domingo exploded violently, splashing blood, bone, and brain matter all over the two police detectives who flanked him, even before the retort of the rifle was heard.
“What the hell?”
Duo recoiled from the suddenly dead informant’s body, which slid off of the bench and flopped bonelessly to the ground, arms and legs twitching uselessly as it hit the cement. The braided man’s gun appeared almost magically in his hands - practice really DOES make perfect – the sunglasses gone, wide violet eyes searching, searching frantically for something, anything to shoot, his handsome heart shaped face a mask of disbelief and utter loathing as he felt thick goblets of goo slide down his cheek. He crouched down besides the bench making himself as small a target as possible. “Where the hell did that come from?”
Wufei crouched down besides his partner, almond eyes narrowed, blood and thicker things peppered across his face, his own gun at the ready. “Shit, shit, shit!” He cursed softly and uselessly under his breath.
Obsidian eyes quickly scanned the surrounding area for their invisible assailant. Where was he? WHERE? Everywhere he looked he looked he saw frightened civilians, a few men, but mostly women clinging to terrified, sobbing children, crouched or laying on the thick, well-tended grass, hands over their heads as if that pathetic action would actually do them any good. Screams and prayers drifted to his ears, which seemed to be ringing from the gunfire blast.
A second shot rang out, quickly followed by a third, each one echoing through the air like thunder before the storm. Wufei jerked violently, hot agony slamming into his chest, his side, stealing away his breath before he even had a chance to cry out. He felt himself falling, hitting the ground with a soft thud. But it didn’t hurt for he had apparently lost all feeling in his body. And that was good, that was fine, that was just peachy for he knew that when he woke up he would be in a world of hurting. Oh, yes, indeed!
With darkness clouding his vision, Wufei watched in helpless fascination as his pistol seemed to slide in slow motion from his loosening grasp. An odd tugging sensation was felt, as if invisible hands were plucking at his soul, leading him away from the rich coppery scent of blood and death, taking him someplace full of warmth and love and peace. Much to his surprise, the oriental detective found himself eagerly complying as his mind drifted away...
Dimly, before he was sucked under into unconsciousness, Wufei heard Duo shouting frantically into his two-way radio; panic barely held in check.
“We have a man down! Heero! Quatre! SOMEBODY! We need back up, immediately! Repeat: We have a man down...”
TO BE CONTINUED...
