Antisocial much?
So I just went out to the bar for the usual weekly gathering and as soon as I got there I pretty much wanted to leave again. I just haven't been enjoying other people's company lately. Ok, so I've always been a total curmudgeon and a massive loser in the realm of social chitchat, but I know these guys so it should be hard. I guess it's still stress.
Perhaps that's why I wrote this latest installment of my ongoing project of Failure by Fanfic. My recent attack of workplace stress has led me to bestow the affliction on one of my favorite five. (Sorry, Heero - but it was either you or Wufei, and I just suck at writing him.)
Now if I can just finish that fic for Dentelle_Noir.... *gulp* It is SOOOOOOO late now I'm just depressed. But when those muses run and hide it's really hard to force them. I'll try. Spring Break coming up - that may help.
Also need a new anime series. Just finished Get Backers. It was excellent and I really want to read the manga, but it apparently will reach over 35 volumes which is way more than I can afford! I've started Yugo: The Negotiator - which is, refreshingly, for grownups which makes me happy, but is also very short. Got to find a good long one to sink my claws into. Oh yeah, and finish Full Metal Alchemist - just don't want get to the uber-depressing ending that is hurtling at me like a runaway train. Sigh. I could start on that next Dorothy Dunnett book - No. Must resist until summer... evil... EVIL
Anyway, here's the latest attempt at fic. I completely had Heero's thoughts in my head but it was getting unwieldy to put them on paper so I just left them out completely, trusting the reader to fill in the appropriate miasma of deeply imbedded self-recrimination mixed with tentative tendrils of hope. Not sure I provided enough framework for that, though. We'll see.
Title: Sins of the Father
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Trowa+Heero (friendship), HeeroxDuo
Word Count: 860
Summary: Heero’s under stress. For everyone’s sake, Trowa has to talk him down.
Rating: G
Warnings: Nothing much. Some alcohol consumption.
Notes: Set post-EW. Not sure I like how it came out, but I’m throwing it out there anyway. Written for GW500 challenge #162: Chips. Feedback/Criticism/Typo notifications welcome. Thanks for reading!
Sins of the Father
Trowa looked up from the file he was reading as Heero walked through the door, frowned, walked back out and finally returned.
“Where’s Duo?” Heero asked. As this was Duo’s office, this was not an unreasonable question. Trowa quietly closed the file, swung his feet off the corner of the desk and unfolded his lanky frame from Duo’s small office chair. He strode forward, draped an arm across Heero’s shoulders, guiding his friend back out into the hallway.
“I’ve been elected to take you out for a drink.”
“I don’t have time...”
“Yes, you do,” insisted Trowa, calmly but firmly. He could feel Heero tense beneath him, but there was no resistance as they entered the elevator. Just a scowl on the handsome, young face.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Heero said flatly, trying to avert further discussion.
“You made Agent Sims resubmit his entire report just because he misspelled ‘polyaryletherketone’.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘polyoryletherketone’.”
“Exactly. So anyone reading the report in the future should easily be able to figure out what he meant.”
“It would get missed in index searches.”
“You could have entered the correction yourself.”
“He needed to see his own mistake and learn from it.” The elevator door opened and the stepped out into the garage. Heero started to head for his own car, but Trowa snagged his arm and hauled him towards his own.
“Some mistakes are more important than others,” Trowa murmured. Another scowl. They reached Trowa’s unobtrusive black sedan in silence. Heero glared across the roof at his escort. Trowa just absorbed the energy and let it dissipate somewhere deep inside him. Heero hated it when he did that. They got in the car.
“You made Agent Marsters recatalog the evidence locker,” Trowa continued as they pulled out.
“It was a mess.”
“She’s a translator.”
“She was available.”
“So was Leland. Whose job it is.”
“He’s a moron. I sent him on a mission he could handle.”
“Picking up coffee for the department is not an official mission.”
“Hn,” grumbled Heero.
“You nearly snapped Ivanov’s head off for sharpening her pencil too long.”
“It was inefficient.”
“You barked at Rodriguez for breathing too loudly.”
“He vocalizes when he exhales. It’s annoying.”
“I suppose I should be glad you haven’t shot anyone yet.”
Heero glared again, as ineffectively as the last time, and retired to look out the window. Neither spoke again until they had pulled up beside a quiet, somewhat decrepit pub on the edge of the government district and gone inside.
Trowa snagged two pints of something dark and smoky and met Heero at a table in the back.
“So - spill,” the green-eyed Preventer said settling his long legs so they just peaked out the edge of the dimly lit booth.
“There’s nothing to spill,” growled Heero, taking a sip to prove he was finished speaking.
“Hmmm,” mused Trowa. “So this has nothing to do with the file on Duo’s desk?” Heero’s eyes narrowed. “The one about the Danhauser Clinic?” Heero’s shoulders tensed. “Or the fact that Duo took Quatre out to lunch two weeks ago and grilled him on the latest extra-uteral reproduction techniques?” Heero’s jaw nearly popped under the stress, but he said nothing. Just glared at his beer.
“If you don’t want children, Heero, just tell Duo,” said Trowa in his usual reasonable tone. “He’ll understand.” The silence drew out between them. A waitress considered approaching them, but thought better of it and veered off toward another table. A truck rumbled past outside. Someone on the other side of the room laughed in a deep, rumbling, wheezing bellow.
“A chip off the old block,” Heero finally muttered, giving in to Trowa’s inexorable stillness. Trowa raised a questioning eyebrow. Heero sighed. “That’s what Duo said. About us. Combining our genetic material. He wanted a couple of chips of the old block.”
“And?”
“And some blocks should just be left alone.”
Trowa nodded and took a deep draught of his beer. Then he leaned back slowly licking the foam off his upper lip.
“Cold-blooded killer is not programmed into your genes,” he said at last. They observed each other quietly for a moment, then continued drinking. Several more parties drifted in. A trio of young legislative aids. A couple on a first, awkward date. A lobbyist and his client. The bellowing man laughed again.
“What if it is?” Heero finally asked.
“What if it isn’t?” Trowa countered. He finished his pint while he watched Heero sit unmoving, considering. At length, the waitress came up to them, unable to put it off any longer.
“Hello. My name is Cindy. What can I get you gentlemen this evening?” Trowa was about to wave her away when Heero looked up at him.
“This is on your tab, right?” Trowa nodded. Heero turned to the waitress, a smile breaking out on his face. “Two sirloin steaks. And a bottle of champagne. The best you have.” He turned back to Trowa. “We’re going to toast. To fatherhood.”
Trowa smiled back. “Congratulations,” he replied warmly. “Does this mean I can manage my department in peace now?”
“Leland’s still an idiot.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
- fin -
Perhaps that's why I wrote this latest installment of my ongoing project of Failure by Fanfic. My recent attack of workplace stress has led me to bestow the affliction on one of my favorite five. (Sorry, Heero - but it was either you or Wufei, and I just suck at writing him.)
Now if I can just finish that fic for Dentelle_Noir.... *gulp* It is SOOOOOOO late now I'm just depressed. But when those muses run and hide it's really hard to force them. I'll try. Spring Break coming up - that may help.
Also need a new anime series. Just finished Get Backers. It was excellent and I really want to read the manga, but it apparently will reach over 35 volumes which is way more than I can afford! I've started Yugo: The Negotiator - which is, refreshingly, for grownups which makes me happy, but is also very short. Got to find a good long one to sink my claws into. Oh yeah, and finish Full Metal Alchemist - just don't want get to the uber-depressing ending that is hurtling at me like a runaway train. Sigh. I could start on that next Dorothy Dunnett book - No. Must resist until summer... evil... EVIL
Anyway, here's the latest attempt at fic. I completely had Heero's thoughts in my head but it was getting unwieldy to put them on paper so I just left them out completely, trusting the reader to fill in the appropriate miasma of deeply imbedded self-recrimination mixed with tentative tendrils of hope. Not sure I provided enough framework for that, though. We'll see.
Title: Sins of the Father
Author: Lukoni
Characters: Trowa+Heero (friendship), HeeroxDuo
Word Count: 860
Summary: Heero’s under stress. For everyone’s sake, Trowa has to talk him down.
Rating: G
Warnings: Nothing much. Some alcohol consumption.
Notes: Set post-EW. Not sure I like how it came out, but I’m throwing it out there anyway. Written for GW500 challenge #162: Chips. Feedback/Criticism/Typo notifications welcome. Thanks for reading!
Sins of the Father
Trowa looked up from the file he was reading as Heero walked through the door, frowned, walked back out and finally returned.
“Where’s Duo?” Heero asked. As this was Duo’s office, this was not an unreasonable question. Trowa quietly closed the file, swung his feet off the corner of the desk and unfolded his lanky frame from Duo’s small office chair. He strode forward, draped an arm across Heero’s shoulders, guiding his friend back out into the hallway.
“I’ve been elected to take you out for a drink.”
“I don’t have time...”
“Yes, you do,” insisted Trowa, calmly but firmly. He could feel Heero tense beneath him, but there was no resistance as they entered the elevator. Just a scowl on the handsome, young face.
“There’s nothing wrong,” Heero said flatly, trying to avert further discussion.
“You made Agent Sims resubmit his entire report just because he misspelled ‘polyaryletherketone’.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘polyoryletherketone’.”
“Exactly. So anyone reading the report in the future should easily be able to figure out what he meant.”
“It would get missed in index searches.”
“You could have entered the correction yourself.”
“He needed to see his own mistake and learn from it.” The elevator door opened and the stepped out into the garage. Heero started to head for his own car, but Trowa snagged his arm and hauled him towards his own.
“Some mistakes are more important than others,” Trowa murmured. Another scowl. They reached Trowa’s unobtrusive black sedan in silence. Heero glared across the roof at his escort. Trowa just absorbed the energy and let it dissipate somewhere deep inside him. Heero hated it when he did that. They got in the car.
“You made Agent Marsters recatalog the evidence locker,” Trowa continued as they pulled out.
“It was a mess.”
“She’s a translator.”
“She was available.”
“So was Leland. Whose job it is.”
“He’s a moron. I sent him on a mission he could handle.”
“Picking up coffee for the department is not an official mission.”
“Hn,” grumbled Heero.
“You nearly snapped Ivanov’s head off for sharpening her pencil too long.”
“It was inefficient.”
“You barked at Rodriguez for breathing too loudly.”
“He vocalizes when he exhales. It’s annoying.”
“I suppose I should be glad you haven’t shot anyone yet.”
Heero glared again, as ineffectively as the last time, and retired to look out the window. Neither spoke again until they had pulled up beside a quiet, somewhat decrepit pub on the edge of the government district and gone inside.
Trowa snagged two pints of something dark and smoky and met Heero at a table in the back.
“So - spill,” the green-eyed Preventer said settling his long legs so they just peaked out the edge of the dimly lit booth.
“There’s nothing to spill,” growled Heero, taking a sip to prove he was finished speaking.
“Hmmm,” mused Trowa. “So this has nothing to do with the file on Duo’s desk?” Heero’s eyes narrowed. “The one about the Danhauser Clinic?” Heero’s shoulders tensed. “Or the fact that Duo took Quatre out to lunch two weeks ago and grilled him on the latest extra-uteral reproduction techniques?” Heero’s jaw nearly popped under the stress, but he said nothing. Just glared at his beer.
“If you don’t want children, Heero, just tell Duo,” said Trowa in his usual reasonable tone. “He’ll understand.” The silence drew out between them. A waitress considered approaching them, but thought better of it and veered off toward another table. A truck rumbled past outside. Someone on the other side of the room laughed in a deep, rumbling, wheezing bellow.
“A chip off the old block,” Heero finally muttered, giving in to Trowa’s inexorable stillness. Trowa raised a questioning eyebrow. Heero sighed. “That’s what Duo said. About us. Combining our genetic material. He wanted a couple of chips of the old block.”
“And?”
“And some blocks should just be left alone.”
Trowa nodded and took a deep draught of his beer. Then he leaned back slowly licking the foam off his upper lip.
“Cold-blooded killer is not programmed into your genes,” he said at last. They observed each other quietly for a moment, then continued drinking. Several more parties drifted in. A trio of young legislative aids. A couple on a first, awkward date. A lobbyist and his client. The bellowing man laughed again.
“What if it is?” Heero finally asked.
“What if it isn’t?” Trowa countered. He finished his pint while he watched Heero sit unmoving, considering. At length, the waitress came up to them, unable to put it off any longer.
“Hello. My name is Cindy. What can I get you gentlemen this evening?” Trowa was about to wave her away when Heero looked up at him.
“This is on your tab, right?” Trowa nodded. Heero turned to the waitress, a smile breaking out on his face. “Two sirloin steaks. And a bottle of champagne. The best you have.” He turned back to Trowa. “We’re going to toast. To fatherhood.”
Trowa smiled back. “Congratulations,” he replied warmly. “Does this mean I can manage my department in peace now?”
“Leland’s still an idiot.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
- fin -