On the Corner of West Elm and Bailey
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
15
Views:
1,978
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
15
Views:
1,978
Reviews:
42
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
X
author\'s note: I\'m sorry that I lied about the Punishing chapter o_x; I really meant to get it out, but, I ended up sleeping the weekend away. I hope this super-short chapter of West Elm and Bailey packs enough punch to make up for it;>.> And, I apologize ahead of time if anyone gets offended by the content of this chapter. It is not my intent. It is something that I feel strongly about. I think that I have presented it tastefully (sorry guys, it\'s not a lemon) and hope that you don\'t mind reading it.
Thank you
As it would turn out, Duo\'s idea of a great Saturday morning consisted of walking twelve miles, on the coldest morning Trowa had ever been awake to witness, to an outside mall in the more populated part of town.
All the while through the friendly banter, occasional deviations from the path, and snow kicking; Trowa couldn\'t shake Quatre from his head or the visions of trains being blown off tracks.
The only thing he could associate the distanced loss with was the fall of the towers when he was still in middle school.
Before their complete and irreversible destruction, he hadn\'t even been aware of the fact that they had existed.
The day it happened, he was running a couple minutes behind and was conducting a thorough cavity search on his room for something or another. He couldn\'t remember now.
He\'d passed Nate on the stairs and they\'d exchanged brief morning formalities before moving on to bigger, better things.
Nate to watch the news and Trowa to find whatever it was that he was looking to find.
If he hadn\'t heard Nate\'s impassioned exclamation of, \"Oh my God!\" call to him from downstairs, the day would have passed almost like any other.
In a heartbeat, he was by Nate\'s side feeling disoriented and panicked. Before he could even ask what was the matter, Nate looked at him stricken, shocked tears, yet unreleased, glittering in his eyes, \"They hit the World Trade Center!\" He pointed at the television, and said again more urgently, \"They hit it!\"
The thing that Trowa saw then would haunt him for years to come.
A woman newsreporter was standing at the foot of a large building speaking to unnamed audiences around the world, then she was interrupted by a frantic scream. The camera that had been focused on her face swung skyward, and the rest passed like a terrible dream. An airplane plunged straight into the building, like a dart, but heavier and more terrible.
There was a burst of smoke and shattered glass. And, there was no mistaking that everyone on that plane, on that office floor, had just died.
Trowa looked to Nate for some answer, some reassurance, but his quest was cut short by another shriek from the television.
Another plane had buried itself into the second tower, and subsequently exploded.
\"Nate?\" he pleaded tremulously.
Nate\'s eyes never left the television, even as one of his hands rose to push Trowa away. \"Go to school,\" he said thickly. A tear traced the contours of his cheek, \"Go. You\'re going to be late.\"
Trowa wanted to stay. He wanted to be able to sympathize with Nate\'s grief that he didn\'t wholly understand. More than anything, he wanted to be a pillar of strength for Nate to rest upon, to be relied on.
But he was pushed out of the house by Nate\'s words and had to sit wondering in regret at the bus stop.
No one on the bus knew what had just happened. It was empty of sadness, but full of stupid conversation floating in the air as frivilous as cooties.
When Trowa entered class that morning, he overheard the voice of Brian, a boy he vaguely admired, say, \"I heard that they hit the Pentagon.\"
Trowa recognized that name and strained to hear more, even as he took out his binder and textbook for class\'s commencement.
The students around him spoke in excited and worried voices; it was like they weren\'t sure whether they were watching a train wreck of really a part of it.
When the teacher entered the classroom, everyone asked to watch the news, but Ms. Donya shook her head soberly, dismissively. Then, thinking better on the subject followed up her initial response with a small speech: \"When I was younger, people were convinced that World War Two would destroy the world; when it hadn\'t, people were convinced that the Cold War would destroy the world; when it hadn\'t, people were convinced that the Vietnam War would destroy the world. The world is still here. The world will be here later today. As long as the world is here, you will come to school, and you will do in school what you came here for. You will learn.\"
What she had said cut Trowa deeply with the realization that he was less lived, less seasoned than he had imagined himself being for all his years. It occured to him that whatever resulted from the day would color the rest of his life with a malleable but identifiable permanence.
All club activities were suspended after school amid the frightened chatter from the student body of a possible attack on their own city. Fears were floated that maybe there would be an attack on the Austin Capitol Building since the president had once exercised governmental powers from there.
Trowa arrived at home around five and turned on the news. He became a quick study of the World Trade Centers, the flights, the nationwide airport lockdown, and the speculation. One person, a reporter or an analyst, said something chilling and prophetic, \"I think they\'re going to fall.\"
That was on everyone\'s minds until 5:25.
It was frightening and engrossing watching the planes hit the towers again and again and the towers fall again and again.
The world had become so fixated on these images that they were played, rewound, and then played again.
Trowa had seen them so many times, that he feared that he would become desensitized to them; though he hadn\'t even squeezed out a single tear yet.
Nate came home from work despondent and seething with an anguished anger so profound that Trowa could feel the icy flames of it lashing his shoulders.
For the first time, he saw Nate irrational vowing to fight the world, to take up arms himself and kill the bastards that \"did this.\"
Also, for the first time, a terrifying time, Trowa bore witness to Nate\'s meltdown. Nate cried so much that Trowa felt his own heart constrict, and his own tears burn his cheeks. And it troubled him to wonder whether his apparent upset stemmed from Nate or from himself, from Nate\'s grief or his own reaction to what had happened that day.
In the days following, as Trowa understood more fully the scope of what had happened, tears sprung more readily to his eyes, and he felt an odd comfort that they were his own tears. He wasn\'t completely immune to the pain of human loss.
It never failed to knot his heart when he thought about that day.
It was the day that he felt that he\'d truly lost his innocence.
note(s):
1. I think I\'ve made this chapter as unpartisan as it can possibly get, so don\'t try to nail me for that, please. I intend to keep my political views under wraps for the sake of artisanship. I don\'t think that it\'s appropriate to bleed political bias into stories unless it is the focus or there is a forewarning.
2. I don\'t think that I could write a fanfic with a definite contemporary timeline without mentioning the events of September 11, 2001. The release date of this chapter being on the day of Presideush\ush\'s press conference is completely coincidental, so please let that issue rest as well ;>>
3. I\'m sorry if the association of the WTC tragedy with a fictionalized character seems inappropriate. If it is any consolation, what I described for Trowa was what happened to me that day (with slight time/people fudging [it was my sister that screamed to me about what had happened on the news]) I\'ve tried to articulate my feelings in the form of a narrative many times, but always felt dissatisfied. I think that the account contained within this chapter is the best one I have ever been able to commit to words since I have the ability to be somewhat frank and removed. It\'s always easier to describe things happening to someone else. Not all my views were expressed in this chapter, but that is for the best to maintain my impartial agenda.
4. The reason this chapter is so short is because a. I wrote it today, b. I\'m busy this week, and c. I felt the material heavy enough to warrant it. I couldn\'t think of anything more profound to follow up Trowa\'s memory that wouldn\'t tamper with the impact of this chapter.
5. reviews are welcome ;>> though, I\'m afriad at the moment to recieve them. please don\'t flame me
and continued thanks to: maka, solo\'s ghost, sariL2, and all the other wonderful reviewers that keep my confidence up
Thank you
As it would turn out, Duo\'s idea of a great Saturday morning consisted of walking twelve miles, on the coldest morning Trowa had ever been awake to witness, to an outside mall in the more populated part of town.
All the while through the friendly banter, occasional deviations from the path, and snow kicking; Trowa couldn\'t shake Quatre from his head or the visions of trains being blown off tracks.
The only thing he could associate the distanced loss with was the fall of the towers when he was still in middle school.
Before their complete and irreversible destruction, he hadn\'t even been aware of the fact that they had existed.
The day it happened, he was running a couple minutes behind and was conducting a thorough cavity search on his room for something or another. He couldn\'t remember now.
He\'d passed Nate on the stairs and they\'d exchanged brief morning formalities before moving on to bigger, better things.
Nate to watch the news and Trowa to find whatever it was that he was looking to find.
If he hadn\'t heard Nate\'s impassioned exclamation of, \"Oh my God!\" call to him from downstairs, the day would have passed almost like any other.
In a heartbeat, he was by Nate\'s side feeling disoriented and panicked. Before he could even ask what was the matter, Nate looked at him stricken, shocked tears, yet unreleased, glittering in his eyes, \"They hit the World Trade Center!\" He pointed at the television, and said again more urgently, \"They hit it!\"
The thing that Trowa saw then would haunt him for years to come.
A woman newsreporter was standing at the foot of a large building speaking to unnamed audiences around the world, then she was interrupted by a frantic scream. The camera that had been focused on her face swung skyward, and the rest passed like a terrible dream. An airplane plunged straight into the building, like a dart, but heavier and more terrible.
There was a burst of smoke and shattered glass. And, there was no mistaking that everyone on that plane, on that office floor, had just died.
Trowa looked to Nate for some answer, some reassurance, but his quest was cut short by another shriek from the television.
Another plane had buried itself into the second tower, and subsequently exploded.
\"Nate?\" he pleaded tremulously.
Nate\'s eyes never left the television, even as one of his hands rose to push Trowa away. \"Go to school,\" he said thickly. A tear traced the contours of his cheek, \"Go. You\'re going to be late.\"
Trowa wanted to stay. He wanted to be able to sympathize with Nate\'s grief that he didn\'t wholly understand. More than anything, he wanted to be a pillar of strength for Nate to rest upon, to be relied on.
But he was pushed out of the house by Nate\'s words and had to sit wondering in regret at the bus stop.
No one on the bus knew what had just happened. It was empty of sadness, but full of stupid conversation floating in the air as frivilous as cooties.
When Trowa entered class that morning, he overheard the voice of Brian, a boy he vaguely admired, say, \"I heard that they hit the Pentagon.\"
Trowa recognized that name and strained to hear more, even as he took out his binder and textbook for class\'s commencement.
The students around him spoke in excited and worried voices; it was like they weren\'t sure whether they were watching a train wreck of really a part of it.
When the teacher entered the classroom, everyone asked to watch the news, but Ms. Donya shook her head soberly, dismissively. Then, thinking better on the subject followed up her initial response with a small speech: \"When I was younger, people were convinced that World War Two would destroy the world; when it hadn\'t, people were convinced that the Cold War would destroy the world; when it hadn\'t, people were convinced that the Vietnam War would destroy the world. The world is still here. The world will be here later today. As long as the world is here, you will come to school, and you will do in school what you came here for. You will learn.\"
What she had said cut Trowa deeply with the realization that he was less lived, less seasoned than he had imagined himself being for all his years. It occured to him that whatever resulted from the day would color the rest of his life with a malleable but identifiable permanence.
All club activities were suspended after school amid the frightened chatter from the student body of a possible attack on their own city. Fears were floated that maybe there would be an attack on the Austin Capitol Building since the president had once exercised governmental powers from there.
Trowa arrived at home around five and turned on the news. He became a quick study of the World Trade Centers, the flights, the nationwide airport lockdown, and the speculation. One person, a reporter or an analyst, said something chilling and prophetic, \"I think they\'re going to fall.\"
That was on everyone\'s minds until 5:25.
It was frightening and engrossing watching the planes hit the towers again and again and the towers fall again and again.
The world had become so fixated on these images that they were played, rewound, and then played again.
Trowa had seen them so many times, that he feared that he would become desensitized to them; though he hadn\'t even squeezed out a single tear yet.
Nate came home from work despondent and seething with an anguished anger so profound that Trowa could feel the icy flames of it lashing his shoulders.
For the first time, he saw Nate irrational vowing to fight the world, to take up arms himself and kill the bastards that \"did this.\"
Also, for the first time, a terrifying time, Trowa bore witness to Nate\'s meltdown. Nate cried so much that Trowa felt his own heart constrict, and his own tears burn his cheeks. And it troubled him to wonder whether his apparent upset stemmed from Nate or from himself, from Nate\'s grief or his own reaction to what had happened that day.
In the days following, as Trowa understood more fully the scope of what had happened, tears sprung more readily to his eyes, and he felt an odd comfort that they were his own tears. He wasn\'t completely immune to the pain of human loss.
It never failed to knot his heart when he thought about that day.
It was the day that he felt that he\'d truly lost his innocence.
note(s):
1. I think I\'ve made this chapter as unpartisan as it can possibly get, so don\'t try to nail me for that, please. I intend to keep my political views under wraps for the sake of artisanship. I don\'t think that it\'s appropriate to bleed political bias into stories unless it is the focus or there is a forewarning.
2. I don\'t think that I could write a fanfic with a definite contemporary timeline without mentioning the events of September 11, 2001. The release date of this chapter being on the day of Presideush\ush\'s press conference is completely coincidental, so please let that issue rest as well ;>>
3. I\'m sorry if the association of the WTC tragedy with a fictionalized character seems inappropriate. If it is any consolation, what I described for Trowa was what happened to me that day (with slight time/people fudging [it was my sister that screamed to me about what had happened on the news]) I\'ve tried to articulate my feelings in the form of a narrative many times, but always felt dissatisfied. I think that the account contained within this chapter is the best one I have ever been able to commit to words since I have the ability to be somewhat frank and removed. It\'s always easier to describe things happening to someone else. Not all my views were expressed in this chapter, but that is for the best to maintain my impartial agenda.
4. The reason this chapter is so short is because a. I wrote it today, b. I\'m busy this week, and c. I felt the material heavy enough to warrant it. I couldn\'t think of anything more profound to follow up Trowa\'s memory that wouldn\'t tamper with the impact of this chapter.
5. reviews are welcome ;>> though, I\'m afriad at the moment to recieve them. please don\'t flame me
and continued thanks to: maka, solo\'s ghost, sariL2, and all the other wonderful reviewers that keep my confidence up