(no subject)
Title: Traces
For: irisbleu
Pairing: Hiro/Ando
Spoilers/Continuity: References to occurrences up through "Distractions," big spoilers up through "Six Months Ago."
Rating: PG.
Summary: On the road to New York, Hiro practices.
Word Count: about 1,000.
Notes: Thanks to callmesandy for the speed beta.
While Ando drove east, Hiro practiced his powers. One of the subarashii things about his powers was, if he used them correctly, no one could tell. When he time-traveled, he was gone for a few seconds, but he was skilled enough now if Ando's eyes were on the road, he didn't notice. If, coincidentally, Ando checked his rearview mirror or changed the radio station, he was no longer concerned. He only asked, "When did you go to this time?"
Hiro would tell him about next fall's World Series, his first day of junior high school, the set of the Wonder Woman movie. Sometimes, Hiro would choose a date and place at random, just to see what was there. He had time to be curious and spontaneous. It was a long way to New York, especially with all the stops they had to make. Hiro hoped that by the time they arrived, he would have full command of his powers. A hero who couldn't control all of his abilities wasn't much of a hero, after all. Often, in Hiro's experience, those were the people who became supervillains, because their powers were stronger than their wills.
He expressed this fear to Ando as they passed through an endless cornfield in a state with a name he couldn't pronounce correctly. "That's impossible for you," Ando replied. "You're too kind-hearted to become a villain."
"Maybe I'll change," Hiro said.
He was pretty sure, by this point, that not all of the futures he visited were the same. They were probable but only possibilities. He hoped to someday be powerful enough to visit realities far from his own where history had happened differently, but for now, he was content with the certain past and the likely future. He was seeing the most important things. Traveling to the world where he'd become a bestselling manga artist like he'd always dreamed, that would be a vacation. Not a useful action, much less a heroic one.
As he traveled, he began to notice patterns. Some of them were as banal as the changing fashions of clothes and cars, the emergence and retirement of faces on billboards. He would have three different apartments in New York City, and he knew their locations and color schemes, their narrow horror-movie hallways and pervasive odors. Some patterns were harder to grasp, however. Twin beds in the first apartment, exchanged for one creaky queen-size that engulfed his third New York bedroom. Sounds in the bathroom that he couldn't account for as he spied on his own future habits. Well, he thought, he'd gotten married. Now, mourning Charlie and his failure to rescue her, he felt that he would never love again. But time travel had taught him to recognize this as melodramatic. People grow and move on, and Hiro himself was no exception.
Hiro never ran into his wife in the future, nor even found clues to her identity in any of the apartments. Perhaps she enjoyed Hiro's quirks and fascinations so much that she allowed him to dominate. Hiro's father would tell him that such a woman, subordinate to her husband's needs and interests, was ideal. But Hiro remembered Charlie's ability to chuckle warmly but not dismissively at his awkwardness, and her joy at learning things he knew nothing about. He remembered her for her individuality.
His powers were waning. He feared he'd worn them out from too much practice. He couldn't move as far ahead as he once had, and he couldn't stay as long. Stuck in traffic on the George Washington Bridge, he struggled to leave the passenger seat. Any time would do, any place. He screwed up his face and balled his fists, begging the source of his powers to give him one more chance to solve this mystery.
They obliged him, or seemed to. He found himself in his second New York apartment, the third-floor walkup in Brooklyn. It was empty of people but full of their traces. Comic books on the coffee table, the smell of day-old pizza rising from the trash can. If he lived with a woman, there was no sign of her. But there were traces of Ando everywhere. One of his sweaters had been folded neatly and draped over the arm of the sofa. The refrigerator contained six cans of Boss Coffee, which Hiro had not seen anywhere in America. But he guessed one could find anything in New York City. In Japan, it had been Ando's favorite drink, a half-full can always on his desk where another person might put a picture of his family.
"Maybe she hasn't moved in yet," Hiro said to himself. But in the bedroom, there was only one large bed, and on the left side, more of Ando's things. Spy manga, ear plugs, and an empty can of Boss Coffee. "Wakatta," Hiro said slowly. "I get it!" He took the coffee can into the kitchen, rinsed it, and placed it in the recycle bin.
As the can clattered into the bin, he found himself violently returned to the present. Since he'd left, the car had moved about two meters. "When have you been?" Ando said.
"To our future," Hiro said.
"Our future?" Ando said.
"I should have realized," Hiro said. "Why else would you follow me all this way?"
Ando's face became stern and expressionless, and then he smiled. Not in the American way, welcoming and real, but the Japanese smile that was used to hide discomfort.
"It doesn't matter now!" Hiro said. "We're in America! Nobody knows you." There was no response from Ando, so he continued. "Also, there's a store in New York that sells Boss Coffee. Our refrigerator was full of it."
There were still traces of discomfort in Ando's laughter, but there was also something American in his smile now. "We'll get a motel room with one bed tonight," he said. "It's less expensive."
For: irisbleu
Pairing: Hiro/Ando
Spoilers/Continuity: References to occurrences up through "Distractions," big spoilers up through "Six Months Ago."
Rating: PG.
Summary: On the road to New York, Hiro practices.
Word Count: about 1,000.
Notes: Thanks to callmesandy for the speed beta.
While Ando drove east, Hiro practiced his powers. One of the subarashii things about his powers was, if he used them correctly, no one could tell. When he time-traveled, he was gone for a few seconds, but he was skilled enough now if Ando's eyes were on the road, he didn't notice. If, coincidentally, Ando checked his rearview mirror or changed the radio station, he was no longer concerned. He only asked, "When did you go to this time?"
Hiro would tell him about next fall's World Series, his first day of junior high school, the set of the Wonder Woman movie. Sometimes, Hiro would choose a date and place at random, just to see what was there. He had time to be curious and spontaneous. It was a long way to New York, especially with all the stops they had to make. Hiro hoped that by the time they arrived, he would have full command of his powers. A hero who couldn't control all of his abilities wasn't much of a hero, after all. Often, in Hiro's experience, those were the people who became supervillains, because their powers were stronger than their wills.
He expressed this fear to Ando as they passed through an endless cornfield in a state with a name he couldn't pronounce correctly. "That's impossible for you," Ando replied. "You're too kind-hearted to become a villain."
"Maybe I'll change," Hiro said.
He was pretty sure, by this point, that not all of the futures he visited were the same. They were probable but only possibilities. He hoped to someday be powerful enough to visit realities far from his own where history had happened differently, but for now, he was content with the certain past and the likely future. He was seeing the most important things. Traveling to the world where he'd become a bestselling manga artist like he'd always dreamed, that would be a vacation. Not a useful action, much less a heroic one.
As he traveled, he began to notice patterns. Some of them were as banal as the changing fashions of clothes and cars, the emergence and retirement of faces on billboards. He would have three different apartments in New York City, and he knew their locations and color schemes, their narrow horror-movie hallways and pervasive odors. Some patterns were harder to grasp, however. Twin beds in the first apartment, exchanged for one creaky queen-size that engulfed his third New York bedroom. Sounds in the bathroom that he couldn't account for as he spied on his own future habits. Well, he thought, he'd gotten married. Now, mourning Charlie and his failure to rescue her, he felt that he would never love again. But time travel had taught him to recognize this as melodramatic. People grow and move on, and Hiro himself was no exception.
Hiro never ran into his wife in the future, nor even found clues to her identity in any of the apartments. Perhaps she enjoyed Hiro's quirks and fascinations so much that she allowed him to dominate. Hiro's father would tell him that such a woman, subordinate to her husband's needs and interests, was ideal. But Hiro remembered Charlie's ability to chuckle warmly but not dismissively at his awkwardness, and her joy at learning things he knew nothing about. He remembered her for her individuality.
His powers were waning. He feared he'd worn them out from too much practice. He couldn't move as far ahead as he once had, and he couldn't stay as long. Stuck in traffic on the George Washington Bridge, he struggled to leave the passenger seat. Any time would do, any place. He screwed up his face and balled his fists, begging the source of his powers to give him one more chance to solve this mystery.
They obliged him, or seemed to. He found himself in his second New York apartment, the third-floor walkup in Brooklyn. It was empty of people but full of their traces. Comic books on the coffee table, the smell of day-old pizza rising from the trash can. If he lived with a woman, there was no sign of her. But there were traces of Ando everywhere. One of his sweaters had been folded neatly and draped over the arm of the sofa. The refrigerator contained six cans of Boss Coffee, which Hiro had not seen anywhere in America. But he guessed one could find anything in New York City. In Japan, it had been Ando's favorite drink, a half-full can always on his desk where another person might put a picture of his family.
"Maybe she hasn't moved in yet," Hiro said to himself. But in the bedroom, there was only one large bed, and on the left side, more of Ando's things. Spy manga, ear plugs, and an empty can of Boss Coffee. "Wakatta," Hiro said slowly. "I get it!" He took the coffee can into the kitchen, rinsed it, and placed it in the recycle bin.
As the can clattered into the bin, he found himself violently returned to the present. Since he'd left, the car had moved about two meters. "When have you been?" Ando said.
"To our future," Hiro said.
"Our future?" Ando said.
"I should have realized," Hiro said. "Why else would you follow me all this way?"
Ando's face became stern and expressionless, and then he smiled. Not in the American way, welcoming and real, but the Japanese smile that was used to hide discomfort.
"It doesn't matter now!" Hiro said. "We're in America! Nobody knows you." There was no response from Ando, so he continued. "Also, there's a store in New York that sells Boss Coffee. Our refrigerator was full of it."
There were still traces of discomfort in Ando's laughter, but there was also something American in his smile now. "We'll get a motel room with one bed tonight," he said. "It's less expensive."