Note: I wrote this back in my GW obession phase. I've since cooled as far as the series went, but I don't believe I ever posted this fic here. So I'll subject you guys to it since I love Hilde. And it goes without saying I love Duo.
"What do you /mean/ this skirt is too short?" I sneer, attempting to look menacing despite my dimunitive frame.
Eyebrows raising, Duo Maxwell, my business partner and best friend, lowers the papers in his hand. "That's not a skirt. That's a piece of cloth tied on with a string."
I all but bare my teeth at him. "And you're suddenly the expert on skirts?" As soon as the question left my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.
Duo grins. "Maybe. I stare at enough of them."
I could kill him. I could wring his pretty neck and then string him up for decoration. Hilde Schbeiker might not appear as much of a threat, but I'd been a soldier just like Duo and I know how to dump someone on their ass just as well as he does. Right now, he was perilously close to getting dumped on /his/.
"Okay, okay. Stop looking at me like that. It's a good skirt if you want men salivating all over you," he acquiesces, and then frowns momentarily down at the papers in his hands, as if he's not satisfied with their content. Probably bills.
"Just like a man to take that perspective. What makes you think I'm wearing this for anyone? I might be wearing this for myself."
He looks at me then, and for a moment, his expression is serious. "That look doesn't suit you."
I'm about to answer him, when he smiles, reaches out, and pats my head. "Have a good time. I've got to balance the books before I give in and decide to be lazy."
Gritting my teeth, I resist the urge to pick up the closest object and hurl it at his head. Why does he have to treat me like a kid sister, like a child? To him, I'm most likely nothing more than a little girl playing dress-up in her mother's clothing. A little girl, old enough to drink and old enough to know that when a man's butt looks as good in jeans as his does, and /I/ notice, I was no longer so little.
"Whatever," I mutter. "Don't wait up. Who knows. I might find someone to go home with," I add blithely, knowing damn well I wouldn't. I'm not that stupid, first of all, and second of all, I was too busy mooning over someone I couldn't have.
"If you don't come home, I'm coming after you," was his answer, his tone light. I don't glance back at him. I know he's joking. I'm forever telling him I can take care of myself, aren't I?
I leave him to his bills and manage to get outside. The girls are already waiting for me and we carry on with mindless chatter the entire ride to the club. This was supposed to be fun, but I already just want to be home with Duo, even if it means doing the books with him. I want to do everything with Duo, but the chances of that happening are about as fantastic as me actually developing hips.
As soon as I'm inside the club I know it's a mistake. It's entirely too dark and the smoke overwhelms me so much that I almost turn around and walk back out. But the girls are excited and they shove me forward, wasting no time in heading for the bar. I order a Long Island, but I only sip at it. It's entirely too strong and I don't unintentionally want to go home with someone. Though it would be amusing if Duo really /did/ come after me.
"Stop being an idiot," I chastice myself. "He was joking."
"Talking to yourself isn't healthy."
Startled, I jerk my head up to meet the gaze of an attractive man holding his own drink. I should smile, but I don't want to encourage him. Which makes me an overly /large/ idiot, since it isn't as if I'm attached or will be in the near future.
"Probably," I venture cautiously, and sip my drink again, hoping that will be enough to discourage him. It isn't. He sits down.
"I shouldn't ask you before you've even finished your drink, but do you want to dance?"
"Ah-" but I'm interrupted by one of my friends.
"Of course she does!" And she jerks me up, all but shoving me at him. Amused, he holds out his hand. I'm forced to take it, but not before glaring at her.
The song is slow, but I try not to dance too close to him. I'm not interested, and only listen to his conversation with partial concentration. I keep thinking about how I'd rather be here with Duo. I'm so caught up in the fantasy that I could be holding him instead, that I almost don't notice when a hand slides down my back and cups my butt through my skirt. Blinking, I look up. He's attempting to look down my shirt.
Without hesitation, I stamp on his toes with the spike of my heel and ram the edge of my palm into his chin. His head snaps back, teeth clicking together.
"Asshole," I smirk, leaving the floor. I can't find all of the girls, so I tell the one I do find I'm getting the hell out of here. Now. I'm going home to nurse my anger at males in general over ice cream.
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Without thought for whether or not Duo's asleep, I slam the front door. Throwing my purse somewhere in the vicinity of the living room, I stalk into the kitchen as well as anyone can on three inch heels. I'm only momentarily startled to see Duo. He's up eating /my/ ice cream, and he pauses in mid-dip, blinking sleepily at me.
Slamming myself down on the barstool so hard I expect to hear a crack, I snatch the ice cream from him without asking and make sharp, jabbing motions with my free hand, puncuated by glares. I'm so furious right now, both at myself and the idiots at the club, that I can't speak. Reluctantly, he relinquishes his spoon to me and I jam it into the unsuspecting mint chocolate chip.
After a few violent stabs wherein I cause Duo to cringe, I point the confiscated spoon entirely too close to him and open my mouth, only to close it again. I can finally see through my furious haze, and I realize that all he has on is his boxers. Why now, of all times, does he have to be in the kitchen in his boxers? It's as if some higher being is laughing at me; because he looks so damn good, and he would never notice me.
I can tell he's struggling with himself. He wants to ask me to go on and say it, but at the same time he wants to leave me alone. After living with me for five years, he knows how ridiculous I can get once I start ranting. I can't help my temper, I suppose. I think it's the German in me. Or that's just a cop out.
Curiosity wins. "What's up Hilde?"
"Men are all butt-grabbing, breast-ogling morons!" I fume, and jam my spoon back into the ice cream, transfering my rage to it as if it was at fault.
Duo nods. I'm not sure if he was afraid to disagree, or if he was still half-asleep.
I shouldn't have went. That environment wasn't me and neither was this outfit. Thinking about it only makes me ill. Thick, smoky darkness broken by strobe lights and the deafening pulse of music. Air a heady mix of perfume, sweat, and sex--bodies moving together in synchronous motion as they imitated what was to come. It was about forgetting who you were and pretending to be someone you weren't. I'd never been very good at that.
"You should've taken me," Duo breaks into my thoughts, yawning as he attempts to get some ice cream with his newly acquired spoon. My gestures are quick and angry as I wave my hands around, making it difficult for him. I shouldn't have to have a male bodyguard for anything. For him to suggest it only makes me further irate.
He's pouting now, but I'm going to pretend I don't notice. All this time I've lived with him, and he still hasn't realized how completely his every movement affects me. But I ought to be used to it. The one man I /want/ to grab my butt and he could care less.
"This was a ladies night out with a couple of friends," I inform him, stabbing my spoon chest level. "Besides, I don't /need/ your protection."
"I meant, /I/ would've shown you what dancing was without grabbing your butt or staring at your chest," he explains, finally moving to the freezer to take out another carton of ice cream.
Watching the muscles of his back shift as he turns, I bite my bottom lip and stare into the carton I stole from him. I might've asked him had he not made me so angry earlier. But then I would've been forced to watch him dance with woman after woman, employing that effortless charisma and offering them all his smile. By the end of the night, they would all believe he was going to take them home with him. And I wouldn't dance with him at all because I was simply too afraid to let him touch me.
God, why did he always have to look so good?
"Hilde?"
I jerk my head up, stare into Duo's bemused face, so close to mine. And swallow hard.
"You okay? You're looking kinda flushed. Drink too much?" He grins knowingly.
Forced to stare directly into his eyes, I don't speak at first. He has beautiful eyes, that give so much away and hold so much back.
Now appearing concerned, he tries again, "Hilde?"
"Ah... Yeah. Yeah, that's it." I stumble from my stool, teeter on the ridiculous heels I let one of my girlfriends talk me into, and crash into the counter, jarring my hip.
He laughs at me, shaking his head so that his thick braid, laced with reds and blondes, falls over one shoulder. "You really are drunk, babe."
Babe. How easily the endearment comes from his lips when it means hardly anything at all. All at once, I'm furious again.
Eyes narrowing, I snap. "Don't do that."
"Do what?" He's puzzled again.
"Call me that. I don't appreciate it."
He shifts, rolling his shoulders in what seems to be an uncomfortable gesture. "I don't understand. It's never bothered you before. I don't mean anything by it, Hilde. I'm not trying to insult you."
But all I can hear is 'I don't mean anything by it, Hilde', and the anger grows into hurt, pulling me into a dangerous area as aggressively insiduous as quicksand. Why does he open up his beautiful mouth and say the most stupid things?
"You just did," I say, my hands, my words trembling as I turn and hurry from the room before he can say another word.
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Scrubbing furiously at my face to remove all traces of make-up, I glare at my reflection. I should've left well enough alone. I should've just told him good night and went to bed. Why, out of all the times that he's called me that, did it have to matter? I'm such an idiot. Why mess up a wonderful friendship over something as miniscule as that?
"Dammit." I jerk the string out of my halter and pull it over my head, flinging it in a fit of anger, not caring where it lands. The skirt goes next, much in the same fashion.
I stop then, and stare at my reflection. Slim doesn't even begin to describe me. I'm practically skin and bones. My breasts are non-existant so I don't know why I give a shit whether some pervert stares at something that isn't there. If I had any less I'd be flat. I sigh, sliding my nightgown over my head, knowing that none of this is ever likely to change. Even if it did, I doubt Duo would notice. He sees me as a sister he needs to protect. He won't notice that I'm a woman, not just another person, just another friend.
Sitting down hard on my bed, I realize I have to stop this. I can't keep doing this to myself. Pressing my fingers to my eyes until I can see nothing but white, I'm startled to feel tears sleeping between them. It must be hormones. I'm not crying over Duo. I'm not.
The knock on the door startles me, and I almost tumble off the bed.
"Hilde?" It's Duo, sounding unusually quiet.
If I say nothing and hold my breath, maybe he'll think I'm not in here and go away.
"Hilde. Dammit, open the door." Now he sounds frustrated.
Giving up the pretense of not being here, I sigh. "No. Go away."
A moment of silence, and then, "That's hardly fair. Something is up, and I hate thinking I did it."
If only he knew he did it every day without meaning to.
"Listen, if you don't open this door, I'm going to pick the lock. If you're naked, don't say you weren't warned."
Unable to help myself, I laugh.
"There. That's better. Now open the door."
He isn't going to let go of this one. I might've felt less threatened had I not known he /could/ and /would/ pick the lock. So I was merely stalling the inevitable. Knowing that, I quickly wipe at my eyes in the hopes I wouldn't look like I'd been crying like a baby, and stand. Taking a breath, I unlock the door and pull it open.
There he stands. Still in his boxers, still the same Duo, looking at me with concern. Had his dearest friend gone over the bend? Only over him.
"Have you been crying?" He advances, raising his hand, frowing severely now. "Did I do that? I'm sorry, I never-"
I hold up my hand. "It's nothing. Just hormones," I add, uncomfortable with the proximity.
His hand drops at his side. "Ah..."
We stand now, staring at one another in heavy silence. One of us is supposed to say something, I'm sure, but the moment is awkward and I can't find the words. I want to retreat to my bed and drown out the sudden, intense longing with sleep. I know I'm a coward. It's better to be a coward, however, than to lose your best friend. So I pretend my heart isn't battering against my ribs as if contemplating escape, that my palms aren't sweaty, aren't itching to touch him.
Something changes without asking my permission. Duo's expression softens, and I swear his eyes have never been bluer. I feel as if I'm falling into them, as if I'm being swallowed whole. There's a faint, insistent buzzing sound in my ears as I take a hesitant step forward, not knowing what I'm doing entirely. Why is he looking at me like that? More to the point, why am I so close I could lay my head on his shoulder?
He smells of soap, honey, and ice cream. Such a sweet combination, that I want to wind my arms around his neck and rub my cheek against his chest. I'm close enough, I could undo his braid, tangle my fingers in his hair. There's enough of it, I could almost cover my entire body. The thought of being covered by Duo and his hair has me suddenly hugging myself as I jerk in reaction. I feel like I'm ice caught afire.
"Hilde..." his voice catches on the 'e'. My God. I've been staring at him like... Like I don't want to imagine.
He reaches for me. If he touches me, I know I'll break.
I skirt around him, hurrying from my room. "I'm going to... use the bathroom."
But his arm snakes around my waist, hauling me backward with such force that I gasp when I collide with him. I forgot how quick he is.
"You can't look at me like that and run away." Before I can answer, he's whirling me around.
His lips are on mine, warm and demanding, forcing my mouth open so that I taste him. I want to struggle, to fight him and shove him away, but my legs have gone weak and mind numb. My arms are rubbery as I lift them to wind around his neck and my hands won't obey me. They wrap around his braid anyway and vaguely, through the heat, I hear a moan. I think it was me.
"Jesus," he murmurs when he drags his mouth away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to attack you."
"I..." I'm still stunned, and can only stare at him drowsily.
There's regret in his expression and the sight of it has my eyes stinging again, pleasure fading as the cold weight of reality settles in. I can't bear to have him tell me he shouldn't have done that.
"Wait."
I struggle. "Let me go."
"We need to talk about this."
"No! I'm not going to listen to you tell me you regret anything, Duo. So just let me go and we can forget all about it."
"The hell I will. Because I don't regret a damn thing, and I'm /not/ going to forget it. You can pretend whatever you want, Hilde, but things have changed between us."
I'm outright crying now. "I don't want things to change, Duo. I don't want us to stop being friends."
He looks as if I've slapped him. "Please, stop... Don't cry, baby," he's panicking now, and if I wasn't feeling torn up inside, I might be laughing at how comical it is.
"Just let me go..." I manage, averting my face.
"I can't do that," he answers quietly. "Because I've dreamed too often of holding you like this, and now that it's a reality, I can't let go."
Jolted out of my self-pity, I stare up at him in amazed shock. It can't be possible that he's wanted me as badly as I wanted him. For a moment, I hold my breath in fear that Duo would suddenly say 'Psyche! Fooled you!' and life would go on as it had. But he doesn't. He stares at me, naked emotion plain in his beautiful, earnest face.
Holding him to me tightly, I say softly, "Then please, don't let go."
Slowly, the tension in him ebbs, and he releases a breath. "Does this mean I can hope you feel the same?"
"You don't have to hope. Because I do... I only wish I'd realized you'd felt like me."
"We've got a lot of time to make up for," he agreed.
I glance up at him, smiling as I slowly step out of his embrace, grip the hem of my nightgown, and pull it over my head. His sharp intake of breath tells me he likes what he sees. It dashes any worries I might've had, and gives me the courage to walk back to him, melding our bare flesh. I never realized something so simple could feel so good.
His hands trace the length of my spine, curve beneath my buttocks, and pull me up and to him. Releasing an unsteady breath, I begin to unwind his braid. I want to indulge in my fantasy. He moves, once, twice, and weak, I tangle my hands in his hair and let my head fall on his shoulder. Backward. I just want to fall backward and lose myself in him.
"Take me to bed," I hear myself tell him.
"Hilde-"
"You aren't going to argue with me, are you, Duo Maxwell? Because I could make your life hell."
He laughs. "Never heard a woman tell a man she was making his life hell for /not/ taking her to bed before."
"Then you'd better carry me, because my legs aren't working."
Lifting me effortlessly, he lays me down on my bed with care, as if he's afraid I'll break. Bereft of warmth and suddenly self-conscious, I reach up to wrap my arms around me. The bed dips and his hands are on my arms, gently tugging them down.
"Don't," he says softly. And then his fingers smooth along my ribcage, rising higher to mold my breast as if he's an artist appreciating his own work. The expression on his face when I turn to look at him, is one of wonder and reverence.
"Duo..." I lift my arms out for him and he smiles, gathering me to him. I sigh then, resting my cheek against his chest. "We didn't turn out the lights."
"Don't. I want to see you."
I feel my face color. "That-"
"Is exactly how it should be," he responds gently, rubbing his thumb along my cheek.
Closing my eyes, I surrender. I didn't lose my best friend. I gained a lover.