FIC: Ho, Ho, Ho! Hilde's Scrapyard and the Maxwell Maze [Gundam Wing, Instructor H & Spectators]

[omnicat]

Title: Ho Ho Ho!
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: K+
Genre: General, Humor and something one could call Action/Adventure.
Spoilers & desirable foreknowledge: No serious requirements, but let’s just make it everything, so you’ll be able to enjoy the more subtle references and won’t be confused by the Denial.
Warnings: AU, Denial (i.e., characters who are supposed to be dead are still alive). But actually not, for this fanfiction follows the best of Gundam traditions. If you don’t stick to a dead (wo)man all the way from the moment they draw their dying breath to the moment they get staked to their coffin, they’ll come back! Alive! Muahahahaha! Also some Swearing.
Pairings: Duo Maxwell x Hilde Schbeiker, hints of Trowa Barton x ? (I prefer Middie Une, but you can choose anything you like, I’m not very descriptive about this), Wufei Chang x Sally Po, Heero Yuy x Relena Peacecraft, Quatre Winner x Dorothy Catalonia.
Disclaimer: Out of proper Christmas Spirit, could we skip this? No? Bleh. All right then, I hold no rights to Gundam Wing, this story is not meant for commercial gain.
Summary: Wide blue eyes followed the figure across the dark room. Any minute now, the fat man in the funny red disguise and fake beard would meet with one of the numerous traps laid out just for this occasion. Any minute now...
Author’s Note: La la la la God rest ye merry Hippogryff, la la la something~

Ho Ho Ho!

The Prequel/Chapter; Hilde’s Scrapyard and the Maxwell Maze

Hilde’s Scrapyard

(and Duo and Solo and Hell’s Twins’)

it said at the gate.

The big, heavy, iron, closed gate. Fastened with one ordinary lock, one thick metal chain, and one dog leash. There was no other use for the leash, because the family living in the house beyond this gate did not have a dog.

H knew, as he observed the gate in the scant moonlight of late evening/early night, that he would have no trouble in getting it to open. The gunny sack slung over his shoulder held not only his mission objectives, but also lock picks, lists of security codes and everything else needed for a dozen types of breaking and entering in two dozen types of buildings and facilities. Who knew what kind of security Yuy would have put up this year...

But H also knew, as he observed that gate, so easy to conquer, that doing just that might be tempting - for beyond that lonely barrier lay a clear, straight and easy path to his destination - but not wise in the least. Because the Maxwells might not have a dog, nor a cat, this was only because they did have motion-sensitive cameras set up all across their scrap strewn yard.

Dratted Maxwells. H groused mentally, as he trudged around the fence to the secret entrance his informant had so dutifully informed him of, while wet spoilsport snow began drizzling down on his hat and the chilly wind pierced his disguise. At least both Bloom families had made it a little easy for an old man. Admitted, trailers were hard to fortify, but it was the thought that counted here. S’s boy - however he wanted to be called this year - and his sister had given him no trouble whatsoever. The lad had only blinked sleepily at him in the dark, making H jump when he mumbled: “Say hi to Doctor S for me.” before draping his arm more comfortably around his sleeping wife and drifting off to sleep again.

H had the feeling, however, that he would be wishing for the ease with which he would cover the Chang household later that night before he was halfway through the Maxwell Maze. Wufei had come right up to Master O and demanded to know what they were planning this year in advance, pissing Sally of for ruining the surprise, but bringing great relieve to H.

He squeezed through a narrow gap in the fence and looked around for the nearest sensors. When he had determined the position and range of these, he did as his informant had recommended; he slithered. Among scrap, along scrap, under scrap, over scrap, through scrap, around scrap, with scrap - huh? H quickly pulled the plug before the rickety linoleum-polishing machine could hobble into camera range and set of the alarm. He crawled and climbed and bended every which way to dodge the mechanical eyes, silently thanking his informant for being the disobedient, adventurous, rebellious, prankster-son-from-Hell the kid was. If not for his many midnight visits to the disobedient, adventurous, rebellious, prankster-son-from-Hell Hilde and Duo had spawned, H would not be planning his suicide at the moment; he could have counted on J to spare him from the terrible aches the following morning promised to bring, for screwing the mission up completely.

He once caught a glimpse of the path leading to the front door of the house. Moonlight streamed over its smooth, scrap-free surface as it lay there, straight and direct - and in full view of the camera above the front door. Biting the tip of his moustache (and spitting it right back out when he tasted the white powder in it) to resist the temptation, he grabbed hold of a corroded washing machine and climbed over it. The Maxwells must not get to know of his actions. The mission had to remain top secret.

Finally, after what seemed like miles of treacherous scrap and lurking, stalking cameras, he came to the kitchen window. H had been informed that the lady of the house never locked this particular window, making it the perfect entrance for someone like him. The fact that there was a swivelling camera sitting on the corner of the house, overlooking the patch of grass substituting as the Maxwell's backyard as well as the entire kitchen wall, was, in J's words, just a minor obstacle. Dispose of it or go around it. Neither possibility applied here, however.

With a swift dive and a somersault, he imbedded himself in between the wall and an overgrown currant bush. Then, after studying the rhythm of the camera’s movement, he hoisted himself up to fumble with the window. H dropped down again when the eye swivelled back to him. After a few of these manoeuvres, the window swung open, and in the next clearance, H took a run and jumped ‘gracefully’ inside.

Phase one completed. H thought, as he lay still and listened for any indication of movement inside the house. None. He scrambled up, checked his sack, and stealthily made his way through the cosy house.

He never noticed the pairs of wide eyes in various shades of blue gleaming gleefully in the dark.

Christmas decorations loomed from all sorts of horizontal and vertical surfaces, out of every corner and crevice. A sleigh with reindeers leaping in front of it almost knocked into the side of H’s head when he passed it. He caught a glimpse of the gleaming wire used to attach it as it swung over his crouched form. Oy, better watch my step. Seems someone’s been sloppy.

His target wasn’t in the living room. Nor in the hall, the dining room or the kitchen, which he returned to to make sure he hadn’t missed it while dodging the increasing amounts of strange projectiles.

Damn. I’ll have to go upstairs then. H thought.

Why couldn’t those infernal Maxwells put their Christmas tree near the fireplace, like everyone else? And why couldn’t they fasten their decorations better? This was getting absurd. By the time he came to the top of the stairs, H had tripped over a festoon lying about where it definitely shouldn’t, he’d been bombarded with various Christmas tree ornaments - multiple times - and three miniature Santa’s had declared war on him and lunged for his head or groin. And the ornaments did not just attack him once; he could swear to be only barely missed by the same pair of Christmas bells twice, both on his way to and from the kitchen.

The feeling that he was deliberately targeted grew stronger by the minute, and the hairs in his neck stood on end as he crept along the landing. This feeling was confirmed once he had passed the family’s bedroom doors, which he dared not open to check if maybe they had his destination set up there, and reached for the handle of the small office at the end of the hall.

All was well until he turned it. A thin scratching sound was heard, and then a rustle. H slowly looked up at the garland draped over the top of every door, winding its way along the entire landing on both sides. There were small bows and lights woven through the synthetic branches, but the latter had been turned off for the night.

Had been.

They were lighting up around H, now. All around him, but nowhere else in the entire hall.

He cautiously slackened and released the handle and stepped back. The faint scrunching sound increased as a second socket seemed to arise next to every flame-shaped bulb. H saw a thin, gleaming streak emit from the new socket and felt his stomach sink to the soles of his ridiculously shiny boots.

Oh please Author don’t let it be... *

Not about to find out whether his suspicions where correct by undergoing the effects, he made a mad dash out of shooting-range.

Bad move. The double lamps followed his movement and, with a pop and a sleek swish sound, did exactly as he had feared. Needles adorned with red feathers plunged into the material of his gunny sack as he sped back to the staircase. The lights followed him, glowing into life now everywhere he passed.

Dratted Maxwells!

H had already reached the stairs when he realised his mistake. Looking back, he saw needles gleaming all along his fated path, ready to be released at a single movement. If only he had just stepped into the room he had to be in when he had the chance! Now he’d have to face the pointiness of the garlands’ projectiles. Damnit, damnit damnit.

Dratted Maxwells!

The scientist felt a strong urge just give up. His mission wasn’t worth all this trouble. There where three houses still to go, it wouldn’t do to succumb to this one.

But then he remembered the glint in J’s bionic eyes. When he wasn’t forcing his old joints to climb piles of scrap, he felt a strangely powerful sense of self-preservation. Even though he knew he’d feel like the best masseur in Hell had given him a massage when he woke up tomorrow.

So, with an adamant straightening of his shoulders and a deep breath, H began to empty his sack. He tucked his equipment and mission objectives into his pockets, his coat, and in the end in his pants as well, because it simply wouldn’t fit anymore. Quatre and Dorothy Winner had a lot of daughters, and Wufei and Sally had been busy as well. H fastened one particularly fragile object under the waistband of his shorts on his hip and pulled the sack over his head.

Then he charged headfirst into the hail of feathered needles.

Sharp pinpricks hit the jute with audible pecks as he raced - quietly - for the estimate location of the desired door. Once he reached it and shot inside the room beyond, he thanked the Maxwells for leaving the door unlocked. It felt weird though, so he quickly stopped being grateful to the ones who’s fault it was that he was having such a hard, and not to say weird, time, in the first place.

He pulled the sack off of him and looked around the room.

Not there.

Dratted Maxwells!

So H pulled his sack over his head once more and prepared to cross the hall to the children’s play-room, aka the Maxwell Junior Battle Zone. He just hoped the gunny bag wouldn’t wear through too fast.

It wasn’t in the play-room either. H wished he had brought something with him with whom he could cause the Maxwells to suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer and suffer, while he recovered from this night with lots if coddling from beautiful women. But all the dangerous stuff he had on him were meant to be saved for the Yuy household.

That left only the attic. The bedrooms he didn’t even want to think about. So with one more deep sigh he prepared himself for another trip through Needle Alley. It surprised him somewhere in the back of his mind that none of the inhabitants had woken up yet. His rush for the next staircase was noisy enough, in his own ears. But finally he got to the top floor of the house, and lo! there was the soft, unmistakable glow of Christmas-lights streaming through the cracks of the door.

H opened the door eagerly - and found the Maxwells’ final trick. All the floorboards had been removed, except for the ones in the far corner, where the Christmas tree stood in all its glittering splendour. To get there, H would have to balance his way over the beams that usually supported the floorboards.

Mission, J, life, mission, J, life, mission, J, life, mission, J, life mission, J, life - H chanted mentally, barely able to contain the bestial roar forming in his throat.

He dropped his empty sack. The roar subsided and left him with a disconcertingly empty feeling. He raised his foot and leaned forward.

Thump. Hit the beam.

Raise the other foot. Lean.

Thump. Hit that beam too.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

Creak. Huh?

H looked down. He’d made it! The old man dropped down to his knees and almost cried in relief. Then he looked up sharply. No more traps? He could never be sure. He didn’t see any... Didn’t hear any either...

Finally deciding it was safe to get up, he did. His target stood before him. Festoons and ornaments in various shades of blue and purple adorned the synthetic branches of the tree, multicoloured lights threw sparkles over the shining surfaces.

H dug around in his pants to find the presents he was supposed to leave here. Having found them, he kneeled down and arranged them somewhat neatly. He turned the idea to leave a little explosive surprise after all over in his head, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

A low table to the side caught his eye as he straightened. Milk, cookies and a small note scribbled full with a child’s handwriting were placed on it. Aw...

H was touched. He picked up the plate holding the cookies.

A net fell on him and dragged him to the ground.

DRATTED MAXWELL DEMONS!

He struggled against the net and managed to throw it off. The plate had clattered to the ground, but H couldn’t care less. He sprinted carelessly across the beams, an explosion of indiscernible emotions propelling him forward. He passed the needle-garland so fast that the projectiles whirled around in his wake. The decorations downstairs were shredded to pieces when they came into contact with his body.

As he stumbled his way through the garden and scrapyard at breakneck speed, he mysteriously managed to storm past right in front of at least half a dozen camera’s without setting off the alarm.

Mysteriously, that is, if you did not know that half the amount of those cameras were plastic fakes to replace the ones installed indoors for the night’s occasion, and the other half disconnected from the alarm-system, left to only record the tape to watch on parties for the next few years.



Ho, Ho, Ho!
Winner Residence
Hilde's Scrap Yard and the Maxwell Maze
Sank Royal Palace
H has drawn the shortest straw once again. He must now execute J’s evil, charitable Christmas schemes and visit six households before daybreak in order to save his own behind. See how this lab–potato with no sense of direction fares.