Well, as if Duo’s (Bad) Idea wasn’t enough, we have decided to collaborate on yet another zany Gundam fic. The idea for this one was brought up promptly after seeing Jurassic Park III (and laughing hysterically at the silly humans). Enjoy! And oh yes, JP and all related names/ideas are being used without permission for entertainment purposes only and belong to Steven Speilberg and others. On that note, sadly, Gundam Wing and its characters are all property of Bandai, Sunrise, and a bunch of other people we don’t know. ::sigh::
Be warned: little OOC, yaoi, citrus, some violence, lotsa humor, and strong language.
Pairings: 1+2 3+4 5+M
:: :: denotes authors’ comments
RUN!
or, The Gundam Pilots Take A Vacation…Jurassic Style
A Story by Kit/Kat
That’s how this whole incredibly unbelievable, not to mention a little scary and downright disgusting, adventure began. Now, the day when the entire thing began seemed so cloudy it was hard for any of them to remember it, and that was the most frustrating part of it all. It was like looking into a murky river trying to locate something deep within the swirling currents only to see a pile of triceratops crap.
Speaking of dinosaurs, Trowa thought he heard one barreling straight through forest to the spot where they had set up camp. Cursing, Heero gathered up the necessities and fled with the others, leading them deeper into the untamed wilderness of Isla Sorna. Only one thought crossed his mind as they continued to run over and under trees and the occasional abandoned nest: I’m going to kill Steven Speilberg.
And one more thing should be added to that little note.
For once, it was all Quatre’s fault.
*-*-*-*-*-*
“Omae o korosu.”
The cold words echoed throughout the still house like a chilled breath from the mouth of Death itself. Three pairs of anxious eyes were locked in on the scene unfolding before them. One seemed to observe the whole thing with an air of slight amusement and smirking, another’s terrified attention was focused solely on a certain dark-haired young man holding a gun, and the last pair of eyes, well…let’s just say that if anything should happen to the blond being held at gunpoint, all hell would break loose.
Yes, it was certainly turning into another one of those days.
“Heero…” the Arabian whined, pushing the gun aside without the slightest trace of fear. In fact, he seemed to be reaching his wits end. “Why? Just think of it as a mission. One that just happens to involve sudsy water. Please!”
Quatre’s pleas were met with a gaze of ice. “I will not sacrifice my dignity to a bucket of cleaning fluid and a mop. You clean the floors if you want it done so badly,” he replied, once again pointing the weapon in the blonde’s face.
No one could even breathe. Heero had never said so much in one conversation in his life.
Sandrock’s pilot looked desperately to the others, but not because he feared the perfect soldier in front of him. Yesterday’s mission had caked unusual amounts of dirt on their shoes, and that dirt was now covering the main floor, adding an unwelcome touch of the outdoors to the interior of the safehouse. No one wanted the mess, but no one wanted to clean it up, either. Lately, they all seemed a little more than stressed. Bordering on mental instability was more like it.
“You know I’m the one that always gets stuck doing all the cleaning and cooking and washing anyway! If it weren’t for me, you’d all be running around in loincloths! I’m like a damn maid!” Quatre yelled, feeling himself grow angrier with each passing second. The feelings he had kept to himself for the past few months were beginning to boil, bubble, and surface like overcooked spaghetti sauce. Anytime now, he might go Zero System on them, and that was not a good thing unless you wanted a colony destroyed or small forest animals frightened. “And on that note…”
“…isn’t it your turn for cleaning duty, Duo?” a normally silent voice finished the sentence. Trowa had had just about enough of Heero’s cold tirade against Quatre and his small request and refused to let it carry on any longer.
For the moment, the attention was lifted from the two in the kitchen and turned to the braided boy standing beside the uni-banged soldier. Needless to say, Duo was speechless.
For about two seconds.
“WHAT?!?! YOU EXPECT ME TO CLEAN THE HOUSE?! WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE? A GODDAMNED FRENCH MAID? WHY DON’T YOU JUST SHOVE IT UP YOUR…”
The others ignored the rest of Duo’s infuriated babble. They knew to let well enough alone and everything seemed to stay relatively, if not a little noisily, calm. At least, until Duo recognized the fact that no one was paying attention to his rantings. How come this always works for Wufei?! he silently screamed. Then that little black lightbulb went off inside his head for the tenth time that day. ::uh-oh:: It was only 10:12 a.m.
“…SO WHY DON’T YOU GET WUFEI AND HIS PANDA FRIENDS TO CLEAN THE DAMN FLOOR!” he finished, sucking in large amounts of much needed oxygen. He checked his watch and pulled out a little notebook and proceeded to scribble something inside.
Ranting time: 3:01
He did not have time to finish his personal gloating, however, because he was soon dodging a wildly swinging katana blade wielded by a very angry Chinese boy. After the fifth lap around the main floor, they made their destructive way up to the second floor, leaving a Lay-Z-Boy recliner, the couch from Shinigami-knows-where, and the cabinet containing Quatre’s collection of fine teacups in shambles and even unusable.
After the maniacally laughing American and livid Shenlong pilot had made their way upstairs, Heero turned to the remaining two people in the disaster-stricken room. With a sigh, he looked first from the damage left in the dueling duo’s wake to the blond who had formerly tried to impale him with a damp household cleaning tool. One thing was painfully obvious to him now.
“We need a vacation.”
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-
(end teaser)
© Kit & Kat 2001
A mop.
His best time yet. Soon he’d be as good as Wufei, and then on to even greater heights! ::ahem::