More old GW stuff - fanfiction Part A
Part 1: Inconsequential
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Warnings: possible character death
Category: ficlet, drama
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for the gw500 lj community's "being haunted" challenge. Not beta'ed
“Come with me."
Heero stirred the cream into his coffee, focusing on the precise movements of the spoon along the edge of the cup. Six times around and the liquid took on the color of fine milk chocolate.
"It's been five years and they haven't forgotten us yet."
Preparing the coffee took all of his attention. He certainly had none to spare for the news service droning on and on from the vid across the kitchen.
"We're nothing but prisoners in our own homes!"
One smart tap of the spoon against the rim of the cup before it was placed on the napkin, perfectly aligned with the edge. Beyond the limit of his notice, the smooth-faced anchor promised to report the top stories. After a word from their sponsors, of course.
"What's two and a half years? One and a half out, one back."
He lifted the cup for a taste. Perfect - strong enough that the rich, dark flavor dominated with just enough cream to mellow the bite. How he learned the secret to perfect coffee. Well. He didn't need to consider that to enjoy a good cup. An inconsequential voice in the background chirped on about the best way to maintain a healthy lifestyle. If you purchased their product, of course.
"Howard's got an in. He can get you a berth, too."
He set the cup aside after a long sip and arranged his laptop in front of him. Pulling up the code for the latest program he was writing, he quickly picked up where he left off. A notice from his electronic messaging service popped up informing him that he had three hundred unread messages. He ignored it; the people he wanted to speak to knew better than to send him email. The journalists and tabloids had simply not realized that yet.
The steady rhythm of his fingers on the keys was the only sound in the room. Aside from the news service, of course. Reports of a commuter shuttle accident, latest financial news from the colonial markets, the news of the historical tie-breaking game in the world series all passed by without a blink.
"The ESUN Space Agency has confirmed that once again no signal has been received from Project Odyssey for the fourth day in a row."
The tapping faltered for a moment, then continued on, picking up the pace until it resumed its previous speed. The news was, as always, inconsequential.
--
"Where's your spirit of adventure?"
Another cup of coffee. He tried a sip of black, but was unsatisfied. He scowled at the cup, resentful that he no longer enjoyed coffee straight up like he used to. But. He really didn't need to think about that.
"Just you and your best friend in a tin can, touring the solar system!"
There was comfort in the familiar ritual of preparing the cup of coffee. A cup before settling in to work, the news service providing the background noise. Not that he ever paid attention to it.
"Well, and four other crew members, but who gives a damn about them?"
His job was OK. It paid his bills and being able to work from home made dealing with the public much easier. His groceries were delivered and he never had to deal with the reporters who still seemed to think that there was some story to be had about him.
"The identities of the mission specialists will be kept confidential. Nobody will know we're going!
The smooth-faced anchor, the same guy every day (not that he noticed), started in on the hours top stories.
"Today marks the fifth day since the last communication with Project Odyssey. Land and space based telescopes have confirmed that the braking maneuver was successful; however, the solar sail has not redeployed and there is no indication of activity from the main vehicle."
Tuning out the artificially solemn voice, he pulled his laptop over to start work. His hands were a little shaky, surprising him, but he was able to put it from his mind and get to work.
--
"What more could you ask for?"
He didn't even try to drink his coffee black this morning. Why change his habits now? Instead he prepared his coffee and sat down with a decisive air and booted up his laptop. He had work that needed to be finished. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the remote and turned on the news.
"Mission success rate is projected to be in the high 90th percentile!"
He was deep into his code, trying to finish his latest project before the deadline. For some reason, his productivity hadn't been up to his level of satisfaction for the past two weeks.
An unfamiliar voice announced the reporting of the top stories and he looked up from his laptop, startled. The regular anchor must have the day off. He took a sip of his coffee, steadfastly ignoring the white-knuckled grip on the handle of the mug.
"ESUN Space Agency administrators announced that another communication window has passed without contact from Project Odyssey. In a press conference later today, ESUN SA administrators are expected to discuss the probability for the safe return of the six mission specialists. The window for the safe return of the Odyssey expires in a little over twenty-four hours an-"
Heero set down the remote with a quiet click and folded his hands on the table. His heavy breathing sounded harsh in the sudden quiet. Slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on his hands. He didn't have to listen very hard to hear the laughing voice that seemed to follow him everywhere these days.
"If you don't come with me and something goes wrong, I'm gonna haunt you forever!"
end Inconsequential
Part 2: Damn
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Warnings: language
Category: ficlet, drama
Rating: PG-13... or whatever the f-word rates
Notes: Sequel to "Inconsequential." Written for the gw500 lj community's "phobia" challenge. Not beta'ed
The damn boom line was stuck. Duo braced his feet on the base of the assembly, secured his grip on the release lever and threw all of his weight backwards. With a silent shudder, the lever sprang open and the line played out a few centimeters before stabilizing. Clipping his safety line to the base of the boom and releasing the catch, Duo pushed off from the surface of the reactor housing towards the second boom. He caught the handhold on the second assembly and pulled himself to a stop. After re-engaging the brake on his safety tether he took a moment to stretch, trying to work out the kinks in his back. His suit was so bulky that stretching was a lost cause, but he had to give it a try anyway.
He checked the chrono on his helmet's heads up display. He'd been out here three and a half hours already, and only one of the boom lines was free. Damnit. Three more to go and he only had 10 hours to get them all free and the sail ready to re-deploy. Another six hours, give or take, and they had better damn well be able to start the burn or they'd miss the window.
That really didn't bear thinking about, so he bent to examine the assembly.
This one didn't look like it would give him too much trouble. The loss of power had reset all of the relays, so it was simply a matter of checking the connections and powering each one up. The job would take him about an hour.
As he worked, his mind turned over the situation in the crew cabin. He was relieved to be out on the EVA, truth be told. Two of the crew were in the process of having separate nervous breakdowns and had locked themselves into their respective bunks. Another had simply gone silent and immovable, floati ng off to the side of the main living area. If the situation had not been so dire, Duo thought he would've laughed at the grumbling of another crewmate as she stashed the catatonic woman in her bunk.
The breakdown had come all at once. The braking and retraction of the sail had gone off without a hitch. After a quick celebration, they started the turn and burn, bringing the craft around for the return trip. Duo's hands faltered on the relays, the memory of the sudden pop-pop-pop of control boards failing and sickening lurch as main power failed enough to send a shiver down his spine. Pushing the thought aside, he focused on the circuits.
Because, really, if he thought about what was going on, he might just want to scream.
All five LEDs winked green at him and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A quick tug on the release lever and the control line played out and stabilized. Two down, two to go. He checked the time. Only forty-five minutes on that one. Good. Securing his safety line once again, he pushed off to the next assembly.
Another simple reset. Evidently he had a little good karma stored up. Now he just had to get both of the remaining relays up and he'd have his part done. Back inside after that to see what else needed doing. After that, all he'd have to do was make it through the yearlong ride home without developing any major psychoses or phobias. He snorted. And promptly gagged at the stench. God, he stank. All of them did. The first thing to go had been the extra water. They had just enough to drink and produce the oxygen they needed to breathe. Washing just wasn't a priority, but damn, after six days the smell was almost enough to make him puke. He had even toyed with the idea of shaving his head - the damn hair seemed to collect and intensify the stink.
Of course, he didn't want to spend all of eternity as a bald corpse. Anyway.
What was it called? Olfactophobia. He grinned with black humor. That was one he definitely wouldn't have after this joy ride. He'd already made it through the desensitization therapy. Five green lights, release the line, secure his safety tether and off he went.
Damn, it was dark out here on the ass-end of nowhere. The sun was nothing more than another star this far out. He hesitated before bending to take a look at the last assembly, taking a long minute to just stand and breathe. No matter what else happened, he had made it farther away from home than any other human being. It was humbling to stand out here and know just how very small he was. How little his life mattered to the universe...yet it also inspired a sense of wonder. After all, he had made it all this way to stand on the surface of the tin can and feel insignificant.
With a grunt and a shake of his head, he got back to work. One had to make it back alive to get into the record books.
Otherwise, he'd be a frozen mile-marker for the next mission out this way. Moving on.
Lets see... what was fear of the dark. Achluophobia? Nyctophobia? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. He didn't think he'd have that one, either. They had managed to get all of the battery packs operating at peak efficiency so that there was enough power to breathe. And drink and have enough light to work. And, thankfully, charge up the power packs for the suits. And here he was, trying to keep his act together long enough to do his part.
Fuck. Three of the five relays on the final assembly were fried. He had four replacements on him, but one of those was iffy and there was a possibility of a surge during the reset. The relays were still tied into the main wiring harness and there was no good way to isolate them for replacement. Even if there was a way to isolate them, the reactor still hadn't been stabilized and they really didn't have any time to screw with the relays. The first two days had been a desperate struggle to keep the reactor on line. If they hadn't. Well. He supposed they would make a good example of how not to design a compact ion engine.
Too bad that no one would be able to collect the prototype for study.
The fuel situation. Now that was a sticky point. The overload and near shutdown of the reactor had consumed enough of the ice - their fuel and lifesupport - that getting back to Earth was not possible. They'd make it to just inside Mars' orbit, once the reactor was stabilized. And the relays were inspected. And the sail was redeployed. And they could complete the burn before the window expired. They were betting that someone would be willing come out and pick up their sorry asses once they were that close to home.
So here he was. Damn, it was dark. Damn, he stank.
One relay in. Duo flexed his fingers and checked the time. Six hours left. He bent to his task, trying to keep his mind on the present. Seven hours out here and he still had two more relays to replace. Not to mention get the sail going. He could really use a partner. A sharp ache filled his chest and he wondered what Heero was doing - he cut that thought off. Heero was most certainly too far away to help and three of his other crewmates had gone off the deep end. He was on his own.
God, he really didn't want to be out here alone.
Autophobia. Now he might give that one some thought. You don't get much more alone than where he was now. The solitude had been welcome at first after the long days of being hounded after the wars, but the loneliness was beginning to suck. He missed his friends. He missed his best friend. Heero's refusal to come on this mission still stung, but he supposed he'd get over it.
Might be getting over it a bit quicker than he had hoped.
The second relay went in. The reset went perfectly. A feeling of dread crept up his throat and he stuffed it back down his gut where it belonged. He didn't have time to get nervous.
Third relay in, now for the reset. He toggled the switch and flinched back at the bright arc as the second relay blew. He lost his grip on the assembly and flew backwards, coming to a sharp stop at the end of the tether. He hung there for a moment, too discouraged and sore and just plain exhausted. With a tired curse, he hauled himself back to the boom and got back to work, ignoring the shake of his hands and the dread burning a hole in his gut. He was now an hour down and one replacement part short.
Fuck. Nobody to raid parts from out here in squat-hell nowhere.
Damn, he needed a partner.
Swearing didn't seem to be helping his cause, so he got busy replacing the third relay. Again. With the iffy part. Fuck. Whoops, seemed like he'd be swearing anyway. He worked quickly because he really didn't want any suspense. If he was going to be fucked, he'd prefer to find out now, thankyouverymuch!
He took a deep breath then let it out right way because the air reeked. He took another one because it turned out he really didn't want to know if he was fucked after all.
He was a fickle bastard, he supposed.
So if the fear of dying was thanatophobia, would the fear of dying alone be autothanatophobia? Sounded vaguely obscene. Not that he really had anything to fear about dying. He wouldn't be too bored; after all, he had a job lined up if things went to hell. An eternity of haunting his best friend should keep him occupied in the afterlife.
Hooray for job security. Good to know he'd be busy even when he was dead.
Unable to delay the inevitable, he toggled the last relay. Since there was no one around to see, he closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the bright arc that would signify his entry into the afterlife workforce.
Was there a fear of opening one's eyes? Optophobia? God-I-really-don't-want-to-see-this-shit-ophobia? He'd have to look that one up.
Of course, that meant he'd have to open his eyes. Of course, for him to look it up meant that the damn relay couldn't blow. Again.
Fucking iffy part.
Fucking tin can.
Fucking gravity.
Fucking Heero.
His eyes popped open at the last thought, startled by the bitterness. Five unblinking LEDs greeted him and he could've cried.
He could've pissed his pants, too, but that'd be a little messy. Then again, he was wearing a suit so the problem would be all taken care of. He choked back the hysterical laughter trying to break its way out of his chest and quickly released the final line.
One last push and he was back to where he started. Clipping the secondary tether to the hull, he released the anchor for the first tether and watched as it snaked it way free of the clips and back to its spool. He lifted a trembling hand and punched the manual release for the sail, barely able to feel the action through the thick glove. His thoughts moved slowly as if caught in thick syrup as the sail slowly began to unfurl, the thin webbing catching the light like a giant spider web. Mesmerized by the stately motion of the glittering membrane, he missed the first request for acknowledgement. And the second. At least the third time was a charm.
"Dammit, Maxwell, get your ass back in here so we can start rotation and get this damn tin can on the way home." His crewmate's voice shook, trying for testy and only managing to sound elated. "We've got the reactor back online and we're an hour away from the burn."
Home. If he could've, he would've danced. He contented himself with laughter that hovered just on the right side of hysteria. He most definitely did not have nostophobia. Nor did he have logophobia. As soon as communications were back up, he had someone back home he had to tell off for not being out here.
Damnit.
A/N: nostophobia - fear of going home. logophobia - fear of words. Hooray for google!
end Damn
Part 3: Missive
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Rating: PG for a bit o'language
Warnings: Uhm. Not beta'd
Word count: 2,150. d00d, they're just getting bigger.
A/N: For the the gw500 "security" challenge. See if you can find it it in the story! *rolls eyes* Set after 'Damn'
"Package from Howard Garcia." Heero frowned. He couldn't remember what Howard's last name was, but he didn't think that was it. He idly wondered if "Garcia" was another bit whimsy from the old man, like his Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses. He opened the door enough to accept the package from the young man outside his door.
"Thank you." His voice was gravelly from disuse. The Sweeper nodded.
"I'll tell Old Man that you got the package. If you want to send a reply give him a call and he'll set up at dataline. Take it easy." With another nod, he waved at Heero and set off down the hall. Heero watched him as he strode off down the hall and out the door. He didn't look at the slim package until after he had secured all of the locks, familiarity with the procedure making quick work of the multitude.
Walking over to the kitchen table, he tore off the packaging and threw the disk down on the surface next to his laptop. He needed a cup of coffee. After a cup, he thought, after that I'll see what's on there. He pulled down the grinder and beans, but instead of making the coffee, he braced his hands on the counter and stared unblinking at the cabinets for a long minute.
With a sigh, he turned back to the table, leaving the beans untouched. He sat down at the table and picked up the disk. Ignoring his shaking hands, he loaded the content and started the player.
--
Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, he set off down the bike path. No reporters were hanging outside the complex; Project Odyssey's sudden return from the brink was keeping most of the news crews busy. They were clamoring for the names of the crew and details of the rescue mission. He snorted. There were several months before rescue mission would even be launched. Not very many details had been released yet, but ESUN SA had announced that the craft would require pickup once the crew had reached Mars.
He squinted up at the sky, eyes accustomed to indoors lighting finding the late afternoon sunlight harsh, even with sunglasses. He looked back down, tugging the cap he was wearing lower and keeping an uneasy eye on his surroundings even though the park seemed to be empty. Both the sunglasses and cap belonged to Duo.
I'm not going to need them in the tin can! He could almost hear his voice, a breathy echo in his mind. He shivered.
The disk had contained a message and nothing else. The steady pace of his steps was a comfort as he lost himself to his thoughts, replaying the message over in his mind. His friend had been silent for a few moments, looking above the focus of the camera, one arm stretched out of the frame, presumably adjusting the camera. Heero thought he had never seen Duo look so worn. The hair that escaped his knit cap looked dull and greasy, his eyes bruised and bloodshot.
Dotted his eyes. The echo sounded rueful. He shook his head and veered down the far path, walking deeper into the park.
He hunched his shoulders as the message continued playing through his memory.
"I'm sure you've heard by now. We're on our way home." Duo had looked into the camera, a tired smile curving his lips as he shook his head. "It was close. Way too close. We had about 10 hours to spare before we lost the window." He rubbed his forehead and Heero hadn't been able too look away, staring at Duo's hand. The low light of the vid made it hard to determine if the dark shadows were grime or bruises. So thin.
"Nobody had taken into account how the surge of the burn would affect the reactor." Duo's voice had been quiet, exhaustion making the low voice rough. "The only drain it had to deal with was life support and normal ops for the past year and half and the sudden ramp-up destabilized the reactor. Damn fluctuations blew just about every board." His hand had dropped to rub at his eyes and he had been silent again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
So thin, Heero thought again, pausing in the middle of the path. Too thin. After taking a deep breath, he continued walking, the memory dogging his steps.
"Long story short, we got everything back together. We're on third back-up on a few systems, but so far everything checks out OK." Duo had frowned, looking off to the side as his lips moved silently. Heero thought he was doing some calculations. With a slight shake of his head, Duo had focused back on the camera. "We should be OK. Mars is the closest we'll get, but I'm willing to bet someone will be there to give us a tow." He had smiled tiredly before looking down and taking a deep breath.
Here it comes, Heero thought, oh God. His steps faltered again and he looked around for a bench. The echo was amused this time. Can't even walk and think at the same time. Tsk.
Maybe, he thought a little desperately, maybe I should look into therapy. Hearing the voice of his best friend in his head ought to qualify as some kind of mental illness. He sat down on the bench, taking off the hat and running his fingers through his bangs in one smooth motion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turning the hat over and over in his hands. His thoughts were relentless, replaying the vid as he stared at the dirt and pebbles between his feet through the dark lenses of the shades. He didn't see them, though.
"When I thought about anything other than saving our asses, I thought about how much I needed a partner." Duo's head had still been bowed, hiding his eyes, but Heero could see the crease of frown lines between his brows. His rough voice had become quieter still and Heero had had to lean closer to the speaker to hear clearly.
"I was still mad about your decision not to come and the longer I sat out here with the systems failing and half the crew going nuts, the madder I got." Another deep breath. "I was pretty damn bitter about it. Got myself all worked up to tell you off the first chance I got." Another shake of his head and Duo had raised his head, his expression pained.
Don't do this, Heero thought, and he couldn't tell if he was talking to the Duo in the vid or if he was talking to himself. His hands tightened on the cap, crushing the canvas between them. For once, the voice was silent.
Duo had looked resolutely into the camera as if he was determined to not break eye contact. "That was pretty damn shitty of me, Heero, and once I had the chance to think about it, I knew it was pretty damn stupid, too. I can't say I'm glad you weren't out here. I miss the hell out of you and I know I could've - I can count on you to keep your shit together." He had sighed and looked away from the camera again. His shoulders had slumped and he was quiet for a few seconds before looking back at the camera, the rueful smile back in place.
"I guess I could've let it go at that and you would've never known I was mad at you, but you know I can't keep my mouth shut. So I guess this is an apology." The smile had widened for a moment and he had laughed quietly. "I bet it holds the distance record for apologies. Does that mean we get our names in a record book?" He had snorted. "All right. I'm getting dopey. Time to catch some sleep." He had leaned forward, reaching for the camera controls. He had paused before turning the recorder off.
"I'm going to try to get another message out during the next data dump. I don't know if I'll be able - we've got a lot of data to send back to ground control so it may be a couple of weeks before I can get another one out."
"Take care of yourself." He had reached for the controls again, but paused once more. "I really do miss you, buddy." He had smiled again, then leaned forward and the video had gone blank.
Heero leaned forward until his head rested on his hands, still clutching the hat. How many times had he replayed that message, both on his laptop and in his head, since he had received it this morning? He had lost count. Each time it felt like he had lost his footing, that there was no secure place for him to stand. Failure never sat well with him and now he had to deal with the fact that he had failed one of the few people he gave a damn about on a personal level. It hurt and this time there was no one he could hand judgment over to. No Noventa to make the decision.
This is a big production for a whole lot of nothing. Now the echo sounded annoyed. I really do miss you.
Heero lifted his head, startled. Therapy. Soon. His conscience not only had the voice of his friend, it was also getting annoyed with him.
Heero resumed turning the hat in his hands, the motion now more meditative than nervous. He was beginning to suspect his reaction to the message was lingering regret and guilt of his refusal to join Duo on the project. Looking back on his decision now, his reasons for staying were substantial as cobwebs. When had he become so reluctant to leave his isolated space? So fearful of risk?
I really do miss you, too, he thought, chest aching.
He sat on the bench until dark, listening to the noise of the world going on about its business around him, his thoughts wandering over the past year. Over what the future could bring. What action he would take.
Well, he thought, taking off the sunglasses, folding and hanging the shades on the collar of his t-shirt. There were around seven months until the launch of the rescue mission. That should give him enough time to make some phone calls. But first he had a message to record.
He started back to his apartment with purpose in his step.
---
"Duo!" Janey poked her head into the galley. "Two messages for you. I sent them to the terminal in your bunk."
Duo waved in acknowledgement, gathered up his bottle of coffee and left the galley, climbing hand over hand up to his bunk.
"Ah, home box home." He murmured, crawling into the cramped space. A chance to change his bedding, clean up, and wash his hair did wonders for his attitude. The fact that they weren't going to slowly freeze to death on the edge of the solar system helped as well. Can't leave that out.
Clipping his coffee into the holder, he settled on his side and called up the messages. The first was from Howard and he played it twice, grinning at the old man's message. Howard was pretty confident he'd be able to have at least one of his ships involved in the rescue.
"Kid," the miniature Howard said, shaking his head, "don't you know you have to let engines warm up? It's cold out there."
Duo frowned at the header for the next message. The message size was tiny. No sender was listed other than Howard's secure line and he couldn't think of who else on his ship would send him a private message. Unless... He quickly pulled up the second message.
Heero's attention was directed at his laptop, a slight frown marring his features as he tapped the keys. We both look like crap, Duo thought, both amused and concerned by the shadows under Heero's eyes.
"Hey! Those are my sunglasses!" Duo laughed, noticing the sunglasses tucked in the collar of Heero's shirt. He didn't have time to examine the warm feeling seeing the shades gave him before Heero spoke.
"Apology accepted." Heero said, voice quiet and expression serious. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you."
Heero looked down, a small smile on his lips and he shook his head. "And I really miss you too." He smiled again and with a keystroke, the message was over.
"Huh. Imagine that." Duo flopped over onto his back, snagging his coffee and taking a long sip from the straw. He realized that he still had a big grin on his face, but didn't really care. We're going to have to work on that boy's messaging skills, he thought. Not a bad start, though.
end Missive
Continued...
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Warnings: possible character death
Category: ficlet, drama
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for the gw500 lj community's "being haunted" challenge. Not beta'ed
“Come with me."
Heero stirred the cream into his coffee, focusing on the precise movements of the spoon along the edge of the cup. Six times around and the liquid took on the color of fine milk chocolate.
"It's been five years and they haven't forgotten us yet."
Preparing the coffee took all of his attention. He certainly had none to spare for the news service droning on and on from the vid across the kitchen.
"We're nothing but prisoners in our own homes!"
One smart tap of the spoon against the rim of the cup before it was placed on the napkin, perfectly aligned with the edge. Beyond the limit of his notice, the smooth-faced anchor promised to report the top stories. After a word from their sponsors, of course.
"What's two and a half years? One and a half out, one back."
He lifted the cup for a taste. Perfect - strong enough that the rich, dark flavor dominated with just enough cream to mellow the bite. How he learned the secret to perfect coffee. Well. He didn't need to consider that to enjoy a good cup. An inconsequential voice in the background chirped on about the best way to maintain a healthy lifestyle. If you purchased their product, of course.
"Howard's got an in. He can get you a berth, too."
He set the cup aside after a long sip and arranged his laptop in front of him. Pulling up the code for the latest program he was writing, he quickly picked up where he left off. A notice from his electronic messaging service popped up informing him that he had three hundred unread messages. He ignored it; the people he wanted to speak to knew better than to send him email. The journalists and tabloids had simply not realized that yet.
The steady rhythm of his fingers on the keys was the only sound in the room. Aside from the news service, of course. Reports of a commuter shuttle accident, latest financial news from the colonial markets, the news of the historical tie-breaking game in the world series all passed by without a blink.
"The ESUN Space Agency has confirmed that once again no signal has been received from Project Odyssey for the fourth day in a row."
The tapping faltered for a moment, then continued on, picking up the pace until it resumed its previous speed. The news was, as always, inconsequential.
--
"Where's your spirit of adventure?"
Another cup of coffee. He tried a sip of black, but was unsatisfied. He scowled at the cup, resentful that he no longer enjoyed coffee straight up like he used to. But. He really didn't need to think about that.
"Just you and your best friend in a tin can, touring the solar system!"
There was comfort in the familiar ritual of preparing the cup of coffee. A cup before settling in to work, the news service providing the background noise. Not that he ever paid attention to it.
"Well, and four other crew members, but who gives a damn about them?"
His job was OK. It paid his bills and being able to work from home made dealing with the public much easier. His groceries were delivered and he never had to deal with the reporters who still seemed to think that there was some story to be had about him.
"The identities of the mission specialists will be kept confidential. Nobody will know we're going!
The smooth-faced anchor, the same guy every day (not that he noticed), started in on the hours top stories.
"Today marks the fifth day since the last communication with Project Odyssey. Land and space based telescopes have confirmed that the braking maneuver was successful; however, the solar sail has not redeployed and there is no indication of activity from the main vehicle."
Tuning out the artificially solemn voice, he pulled his laptop over to start work. His hands were a little shaky, surprising him, but he was able to put it from his mind and get to work.
--
"What more could you ask for?"
He didn't even try to drink his coffee black this morning. Why change his habits now? Instead he prepared his coffee and sat down with a decisive air and booted up his laptop. He had work that needed to be finished. Almost as an afterthought, he picked up the remote and turned on the news.
"Mission success rate is projected to be in the high 90th percentile!"
He was deep into his code, trying to finish his latest project before the deadline. For some reason, his productivity hadn't been up to his level of satisfaction for the past two weeks.
An unfamiliar voice announced the reporting of the top stories and he looked up from his laptop, startled. The regular anchor must have the day off. He took a sip of his coffee, steadfastly ignoring the white-knuckled grip on the handle of the mug.
"ESUN Space Agency administrators announced that another communication window has passed without contact from Project Odyssey. In a press conference later today, ESUN SA administrators are expected to discuss the probability for the safe return of the six mission specialists. The window for the safe return of the Odyssey expires in a little over twenty-four hours an-"
Heero set down the remote with a quiet click and folded his hands on the table. His heavy breathing sounded harsh in the sudden quiet. Slowly, he lowered his head until it rested on his hands. He didn't have to listen very hard to hear the laughing voice that seemed to follow him everywhere these days.
"If you don't come with me and something goes wrong, I'm gonna haunt you forever!"
end Inconsequential
Part 2: Damn
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Warnings: language
Category: ficlet, drama
Rating: PG-13... or whatever the f-word rates
Notes: Sequel to "Inconsequential." Written for the gw500 lj community's "phobia" challenge. Not beta'ed
The damn boom line was stuck. Duo braced his feet on the base of the assembly, secured his grip on the release lever and threw all of his weight backwards. With a silent shudder, the lever sprang open and the line played out a few centimeters before stabilizing. Clipping his safety line to the base of the boom and releasing the catch, Duo pushed off from the surface of the reactor housing towards the second boom. He caught the handhold on the second assembly and pulled himself to a stop. After re-engaging the brake on his safety tether he took a moment to stretch, trying to work out the kinks in his back. His suit was so bulky that stretching was a lost cause, but he had to give it a try anyway.
He checked the chrono on his helmet's heads up display. He'd been out here three and a half hours already, and only one of the boom lines was free. Damnit. Three more to go and he only had 10 hours to get them all free and the sail ready to re-deploy. Another six hours, give or take, and they had better damn well be able to start the burn or they'd miss the window.
That really didn't bear thinking about, so he bent to examine the assembly.
This one didn't look like it would give him too much trouble. The loss of power had reset all of the relays, so it was simply a matter of checking the connections and powering each one up. The job would take him about an hour.
As he worked, his mind turned over the situation in the crew cabin. He was relieved to be out on the EVA, truth be told. Two of the crew were in the process of having separate nervous breakdowns and had locked themselves into their respective bunks. Another had simply gone silent and immovable, floati ng off to the side of the main living area. If the situation had not been so dire, Duo thought he would've laughed at the grumbling of another crewmate as she stashed the catatonic woman in her bunk.
The breakdown had come all at once. The braking and retraction of the sail had gone off without a hitch. After a quick celebration, they started the turn and burn, bringing the craft around for the return trip. Duo's hands faltered on the relays, the memory of the sudden pop-pop-pop of control boards failing and sickening lurch as main power failed enough to send a shiver down his spine. Pushing the thought aside, he focused on the circuits.
Because, really, if he thought about what was going on, he might just want to scream.
All five LEDs winked green at him and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A quick tug on the release lever and the control line played out and stabilized. Two down, two to go. He checked the time. Only forty-five minutes on that one. Good. Securing his safety line once again, he pushed off to the next assembly.
Another simple reset. Evidently he had a little good karma stored up. Now he just had to get both of the remaining relays up and he'd have his part done. Back inside after that to see what else needed doing. After that, all he'd have to do was make it through the yearlong ride home without developing any major psychoses or phobias. He snorted. And promptly gagged at the stench. God, he stank. All of them did. The first thing to go had been the extra water. They had just enough to drink and produce the oxygen they needed to breathe. Washing just wasn't a priority, but damn, after six days the smell was almost enough to make him puke. He had even toyed with the idea of shaving his head - the damn hair seemed to collect and intensify the stink.
Of course, he didn't want to spend all of eternity as a bald corpse. Anyway.
What was it called? Olfactophobia. He grinned with black humor. That was one he definitely wouldn't have after this joy ride. He'd already made it through the desensitization therapy. Five green lights, release the line, secure his safety tether and off he went.
Damn, it was dark out here on the ass-end of nowhere. The sun was nothing more than another star this far out. He hesitated before bending to take a look at the last assembly, taking a long minute to just stand and breathe. No matter what else happened, he had made it farther away from home than any other human being. It was humbling to stand out here and know just how very small he was. How little his life mattered to the universe...yet it also inspired a sense of wonder. After all, he had made it all this way to stand on the surface of the tin can and feel insignificant.
With a grunt and a shake of his head, he got back to work. One had to make it back alive to get into the record books.
Otherwise, he'd be a frozen mile-marker for the next mission out this way. Moving on.
Lets see... what was fear of the dark. Achluophobia? Nyctophobia? He couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. He didn't think he'd have that one, either. They had managed to get all of the battery packs operating at peak efficiency so that there was enough power to breathe. And drink and have enough light to work. And, thankfully, charge up the power packs for the suits. And here he was, trying to keep his act together long enough to do his part.
Fuck. Three of the five relays on the final assembly were fried. He had four replacements on him, but one of those was iffy and there was a possibility of a surge during the reset. The relays were still tied into the main wiring harness and there was no good way to isolate them for replacement. Even if there was a way to isolate them, the reactor still hadn't been stabilized and they really didn't have any time to screw with the relays. The first two days had been a desperate struggle to keep the reactor on line. If they hadn't. Well. He supposed they would make a good example of how not to design a compact ion engine.
Too bad that no one would be able to collect the prototype for study.
The fuel situation. Now that was a sticky point. The overload and near shutdown of the reactor had consumed enough of the ice - their fuel and lifesupport - that getting back to Earth was not possible. They'd make it to just inside Mars' orbit, once the reactor was stabilized. And the relays were inspected. And the sail was redeployed. And they could complete the burn before the window expired. They were betting that someone would be willing come out and pick up their sorry asses once they were that close to home.
So here he was. Damn, it was dark. Damn, he stank.
One relay in. Duo flexed his fingers and checked the time. Six hours left. He bent to his task, trying to keep his mind on the present. Seven hours out here and he still had two more relays to replace. Not to mention get the sail going. He could really use a partner. A sharp ache filled his chest and he wondered what Heero was doing - he cut that thought off. Heero was most certainly too far away to help and three of his other crewmates had gone off the deep end. He was on his own.
God, he really didn't want to be out here alone.
Autophobia. Now he might give that one some thought. You don't get much more alone than where he was now. The solitude had been welcome at first after the long days of being hounded after the wars, but the loneliness was beginning to suck. He missed his friends. He missed his best friend. Heero's refusal to come on this mission still stung, but he supposed he'd get over it.
Might be getting over it a bit quicker than he had hoped.
The second relay went in. The reset went perfectly. A feeling of dread crept up his throat and he stuffed it back down his gut where it belonged. He didn't have time to get nervous.
Third relay in, now for the reset. He toggled the switch and flinched back at the bright arc as the second relay blew. He lost his grip on the assembly and flew backwards, coming to a sharp stop at the end of the tether. He hung there for a moment, too discouraged and sore and just plain exhausted. With a tired curse, he hauled himself back to the boom and got back to work, ignoring the shake of his hands and the dread burning a hole in his gut. He was now an hour down and one replacement part short.
Fuck. Nobody to raid parts from out here in squat-hell nowhere.
Damn, he needed a partner.
Swearing didn't seem to be helping his cause, so he got busy replacing the third relay. Again. With the iffy part. Fuck. Whoops, seemed like he'd be swearing anyway. He worked quickly because he really didn't want any suspense. If he was going to be fucked, he'd prefer to find out now, thankyouverymuch!
He took a deep breath then let it out right way because the air reeked. He took another one because it turned out he really didn't want to know if he was fucked after all.
He was a fickle bastard, he supposed.
So if the fear of dying was thanatophobia, would the fear of dying alone be autothanatophobia? Sounded vaguely obscene. Not that he really had anything to fear about dying. He wouldn't be too bored; after all, he had a job lined up if things went to hell. An eternity of haunting his best friend should keep him occupied in the afterlife.
Hooray for job security. Good to know he'd be busy even when he was dead.
Unable to delay the inevitable, he toggled the last relay. Since there was no one around to see, he closed his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the bright arc that would signify his entry into the afterlife workforce.
Was there a fear of opening one's eyes? Optophobia? God-I-really-don't-want-to-see-this-shit-ophobia? He'd have to look that one up.
Of course, that meant he'd have to open his eyes. Of course, for him to look it up meant that the damn relay couldn't blow. Again.
Fucking iffy part.
Fucking tin can.
Fucking gravity.
Fucking Heero.
His eyes popped open at the last thought, startled by the bitterness. Five unblinking LEDs greeted him and he could've cried.
He could've pissed his pants, too, but that'd be a little messy. Then again, he was wearing a suit so the problem would be all taken care of. He choked back the hysterical laughter trying to break its way out of his chest and quickly released the final line.
One last push and he was back to where he started. Clipping the secondary tether to the hull, he released the anchor for the first tether and watched as it snaked it way free of the clips and back to its spool. He lifted a trembling hand and punched the manual release for the sail, barely able to feel the action through the thick glove. His thoughts moved slowly as if caught in thick syrup as the sail slowly began to unfurl, the thin webbing catching the light like a giant spider web. Mesmerized by the stately motion of the glittering membrane, he missed the first request for acknowledgement. And the second. At least the third time was a charm.
"Dammit, Maxwell, get your ass back in here so we can start rotation and get this damn tin can on the way home." His crewmate's voice shook, trying for testy and only managing to sound elated. "We've got the reactor back online and we're an hour away from the burn."
Home. If he could've, he would've danced. He contented himself with laughter that hovered just on the right side of hysteria. He most definitely did not have nostophobia. Nor did he have logophobia. As soon as communications were back up, he had someone back home he had to tell off for not being out here.
Damnit.
A/N: nostophobia - fear of going home. logophobia - fear of words. Hooray for google!
end Damn
Part 3: Missive
Disclaimer: GW is not mine. Drat.
Pairings: 1+2 friendship
Rating: PG for a bit o'language
Warnings: Uhm. Not beta'd
Word count: 2,150. d00d, they're just getting bigger.
A/N: For the the gw500 "security" challenge. See if you can find it it in the story! *rolls eyes* Set after 'Damn'
"Package from Howard Garcia." Heero frowned. He couldn't remember what Howard's last name was, but he didn't think that was it. He idly wondered if "Garcia" was another bit whimsy from the old man, like his Hawaiian shirts and sunglasses. He opened the door enough to accept the package from the young man outside his door.
"Thank you." His voice was gravelly from disuse. The Sweeper nodded.
"I'll tell Old Man that you got the package. If you want to send a reply give him a call and he'll set up at dataline. Take it easy." With another nod, he waved at Heero and set off down the hall. Heero watched him as he strode off down the hall and out the door. He didn't look at the slim package until after he had secured all of the locks, familiarity with the procedure making quick work of the multitude.
Walking over to the kitchen table, he tore off the packaging and threw the disk down on the surface next to his laptop. He needed a cup of coffee. After a cup, he thought, after that I'll see what's on there. He pulled down the grinder and beans, but instead of making the coffee, he braced his hands on the counter and stared unblinking at the cabinets for a long minute.
With a sigh, he turned back to the table, leaving the beans untouched. He sat down at the table and picked up the disk. Ignoring his shaking hands, he loaded the content and started the player.
--
Shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans, he set off down the bike path. No reporters were hanging outside the complex; Project Odyssey's sudden return from the brink was keeping most of the news crews busy. They were clamoring for the names of the crew and details of the rescue mission. He snorted. There were several months before rescue mission would even be launched. Not very many details had been released yet, but ESUN SA had announced that the craft would require pickup once the crew had reached Mars.
He squinted up at the sky, eyes accustomed to indoors lighting finding the late afternoon sunlight harsh, even with sunglasses. He looked back down, tugging the cap he was wearing lower and keeping an uneasy eye on his surroundings even though the park seemed to be empty. Both the sunglasses and cap belonged to Duo.
I'm not going to need them in the tin can! He could almost hear his voice, a breathy echo in his mind. He shivered.
The disk had contained a message and nothing else. The steady pace of his steps was a comfort as he lost himself to his thoughts, replaying the message over in his mind. His friend had been silent for a few moments, looking above the focus of the camera, one arm stretched out of the frame, presumably adjusting the camera. Heero thought he had never seen Duo look so worn. The hair that escaped his knit cap looked dull and greasy, his eyes bruised and bloodshot.
Dotted his eyes. The echo sounded rueful. He shook his head and veered down the far path, walking deeper into the park.
He hunched his shoulders as the message continued playing through his memory.
"I'm sure you've heard by now. We're on our way home." Duo had looked into the camera, a tired smile curving his lips as he shook his head. "It was close. Way too close. We had about 10 hours to spare before we lost the window." He rubbed his forehead and Heero hadn't been able too look away, staring at Duo's hand. The low light of the vid made it hard to determine if the dark shadows were grime or bruises. So thin.
"Nobody had taken into account how the surge of the burn would affect the reactor." Duo's voice had been quiet, exhaustion making the low voice rough. "The only drain it had to deal with was life support and normal ops for the past year and half and the sudden ramp-up destabilized the reactor. Damn fluctuations blew just about every board." His hand had dropped to rub at his eyes and he had been silent again, pinching the bridge of his nose.
So thin, Heero thought again, pausing in the middle of the path. Too thin. After taking a deep breath, he continued walking, the memory dogging his steps.
"Long story short, we got everything back together. We're on third back-up on a few systems, but so far everything checks out OK." Duo had frowned, looking off to the side as his lips moved silently. Heero thought he was doing some calculations. With a slight shake of his head, Duo had focused back on the camera. "We should be OK. Mars is the closest we'll get, but I'm willing to bet someone will be there to give us a tow." He had smiled tiredly before looking down and taking a deep breath.
Here it comes, Heero thought, oh God. His steps faltered again and he looked around for a bench. The echo was amused this time. Can't even walk and think at the same time. Tsk.
Maybe, he thought a little desperately, maybe I should look into therapy. Hearing the voice of his best friend in his head ought to qualify as some kind of mental illness. He sat down on the bench, taking off the hat and running his fingers through his bangs in one smooth motion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and turning the hat over and over in his hands. His thoughts were relentless, replaying the vid as he stared at the dirt and pebbles between his feet through the dark lenses of the shades. He didn't see them, though.
"When I thought about anything other than saving our asses, I thought about how much I needed a partner." Duo's head had still been bowed, hiding his eyes, but Heero could see the crease of frown lines between his brows. His rough voice had become quieter still and Heero had had to lean closer to the speaker to hear clearly.
"I was still mad about your decision not to come and the longer I sat out here with the systems failing and half the crew going nuts, the madder I got." Another deep breath. "I was pretty damn bitter about it. Got myself all worked up to tell you off the first chance I got." Another shake of his head and Duo had raised his head, his expression pained.
Don't do this, Heero thought, and he couldn't tell if he was talking to the Duo in the vid or if he was talking to himself. His hands tightened on the cap, crushing the canvas between them. For once, the voice was silent.
Duo had looked resolutely into the camera as if he was determined to not break eye contact. "That was pretty damn shitty of me, Heero, and once I had the chance to think about it, I knew it was pretty damn stupid, too. I can't say I'm glad you weren't out here. I miss the hell out of you and I know I could've - I can count on you to keep your shit together." He had sighed and looked away from the camera again. His shoulders had slumped and he was quiet for a few seconds before looking back at the camera, the rueful smile back in place.
"I guess I could've let it go at that and you would've never known I was mad at you, but you know I can't keep my mouth shut. So I guess this is an apology." The smile had widened for a moment and he had laughed quietly. "I bet it holds the distance record for apologies. Does that mean we get our names in a record book?" He had snorted. "All right. I'm getting dopey. Time to catch some sleep." He had leaned forward, reaching for the camera controls. He had paused before turning the recorder off.
"I'm going to try to get another message out during the next data dump. I don't know if I'll be able - we've got a lot of data to send back to ground control so it may be a couple of weeks before I can get another one out."
"Take care of yourself." He had reached for the controls again, but paused once more. "I really do miss you, buddy." He had smiled again, then leaned forward and the video had gone blank.
Heero leaned forward until his head rested on his hands, still clutching the hat. How many times had he replayed that message, both on his laptop and in his head, since he had received it this morning? He had lost count. Each time it felt like he had lost his footing, that there was no secure place for him to stand. Failure never sat well with him and now he had to deal with the fact that he had failed one of the few people he gave a damn about on a personal level. It hurt and this time there was no one he could hand judgment over to. No Noventa to make the decision.
This is a big production for a whole lot of nothing. Now the echo sounded annoyed. I really do miss you.
Heero lifted his head, startled. Therapy. Soon. His conscience not only had the voice of his friend, it was also getting annoyed with him.
Heero resumed turning the hat in his hands, the motion now more meditative than nervous. He was beginning to suspect his reaction to the message was lingering regret and guilt of his refusal to join Duo on the project. Looking back on his decision now, his reasons for staying were substantial as cobwebs. When had he become so reluctant to leave his isolated space? So fearful of risk?
I really do miss you, too, he thought, chest aching.
He sat on the bench until dark, listening to the noise of the world going on about its business around him, his thoughts wandering over the past year. Over what the future could bring. What action he would take.
Well, he thought, taking off the sunglasses, folding and hanging the shades on the collar of his t-shirt. There were around seven months until the launch of the rescue mission. That should give him enough time to make some phone calls. But first he had a message to record.
He started back to his apartment with purpose in his step.
---
"Duo!" Janey poked her head into the galley. "Two messages for you. I sent them to the terminal in your bunk."
Duo waved in acknowledgement, gathered up his bottle of coffee and left the galley, climbing hand over hand up to his bunk.
"Ah, home box home." He murmured, crawling into the cramped space. A chance to change his bedding, clean up, and wash his hair did wonders for his attitude. The fact that they weren't going to slowly freeze to death on the edge of the solar system helped as well. Can't leave that out.
Clipping his coffee into the holder, he settled on his side and called up the messages. The first was from Howard and he played it twice, grinning at the old man's message. Howard was pretty confident he'd be able to have at least one of his ships involved in the rescue.
"Kid," the miniature Howard said, shaking his head, "don't you know you have to let engines warm up? It's cold out there."
Duo frowned at the header for the next message. The message size was tiny. No sender was listed other than Howard's secure line and he couldn't think of who else on his ship would send him a private message. Unless... He quickly pulled up the second message.
Heero's attention was directed at his laptop, a slight frown marring his features as he tapped the keys. We both look like crap, Duo thought, both amused and concerned by the shadows under Heero's eyes.
"Hey! Those are my sunglasses!" Duo laughed, noticing the sunglasses tucked in the collar of Heero's shirt. He didn't have time to examine the warm feeling seeing the shades gave him before Heero spoke.
"Apology accepted." Heero said, voice quiet and expression serious. "I'm sorry I wasn't there with you."
Heero looked down, a small smile on his lips and he shook his head. "And I really miss you too." He smiled again and with a keystroke, the message was over.
"Huh. Imagine that." Duo flopped over onto his back, snagging his coffee and taking a long sip from the straw. He realized that he still had a big grin on his face, but didn't really care. We're going to have to work on that boy's messaging skills, he thought. Not a bad start, though.
end Missive
Continued...