Title: One Fine Day
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: humor, mild angst, language, TWT, hidden scene, spoiler to episode 49
Pairings: none
Disclaimers: Mine. It is not.
Author's Note: My mind has been permenantly influence by Douglas Adams and Joseph Heller. I call it a good thing.
It was a beautiful spring morning when Guy Walker stepped into the hangar. Yes. Guy. Pronounced the American way. There was a reason he went by his surname. "Lieutenant Guy" sounded incredibly
stupid and he was not yet old enough to get his name changed. So he was simply Walker.
In any case. It was a beautiful spring morning when Guy Walker stepped into the hangar. He was supposed to look around and think to himself, "I am finally here. This is the day. I know it." He was then supposed to stride over to the vid-phone near the door and call to find out at what time Lieutenant Zechs would be arriving. Later on, he would go and meet Lt. Zechs and show him the Tallgeese. Then he would meet his doom at the hands of Quatre Raberba Winner whilst fighting for the soldiers of tomorrow.
However, none of that happened, for at the precise moment when Walker was standing two and a half yards into the hangar, a kiwi bird in Australia ceased flapping its wings in the vain attempt to fly, while the motion of its flaps caused a mild air disturbance that spiraled up into the heavens, picking up speed and ripping its way around the world, eventually tapering off into a small gust of wind that whooshed into the Corsica Base and caused a loose piece of armor to fall off the right arm of a badly-repaired Aries and hit the unfortunate Special on the head. Walker spent the rest of the day in the Corsica Base infimiry with a concussion.
But let us examine how we got to this point.
In the small town of Tourn� (population: 1,256 people, 232 goats), a boy sat in a tree reading a book. There probably should have been a comma somewhere in the previous sentence to indicate that the boy was reading the book, as opposed to sitting in an extremely talented tree that happened reading the book, but the identity of the book-reader is not particularly important. The identity of the boy is. The boy is, of course, young Guy Walker, barely twelve years old. And it would be his last time in this tree before he attended the Lake Victoria Military Academy.
He had never been far from home. Although he was born in the former United States of America, his parents moved to Tourn�, near Corsica, when he was but a wee thing. They settled down in the countryside to escape the hustle-bustle of American commerical culture and be goat farmers. nbsp;Now they cultured a very high-quality goat cheese.
Corsica was a good place for a young boy to grow up. Though the island had long been simultaneously suffering a brain drain and a rather ugly clash between modernism and traditionalism, a revived interest in returning to a simpler way of life had drawn people to the Mediterranean isle, and it thrived once more. There, a boy had room to run and do as boys do. He could frolic free of fear. No foul and superficial influences clouded his mind.
Though, in Walker's case, a stray piece of MS armor clouded his mind for more than a few moments when the naughty thing hit him in the head as he was burning ants with a magnifying glass.
The first thought that popped into his aching head when he regained consciousness was that he would never, ever burn ants with a magnifying glass again. But his reconciliation with nature was soon overtaken by fascination with the thing which had so rudely accosted him. Picking it up, he wandered thoughtfully across the field, a large, shining compound gradually coming into view over the horizon. The Corsica military base. It was buzzing with even more activity than the anthill he had been destroying ten minutes before. Olive green giants lumbered about the grounds as sleek silver shuttles shot off into space. Walker stared down at the piece of metal in his hand, then back up at the base, then at the brightly-colored fuzzy spots that were still dancing in front of his eyes. Heaving the piece of metal at the base as strongly as his offended eight-year old body could manage, he headed home to get some aspirin.
Ever since that fateful day, young Walker was entranced by the island base and all of the amazing things contained therein. He couldn't read enough about the newest MS technology nor the legends of brave soldiers, fighting with honor til the end. Though it pained his parents when he declared that he wished to attend the Lake Victoria Military Academy, the decision came as no surprise.
Walker checked his watch, closed his book, and hopped out of the tree. It was getting late, and tomorrow was the day he would leave the home he loved to pursue his dreams. He smiled. His dreams of becoming a Special and returning, able to fight for everything he loved about here. With a slight hop of a start, he bolted off home.
The tree hrumphed to itself. The young fellow had been reading a book of military history. Interesting material. It had followed along for a bit, but the text was awfully tiny. With a slight shaking of its leaves, the tree settled itself down for a rest.
"Whuh huppunn...?" Walker blinked. Shapes were beginning to come into focus. He blinked again. "Lieutenant Zechs, sir!" he exclaimed, and would have snapped into a salute had Zechs not held his shoulders firmly to the hospital bed, with the quick reflexes only possessed by those who have grown accustomed to restraining overly-zealous subordinates.
"The doctors have ordered for you to remain still. &nsbp;You suffered quite a nasty knock to the head." Lt. Zechs glanced around the sterile infirmary room. "Besides, I don't think that such formalities are necessary here."
"Yes, Sir, of course," Walker blurted. "It was just the... shock. Sir."
The masked officer sitting beside Walker's hospital bed smiled slightly at the chap's enthusiasm, then sighed, resting his chin in his gloved hand.
"Walker," Zechs asked quietly, "how are you feeling?"
"Fine. I-" The young Special cut himself off as he registered Lt. Zech's subdued tone of voice. A moment of silence passed, as the light in his deep hazel eyes grew grave. "How will I feel after what you are going to tell me, Sir?"
Zechs hesitated. "Not too well, I'm afraid." He glanced at Walker, who was waiting expectantly. "There was an attack here today, as expected. General Bonaparte, despite his pig-headedness, is safe. Thankfully or not, I dare not say. But the Gundam attack was devastating. Nearly half of the base was destroyed and at least twenty-six pilots were lost."
The sound of a nurse's high heels clicking on the tile floors as she walked down the hallway was the only thing breaking the silence as Zech's tidings slowly sank in.
"I... I...." Walker swallowed. "Sir, I-"
"Just rest, Walker. You'll need it. I'll visit you again before I have to leave."
Giving the stunned young officer's shoulder a firm squeeze, Zechs arose and left the room. How he hated delivering such dreadful news as that. If he judged Walker correctly, he would probably take it very hard. Zechs could never quite decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. Far be it from him to remove personal tragedy from war. To do so would be to remove the only hope of ending it forever. There was a metallic clang as Zechs, lost in thought, failed to notice the door in front of him and banged his helmet on the metal doorframe.
Meanwhile, Walker was laying in his hospital bed, considering his options. They were depressingly sparse. Taking a deep breath, he determined to pursue the brightest of a rather dull selection of courses of action. He began to sing.
"I am slowly going crazy, one two three four five six, switch- crazy going slowly am I, six five four three two one, switch- I am slowly going crazy, one two three four five six, switch- crazy slowly going am I..."
Eight hours later...
"...five four three two one, switch- I am slowly going crazy, one two three four five six, switch- crazy slowly going am I, six five fou-"
"Walker!!!"
Walker snapped a sharp salute, grinning what he hoped to be the grin of a dangerous lunatic. "Yes, Lt. Zechs?"
"What. The hell. Are you doing."
A bigger grin. "Singing, sir!"
"For the past eight hours? Walker, you have been driving everyone in this room absolutely crazy. One of the men in here has gone psychosomatically deaf. A nurse suffered a seizure at the prospect of having to come in here. &nbps;What is the meaning of this?!"
The manic gleam faded from Walker's eyes as his face crumpled into an expression of pure shame. Swallowing, he cast his eyes down to the white bed sheet, which suddenly seemed very interesting.
"I was attempting to drive myself crazy. Sir," he murmured.
Sympathy tempered Zech's expression of exasperation. He glanced around at the man in the bed next to Walker's, who was still twitching. (The man, not the bed- though by some accounts, by this time the beds were close to convulsions themselves.) "An admirable ambition," he finally said slowly, "but you've only managed to drive everyone else in this room- in this entire wing of the hospital- crazy."
"I know, Sir."
The Lightning Count's bright blue eyes examined the crestfallen young man on the bed before him. "I think that you need a little time off, Walker."
Walker's eyes widened in terror. "No! I mean, Sir, I couldn't possibly-"
"It will do you good."
"-I don't mean to contradict, Sir, but I-"
"Walker." The young Special froze mid-objection. Zechs fixed him with a stern eye. "You will take a leave of at least one week. More if need be, to be determined by the hospital psychiatrist." His gaze softened as he smiled. "I just don't want you to hurt yourself. We need soldiers like you to fight."
A similar smile tentatively crept onto Walker's face, slowly gaining confidence. "For the soldier's of tomorrow, Sir."
"Yes. I'll be back again tomorrow so that you can give me the specifics on the Tallgeese. Right now I am going to the doctors to give them strict orders to keep you out of combat for at least a week. And-" he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, "no singing. Under any circumstances."
"Yes, Sir. And... permission to speak freely, Sir?"
Zechs frowned slightly. "Granted."
"You, um... Your helmet has a dent in it. Sir."
Three days later, Walker was taking a walk in the countryside near his old home. He preferred not being around the guys or anyone he knew for that matter. It was awkward, not too mention embarassing, to explain the whole emotional instability- or, even worse, the emotional sensitivity- issue. It was so much nicer being around the trees and flowers- things that didn't talk back. And if they died, it wasn't his fault. Nope, none of it. He wasn't responsible for the trees and flowers, someone else was. The thought made him feel so giddy and gay that he almost laughed and capered with glee. Not his responsibility! None of it! Flowers and trees- that took two things off of his list of about fifty.
It had all begun with the ants. He was responsible for their deaths, agony-filled deaths by fire. And if he had not caused their deaths, he would not have caused the deaths of twenty-six brave men and whatever countless others the Gundams would go on to kill because he had not stopped them.
"Fight for the soldiers of tomorrow..." he whispered to himself. "Fight for the soldiers of tomorrow... fight for the... soldiers... of...."
Two ants were drowned by teardrop that fell from his eye.
The day following, Walker was taking another walk, this time in the forest along the coast, when he heard a young voice humming a familiar tune. The soldier froze in terror, then set his jaw and pursued the voice. He could not... allow...
"Stop humming that!"
A boy with blond hair started and turned to stare at Walker, who suddenly felt very foolish.
"Please."
The kid looked confused, but he smiled and nodded, probably wondering what object this odd fellow had to "Reuban and Rachel."
"Perhaps I should explain," Walker quickly said. "That song... I accidentally drove a number of people crazy with that song. So, bad memories attached to it."
"I see," the kid laughed. Feeling the conversation stalling, the boy glanced at the surrounding scenery. "This is a beautiful place, isn't it?"
"Yeah. I grew up here."
"Really?" The kid's big blue eyes lit up. "Oh, it must have been wonderful! I'd love to grow up in a place like this. It's so free here..." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "And so fresh."
"They call Corsica 'The Scented Isle.' You can smell the maquis flowers all the way out at sea." Walker nodded to himself. "That's part of what I'm fighting for. This place."
"Oh. You're a soldier."
Walker cocked an eyebrow at the kid's troubled tone. "Yeah. I am. Why?"
"Well... I just didn't expect it, you... you seemed really young. No offense."
Nodding slowly, Walker stuck his hands in his pockets and struck an aloof pose. "I'm seventeen. Don't worry. Everyone thinks that I'm fourteen."
"No, really, I didn't mean any offense. I know how annoying it is when people always think that you're younger than you actually are. People always think I'm about twelve."
"You mean... you're not?"
The blond groaned.
"Hey, hey, sorry, I mean... uh... heh. How old are you?"
"Fifteen," he muttered.
"I... Oh."
"Yeah."
There was an awkward silence, then both young men turned and met each other's eyes. Within a second they were both laughing.
"Tell me more about this island."
Early that evening, the two newfound friends sat on a hill watching the sun set over the ocean. (Once again, a comma indicating that the hill possessed not the eyes necessary to watch a sunset is missing in action- though were the hill able to watch a sunset, it would have a simply stellar view.) It had been a fun afternoon. Walker had enjoyed acting as a tour guide of his native turf, and the blond kid was just brimming with enthusiasm. The pair had managed to walk a good portion of the coastline, as well as a few special streets where Walker knew to get cheap food and beer without an ID check. Now, they had returned to the coast to watch the day end in all its blazing glory.
"It is beautiful..." the kid murmured, watching the brilliant reds and oranges dance on the waves.
"Uh-huh," Walker agreed with a smile. "That's why I'm fighting. To protect this place. And to make a path for the soldiers of tomorrow, so they can protect what they love. And..." he shook his head. "And to avenge the men who died because of me and make sure that son-of-a-bitch Gundam doesn't kill anyone else."
"I- I see."
Hearing a catch in his companion's voice, Walker turned to him. "You all right?"
"I... I just don't like fighting. At all. In fact... I hate it. There's nothing I hate more in the world. And I just wish this stupid war would end."
"Well, someone has to fight. It's not a matter of wanting to. It's a matter of having to." He paused. "I don't like it, either. Not anymore."
"Yeah, well... I really have to go. I only planned on passing through here, and now I'm set back about half a day." The blond rose and brushed the grass off his slacks. "Thank you for the tour."
"No problem," Walker assured him, getting up as well. "If you're ever back in the area, just ask for Walker. And- hey, what's your name?"
The kid stared down at the ground, then shook his head, his fair hair reflecting the fire of the sunset. "It really doesn't matter."
Okay. Strange kid. But, hey- not his goat, not his farm. "Well, it's been a nice day."
"Yeah." The boy walked away, then paused and looked over his shoulder with a sad smile. "A fine day."
Walker stretched and headed back to the base, singing quietly to himself.
"Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer... Take one down, pass it around, ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall. Ninety-eight bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-eight bottles of beer...."
Walker returned to combat a week following that day. When the war shifted to outer space, he remained on Earth. And at this moment, he stood on a hill near the Corsica Base, ears glued to the radio, eyes glued to the sky, as now, at the end of the war, one boy stood between Earth and total destruction. It was all up to that Gundam pilot... all up to him...
"YEEEEEEES!!!!"
It was an amazing thing, to witness the giant mass of doom hurtling toward Earth be blasted into pieces and scatter throughout space. It was even more amazing to finally feel the weight of war lifting from the troubled planet and know that an era of peace was beginning. And it was absoutely mindblowing to know that no one- neither he nor the kid- would have to fight again.
"A fine day. A really fine day, Quatre Raberba Winner."
With a smile, Walker headed back toward the Base for a celebration. Unforunately, a stray chunk of Libra somehow made it through the Earth's atmosphere and would hit Walker in the head in exactly 1.0294 seconds.
But it was nice while it lasted.