Author: Chauni

 

Email: ChauniMaxwell@mechpilot.com

 

Website: www.oocities.org/asukalangley2nd/

 

Warnings: Comedy, Crossover, AU

 

Disclaimer: I don’t own GW or Slayers. I made no money off this…blah.

 

 

The Thin Line

( a Gundam Wing and Slayers crossover)

 

 

Chapter 6

 

            For the sixth time in the last ten minutes, Trowa read the message that had imprinted itself across his laptop monitor, sighing softly to himself. The screen cast a haunting alien glow across the smooth flesh of his impassive face, while his one visible emerald eye twitched for just a second. With a steady hand, he reached across the keyboard and pressed a button, sending the message and the entire screen spiraling into a black hole.

            He leaned back in the chair, his fingers tapping against the pale wood of desk that sat before him, his face the mask of indifference. His eyes found their way to the window and gazed into the faintest rays of a hidden sun that bathed the outside world.

            Are they ever coming back? he dismally thought, not even wishing to think of the consequences of such an action. It seemed like an eternity since he had seen Quatre’s smiling face or listened to Heero tell an overly hyper Duo to shut up.

And now there’s this

            Now was not the time for a mission. He wanted to send a response back to Professor S giving some excuse why a mission at this time was impossible, however, he knew he would seem suspicious and the last thing he wished for was attention from the professor. God knows what would happen if anyone found out about the lack of the original Gundam pilots. Then again, if his theories were true, then perhaps he might be able to pull this off.

If worse came to worse, he could always self-destruct.

 

 

 

 

            Zelgadis walked down the street, hands stuffed into his pockets. His face was smooth and emotionless, resembling the look that Trowa had possessed several miles away while sitting before his laptop.

            The air was crisp and slightly chilly, yet that was to be expected on a fall day. The rich leaves of red and brown floated lazily through the air, landing on the ground for only a heartbeat, then flying and flipping through the breeze once more. The sun was obscured by clouds, giving the day a hazy, gray quality that seemed more accustomed to winter than autumn.

            Zelgadis sighed inwardly as the wind ruffled his hair, still amazed that his locks were wire no longer. His flesh felt so foreign to him and he often wondered if this was just a dream. He had no idea where he was going this gloomy day, but to him, such trivial things didn’t matter. No one stared at him, no one called out names to him, no one was disgusted by him. This was heaven.

            “Heero? Heero! Is that you?”

            A screeching voice graced his ears and he was silently thankful that he no longer possessed his ultra-sensitive hearing. He tried to keep walking, but a hand slapped down onto his shoulder, halting him in his steps.

            “Heero?”

            Zelgadis finally turned around, his eyes falling onto a young girl with long, pale brown hair that had been swept up on the sides and braided. Her shimmering violet eyes regarded the boy, gazing at him for a long moment as the wind beat relentlessly against her skin.  Her face, which had been elated, crumbled and turned to a set, grim mask.

            “I apologize,” she murmured. “I thought you were someone else.”

            “Hn,” Zelgadis grunted. He turned and began to walk away.

            “Perhaps you know who I’m looking for,” the girl called out. She darted over to where he stood, blocking his path. “He’s a boy about your age, thin, dark hair and piercing cobalt eyes. His name is Heero, Heero Yuy.”

            He had been warned of this girl. Trowa had explained that the Wing pilot had attracted the undesired affection of the princess of the Sanq kingdom, and ever since that day, she had followed them all over the Earth, hopping from continent to continent in pursuit of the unattainable Heero.

            “No,” Zelgadis muttered. “I can’t say that I have. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

            “I could have sworn that you might have,” she muttered to herself. “Oh, I am sorry for my rudeness! My name is Relena, Relena Peacecraft.”

            “Hn.” Zelgadis responded. He attempted to walk past her, but she continued to block his way, on accident or on purpose, he was not sure.

            “Well?” she asked, slight daggers of anger in her voice. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name? It is rude not to introduce yourself.”

            “Zelgadis Graywords,” he shortly answered.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Graywords. I don’t know why I thought you were him,” she mused to herself, staring at him. “You do not resemble him in the slightest, after all. It was just some odd feeling I had. How strange is that?”

            Zelgadis attempted to walk around her, and once he succeeded, he hurried away. However, she followed him closely behind, still murmuring to herself.

            “I have not seen Heero in quite some time, now that I think of it,” she rambled. “I hope he is all right. Not even my informants that help me stalk- er, I mean, protect- him know where he is. I do hope nothing has happened to h-”

            Before he knew what was happening, Zelgadis swirled around until he was facing the young princess. His eyes were blazing and intense, his face set in an impenetrable mask.

            “Omae o Korosu.”

            The words passed through his lips of their own will, no inflection, no emotion behind any of the syllables. He felt nothing as he said them other than slight confusion on where that had originated from.

            Relena’s stared at him blankly for a moment, almost as if everything within her soul had suddenly shut down. Then, the corner of her lips crawled upwards as an immense smile lit up her face.

            Zelgadis took an uncertain step back, then burst into a run. He could hear her shouting behind him, her voice loud and high-pitched, following him like a demon.

            “Come back here, Mr. Zelgadis Graywords! Here I am! Come and kill me!”

 

 

 

 

            Trowa walked through the woods, the colors of the trees looking inviting and picturesque around him. The sky had cleared up some and the sullen overcast had disappeared. The sun had bathed the area with warmth that made even him want to smile. Almost.

            However, all desires of happiness disappeared as he stepped into the clearing where the Gundams sat, hidden under the cloak of trees. He stared at Shenlong for a long moment, not wanting to believe what his eyes were telling him. He glanced at Heavyarms, then to Deathscythe, Sandrock, and finally Wing, noting to himself that they were all normal. He finally looked at Shenlong again and swallowed the lump that he almost choked upon. 

            “What have you done?”

            Amelia turned around, smiling happily. Her short dark hair was streaked heavily with pink and white paint, while little splashes like tacky camouflage makeup covered her round face. She bounced cheerfully up and down as she waved Trowa over.

            “Well, what do you think?” she inquired, sweeping her hand in front of the giant metal monster.

            Trowa could do nothing but swallow; his mouth refused to even work. His eyes could not leave the newly painted blinding pink Gundam that had once been Wufei’s pride and joy. Across the chest, in white, had been painted “Justice will always prevail” with a small round smiling face beside it. The only defense the machine looked like it had at that point was the ability to rob all sight from any person within a hundred miles.

 

 

 

           

            Somewhere, in another dimension across time and space, a young Chinese pilot stood at the gates of the magical kingdom of Seyruun. His almond-shaped black eyes suddenly grew wide as he dropped to his knees, hands at his temples.

            “Nooooo! NATAKUUUU!”

 

 

 

           

            “Why did you do this?” Trowa finally managed.

            “I thought it looked kind of boring the other way,” she answered, setting down the bucket and paintbrush. “This gives it a more virtuous look, don’t you think?”

            “When did you have time to do this?” he inquired.

            “I have been working on it all morning,” she proudly stated. “With the help of Mr. Gourry, of course.”

            Gourry’s head immediately poked out of the cockpit of Deathscythe, waving. Trowa squinted his emerald eyes as he peered just behind the swordsman and into the Gundam.

            A small, portable refrigerator sat cozily on the seat while several pictures of random food decorated the console. One large hand-drawn picture sat against one of the monitors, colored in crayon. It crudely depicted a young crimson-haired girl with her mouth open wide, yelling at what appeared to be a pouting Gourry.

            “You know, this Deathdagger is less scary now that I decorated it,” he chimed, hopping down and walking to the Heavyarms pilot.

            “That’s Deathscythe,” Trowa muttered, knowing full well that the mercenary still wouldn’t remember. “Come back to the safehouse now. We have things to discuss.”

            As they trekked back in silence, Trowa wondered if maybe self-destructing wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.

 

 

 

            Trowa sat on the couch, attempting to fight every urge in his body to lean over and massage his temples. Zelgadis had finally returned, with a hollering Relena in hot pursuit. He had warned him, damnit! Now she had more drive to follow them to the ends of the earth, and the danger increased dramatically of the important whereabouts of the pilots being shared with the world.

            Sylphiel finally burst through the front door, arms full of bags with clothes poking out of the tops. The Heavyarms pilot had decided that their clothing would not be particularly suitable for this area, or even this world, and had sent the dark-haired woman on a quest for decent garments, complete with a “borrowed” credit card. However, he had never dreamed she would buy so many things; she could barely see over the numerous bags.

            Everyone took quick seats in the living room, eyes on the pilot. He had told them it was an emergency, and they suddenly feared it was about them returning home.

            “We have a mission.”

            Amelia gulped, something dramatic and comical at the same time. “What kind of mission, Mr. Trowa?”

            “We have to destroy a base sixty-seven miles east of here,” he answered evenly, standing up and pacing across the room. “They will be receiving a shipment of Taurus’ in three days. We cannot allow that shipment to be used, so we must destroy the base and the Taurus’. It will take all of us.”

            Everyone except Zelgadis turned their eyes to the floor, doubt and uncertainty filling their minds. Failure was their worst fear; once one failed in a mission such as this, it only meant one thing: Death.

            “We will learn to fight in those things,” Zelgadis muttered. “We have no choice.” Perhaps he was right, his mind whispered. Maybe I did exchange one curse for another.

            “But what if we can’t do it?” murmured Sylphiel, eyes on her hands.

            “From the way you knew which Gundam you would be taking over and its name,” Trowa began, “I assume you inherited the respectful pilots techniques. This should only be like a refresher course for each of you. We will bring out your hidden talents and teach you how and when to use them.”

            Amelia looked up suddenly, smiling. “We can do this!” she said, hopping to her feet. “I know we can!”

            Gourry joined her, confident gleam radiating in his eyes. “We will do this,” he said. “For Lina.” 

            Sylphiel looked up to him, hands clasped to her chest. “Oh, Gourry-dear!”

            The Heavyarms pilot nodded, slightly surprised at their faith in themselves and each other. “We will begin practice in an hour. Meet me at the Gundams then, and be prepared to work.”