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"Son Of A Preacher Man "Written By: Jo Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Have nothing.
I write for the fun of it. Rating: PG (for now) Warnings: AU, shounen-ai, slight OOC(?) Pairings: 1+2 (for now), developing to 1x2 at
the end. Summary: I was working on another fic while listening
to Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield, and I had to write
this. This fic begins with young Duo moving into Heero's neighborhood.
As they grow older, the relationship develops. Secret will be reveled,
choices will be made, etc. The second chapter will be angst-filled
(angst, don't leave home without it). But everything will work out,
trust me (mwa-hahahaha). I don't mean to turn Heero into a little
hermit but he does have reasons to be stoic and sullen. I didn't specify
age in this fic but the whole fic will take the span of approximately
15 years, so you can imagine they are pretty young in the beginning.
Oh and please excuse the many grammatical errors and what not ^___^
Son Of A Preacher Man Chapter 1 It was the summer of 1984 when the Maxwells moved into the house across from ours. It was a scorching day, the sun was fierce, the heat relentless. My mother and I were making sun tea while sitting on the front porch. She was reading to me from "Little Women", a peculiar summer read for a boy. I suspect my mother had secretly wished for a girl when she was pregnant but instead she got me. A child with unruly wild hair and unexpectedly stoic personality, a stark contrast to my mother who sings in the kitchen and smiles even when the meatloaf is dragged to the floor by Flippi the cat. I imagine she was disappointed when she discovered she had had a boy, that and my father running out on her a week after I was born. She used to joke with her friends that I was switched at birth with her real son. One day, after listening in on her phone conversation, I went upstairs and packed my favorite clothes in the tiny suitcase we used whenever we visited grandma. She had this strange look on her face, a mixture of pain and amusement, when I came downstairs, suitcase in one tiny hand and a hairbrush in another. She asked me where I was going, I told her matter-of-factly that she should bring her real son back and return me to my real parents, and I wanted my hair combed so my real parents will be happy to see me. She pressed the tips of her fingers to her plump lips, suppressing a blooming smile. When she finally moved, she knelt before me and drew me close to her with both hands. She hugged me tightly and didn't let go until I started wiggling against her chest. She then stood and led me to the kitchen; there she made a huge 'banana split' with two scoops of vanilla ice cream, topped with whipped cream, caramel, crushed Oreo cookies and sunflower seeds. She then took me into the backyard and there we sat under the shades of the lone apple tree, she leaning on the tree and me on her laps. We shared the treat one scoop at a time until it was all gone. We never spoke of the 'banana split' incident after that, and she never made that joke again, at least not in front of me. We both looked up from the book when a white Dodge Cavalier pulled up to the driveway across from us. A tall man in a pale blue cotton shirt and wrinkled olive green khaki pants stepped out. His sweat soaked shirt was sticking to his back like a second skin. He stretched slightly before motioning to another still inside the car. The door on the passenger side swung opened slowly and a boy about my age hopped out. He rubbed his eyes as if just waking up from a nap. He was dressed in a white tee shirt and a pair of denim shorts. He ran to catch up with the tall man, who was standing at the front door, hesitating. Little hand reached out to grab the older man's hand but the boy wasn't looking to be led. He almost looked like he was the adult urging the older man to open the door and stepped into a new life. It wasn't until later that I learned Duo had lost his mother a few months before coming to West Butte. He not only became a pillar of courage for his dad; he is also fiercely protective of him. I'll never forget how he looked that day, the way his braid, so unusual for a boy to have, bounced and bobbed with his every move. He looked like a creature not of this world, almost elfish. He looked like he lives in a Technicolor world while it is dull and drafty in the shades where I was. I never asked myself how I had known Duo is a boy. I just knew. My mother soon found out that the tall man was going to be the new pastor replacing the retiring Reverend Jammerson at a local church, her church. By the end of the summer, Duo and his dad had made new friends, and had become regulars at our house for Saturday afternoon tea. Not that we actually drank much tea. I secretly looked forward to Saturday afternoons. I would sit by the window waiting, and watching the Pastor strides across the street with Duo scampering behind him playfully, eyes roaming and braid flying. I would then dutifully inform my mother that the Maxwells were on their way before retreating into her shadow as she opened the door and greeted our guests. Duo always sat cross-legged on the floor by his father's feet while I sat prim and proper next to my mother pretending that I am the man of the house. Well, I am the man of the house. He kept very quiet through out the visits but he always looked bored. Sometimes he would wink and make faces at me while I glared. Occasionally our parents would take pity on us and let us play in the backyard. Duo would get up so fast from the floor; he looked like a flash of light. Strangely, he never ran out the door without me. He made sure to always grab my hand, tearing me away from my seat, and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him towards the backdoor. Sometimes he ran so fast that I thought we were going to hit the door before opening it. My mother had set up a swing set for me in the backyard. She always thought it unnatural for a boy my age to prefer to stay in his room and read, so unlike the other kids on the block who needed to be called into dinner every night. My mother was doing all she could to make me a normal boy. She always felt guilty for being a single parent but in actuality I never regretted not knowing my father. Duo loved the swing set. He would jump on it and swing faster and faster, higher and higher. And when he was going as fast and as high as he could, he'd always shut his eyes, a broad smile plastered on his face. He always looked like he was about to break free and fly away. I was secretly jealous of Duo. The swings never gave me that feeling. I never understood it until much later, what it was that he was feeling, that need to be free. Often he would swing and I would stop and just watched him. I was afraid that he would fall and hurt himself but most of all, I was afraid that he would actually fly away and leave me alone in my backyard, too big and empty for me. There and then, when we were both too young to understand what love is, I had fallen in love with him just like I had fallen in love with blueberry pancakes. Except I never grew out of him. TBC
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