+ Title: The Eye of Horus - Prologue
(Full Title: Heero Yuy and the Eye of Horus)
+ Author: Vinyl Koneko (Emily), roguegirl@att.net
+ Rating: PG-13
+ Couplings: 1x2, 3x4, 13+2, R+1, 5xS, 11+13
+ Warnings: action, language, angst, romance, death, supernatural powers
+ Archive: Want it? Take it. Just give me credit, please.
+ Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Don't own Indiana Jones, either. Both belong to something bigger than I could ever comprehend. ^_^
+ Comments: //Lyrics// and *emphasis* and 'thought' and [flashback], some may not be used in this fic...it's just a heads-up. And keep in mind that just because this is Indiana Jones Gundam Wing-a-mized, it's still in the late 1930s, but I got rid of the Nazis and pretty much all of WWII in general because, you know, Hitler and Treize as heads of power in the same fic might get messy. ::shrug::

Mt. Fuji, Japan

World renown archaeologist Doctor Heero Yuy had been wrong when he thought his vacation to Japan would be relaxing. In retrospect he realized that he never should have mentioned it to Quatre, who upon hearing the news, got an eager light in his aquamarine eyes.

"Since you'll be in the area," he said smoothly, ever the businessman, "I'm sure you won't mind picking something up for me."

Heero should have known that picking something up for Quatre meant he had to go find it, first. The item itself was only a little over three hundred years old, but all it's value was upheld in the valor of its previous owner. The said previous owner was Miyamoto Musashi, a famed swordsman who remained undefeated in all of his sixty-one years of life. Ancient records made narrowing down the katana's possible locations much easier, but when logic concludes that the blade is *in* Fuji-san, the more strenuous part of archaeology is still left to be done.

So now Heero was steadily climbing his way inside the crater of Mount Fuji, not a hint of emotion showing on determined features even though he was mentally relieved that the volcano hadn't been active in over two hundred years. He looked up, squinting Prussian blue eyes in the sunlight to make out the shape of the helicopter that secured the rope he was hanging on. Trowa Barton gave him a thumbs-up from above.

Trowa worked with Heero since the beginning, serving as more than a friend but also supplied any transportation that might be required and kept weaponry around in case OZ decided to come around and get credit for any of their finds.

OZ was the only big problem with archaeology, those days, the organization using any means necessary to gain money, power, and to get their name all over the world. They were more interested in the rare finds that held a more religious sentiment, guaranteeing higher bids when they went to auction the item to museums and private collectors, who often already contributed high sums of money to their status.

Finally reaching the inside of Fuji's crater, Heero jumped off the rope, signaling up to Trowa that he had made it. Reviewing his notebook, Heero saw that he was supposed to find a cave in the lip of the mouth, and that would lead him directly to the famed katana. Everything until then had been easy, it was the potential for traps that was difficult. Last thing Heero needed was to fall into a pit of magma.

According to the notes from the legend, the entrance to the cave was between the teeth of the dragon. Looking around, the young archaeologist could not see anything that resembled a dragon, per se, but there were four jagged pillars of rock with a gap between each pair that vaguely resembled teeth.

The space was cracked, resembling sloppy, handmade bricks all caked together. Heero reached out cautiously to touch one, and it turned to powder under the slight pressure. More confident that the wall was not going to fall over and suffocate him, Heero began to scoop out bigger and bigger gobs of dirt, which, he soon came to realize, was not dirt but volcanic ash. When he finally managed to carve out a space large enough to get through, Heero grabbed for the flashlight on his belt and carefully went forward.

There were no forms of life anywhere inside the cave-like dwelling. It was too cold this high up for anything to want to make the journey, so it was barren, Heero being the only presence to inhabit the space in hundreds of years. A glint of metal out of the corner of his eye caught Heero's attention, and there it was, Miyamoto Musashi's katana. He carefully crept his way to where the blade was resting, knowing well from experience that once the treasure was in sight were the traps more abundant. His hand rested on the hilt, pausing to see if arrows would come flying out of the walls to go right through him, but nothing happened. There was just silence.

Heero smirked smugly to himself. "Well, that was easy enough," he said, strapping the sword to his back. A slight trembling in the room caught his attention, and he barely had enough time to grab the bullwhip at his hip and snap it to a nearby rock when the entire room collapsed around him, sending volcanic dust in all directions, leaving Heero hanging in a void of dust.

He had to hold his breath, the ash affecting his breathing and making him cough heavily. Heero heard a roaring in his ears and thought he was going to pass out from a lack of oxygen when he felt himself being pulled up. Heero opened his eyes in time to see Mount Fuji getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

"You all right?" Trowa said from the cockpit, speaking just loud enough for Heero to hear him over the helicopter's engine.

"Yeah," Heero replied casually, as if nothing had happened. He unstrapped the katana from his back, placing it on the seat beside him. "Although Quatre owes me *big* time for cutting into the time I was supposed to spent relaxing."

Trowa just laughed as they headed back to the United States, Heero joining him in the co-pilot's seat.


End Prologue

A/N: There's a cover at http://www.mediaminer.org/fanart/view.php?id=62807 if you're interested...