The Masks We Wear

by Xarra

Trowa wears masks for a reason, do the others? Meh. I'm rubbish at these summaries. A short old piece. 2x3.

The Masks We Wear

AN: This was written circa 2003... It's an old fic that still works. :)

The sigh was audible in the silent room as the fall of lace dropped across the frost painted window. Silent green eyes burned through the holes in the veil to almost melt the icy flakes that drifted slowly from the slowly dissipating clouds to fall over and around the laughing figures below.

The innocent looking blonde head scrambled away from where brown hair was emerging as the pile of snow perched on the other boy's head melted in the pale sunlight and dripped down the chestnut braid. Diamonds sparkled over the black covered back.

The playful cry of indignant anger could be heard through the glass as the braided boy pounced onto the blonde. A handful of icy whiteness was down the thick neck of the pale blue jumper as he tickled the smaller boy into submission.

Green eyes flickered away from the sight, away from the cheerful brightness his fellow two pilots carried with them without even trying. (Quatre's so bright and cheerful,) he allowed himself to think in the silence emptiness of his mind, (And Duo's so hyperactive, so... alive.) His gaze fell to rest on the shelves in his sparse room where the only personal objects he could truly claimed to own stared back at him.

The cut out eyes of the half masks stared back at him, reflecting his heart in the moulded blankness.

Duo glanced upwards for a split second, a puzzled look in his eyes as one of the curtains in the small safe house fell across the window, hiding whoever had been watching them. (Who?) Before he could analyse his initial reaction of (Heero?) a large armful of wet melting snow was unceremoniously dumped on his head.

"Quatre!" The yelp rang clear in the snow, (Heero can't complain we're being too noisy,) Duo found enough intelligence to mutter mentally, (even he'd admit the snow drifts muffle sound. Well, that's what I'm gonna tell him if he accuses us of compromising his precious mission's safety.) Then the snow started dripping down his back, running in rivulets over his braid and making his back absolutely soaking.

With a cry worthy of Wufei, he launched himself out of the mound he'd been crouched in, leaping towards the blonde pilot with a maniacal grin on his face, "Payback time." He whispered harshly into the other's ear as he scooped up a handful of snow, easily pinning his friend below him.

"Hey, Duo, Duo! Let me up!" But the cries weren't frantic, and Quatre's laugh shone around them as Duo promptly and efficiently started to tickle the small angel mercilessly. "Duo!"

With an evil smile, the handful of icy water was shoved down the pale jumper, the wool soaking up the coldness like a sponge. "Nuh huh. If I have'ta suffer, you're suffering too."

"My jumper!" They continued rolling around, snow and arms flailing in the pale sunlight that dropped through the holes in the grey sky.

"Ya got plenty!"

"It's real wool, Duo!"

But the laughter and teasing from both continued until they collapsed exhaustedly side by side in the snow, the warmth of their exertions holding back the chill.

Quatre broke the silence that dropped to encase them, "What distracted you?"

"Wha?" The Deathscythe pilot knew his friend often saw things that the rest of them missed, but he hadn't expected to be pulled up on this incident.

"You're always aware of everything Duo. I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that."

Duo chuckled, toying with the end of his braid as he gazed up into the sky, raising one knee and crossing his ankle over it in one of his usual deceptively relaxed poses. "Oh, that," the hand holding the braid gestured dismissively, "I just thought someone was watchin' us from the house."

Quatre's wide eyes turned to look at Duo's cheerful face, "Oh." But his blue eyes were puzzled, (He shouldn't have been distracted that easily…)

"Don't worry 'bout it. I'm sure it was just Heero checkin' up on us. You know how he gets when there's a mission on the horizon." A shrug dismissed the conversation, and the familiar light of that occurred when an idea that Heero probably wouldn't approve of struck. "Wanna make snow angels or snow men? Hey, or snow Gundam pilots!"

The small blonde answered the light with a bright smile and a soft giggle, "We could make snow OZ members and throw snowballs at them." He added sweetly to the list of suggestions.

"Quatre, you've got a true evil streak!" Duo laughed, nodding enthusiastically, "I like it!" Grabbing his friend's hand, he leapt up with his characteristic ease and determination, before dragging the unresisting Sandrock pilot to the door, "First we need supplies tho'."

"Supplies?" Quatre squeaked as he was half dragged after the slightly more athletic boy.

"Can't have a Colonel Une without glasses! Otherwise it's a Lady Une!"

Duo stopped dead as he slid into the kitchen, his wet boots making him slip as Quatre barreled into him from behind. "Heero?" The cobalt- eyed soldier was sitting at the large wooden table with a half eaten meal in front of him, lifting a cup of something hot coffee from the smell to his mouth. "If you're down here, who was spyin' on me 'n Quatre?"

"He had time to get down here." The Arabian pointed out, disengaging his face from Duo's back.

"We've been here for the last hour while you've been wasting time." Wufei muttered from the small stove before Duo could pipe up again. "If you want some dinner, you can cook it yourself."

Indignance shone from violet eyes, flaring like a nova as the last of the soup was poured into a bowl and handed to the small shivering blonde with a concerned, "Eat this quickly, then have a shower and change."

"Wastin' time?" The braided pilot threw his hands in the air, halting Quatre's departure with his emphatic annoyance. "Hell, Wu- man, it's not as if there's much /else/ to do 'round here! We might as well have some /fun/!"

"Fun involves freezing to death?" The irritatingly polite olive- skinned boy questioned calmly. "How, quaint, Maxwell."

"Why you…!"

Quatre's eyes flickered nervously between his now standing friends, the sweet blue depths holding a tint of icy fear. "Please, Duo, Wufei, stop it. Please!"

"Hn." Heero pushed up from the table, his glare at the arguing pair shattering the sharp air of tension that held them. "Duo, if you're so bored you need to turn to frozen water for pleasure then you can join me on the next mission."

Duo's eyes lit up with a manic light, the purple-blue becoming darker and deeper. "Really? Oh, man, that'd be great!" His head tilted to one side, all thoughts of Wufei and food fading like the remaining snow on his hair. "What's the mission?"

"Simple reconnaissance. Maybe attacking a base." The monotone voice from the doorway answered.

"I thought I was going Heero."

"It's more logical for Deathscythe with its cloaking against radar to partner me. Heavyarms isn't a stealth suit."

The single bang hid the forest-green eyes as Trowa lounged in the doorway, the athletic body resting against the doorframe, one leg bent, and the sole of his foot on the white frame. A simple silent nod accepted the Wing pilot's words and he turned to go back upstairs.

(That was close.) Duo half panted, half grinned as he reached the small cupboard that was newly dubbed his room, resting one hand on the cool doorknob and leaning his forehead and arms against the dingy cracked wood for a moment. (Note to myself: Stay out of 'Fei´s way for a few days.) But he just hadn´t been able to resist teasing the straight-laced pilot, having picked up on the meaning of 'onna´ during their excessively long missions together, and having been looking for an opportunity to use it against the Chinese boy.

"Hey, at least I gotta mission outta it!' he reminded himself brightly, knowing that the likelihood of Heero and Quatre allowing him and Wufei in the same vicinity now was as likely as Heero following through his threat to kill Relena. Not very.

With a stretch, relaxing the muscles in his back that still needed convincing that no one was going to shoot him from downstairs, he started to open the door. The hinges screeched their usual symphony of complaints and impulsively Duo decided that enough was enough. It was bad enough during the day, but suffering the wing pilot´s threats and glares at 2am when all you wanted was to go to the bathroom was getting a little ridiculous. Though it had /almost/ been worth it to see Quatre in his fleecy pastel blue pyjamas ("They were a Christmas present from the Maganacs!') and Trowa in just crumpled forest green sweats, his hair limp, falling into his matching eyes, covering his expression at the sight of the Deathscythe pilot, braid loose and falling apart around his waist and loose black boxers.

Spinning around, his braid almost obscured the flash of green and brown that ducked into a doorway down the hall, and he shrugged, taking off down the stairs again in the opposite direction to the small garage to hunt out a can of oil. "Door. You need any oil, Trowa?' he shouted in way of explaination behind him, not expecting any answer as he dashed off.

"No. I don´t need anything.' The slender Heavyarms pilot whispered as the excitable boy flew around out of sight. "I can´t need anything.' He turned back into his sparse room, closing the door, not even allowing the sigh to pass out.

The empty room comforted him, the only personal items, his circus masks, rested on a shelf, and the small trunk of clothes at the foot of the bed. The only jarring note was the bright cover of a book of poetry he´d borrowed off Wufei. (I can´t need anything…) Collapsing onto the bed fluidly, he picked the slim volume up, flicking through it, not really registering any of the words. (I am Trowa Barton. I am Gundam Pilot 03. I am no-name…) The familiar litany ran through his mind, reassuring him, recentering him.

Duo´s door creaked outside as the running footsteps announced his friend´s return. "Hey, Trowa, you know where Heero put the oil he uses on Wing?'

"It´s probably still in the cave next to where we left the Gundams. With the rest of the toolkit.'

"Oh, man!' The groan was audiable, and footsteps approached his haven before the familiar cheerful grin launched itself around the door. "Heero´ll kill me if I interrupt his 'beauty´ sleep again!'

"Then don´t go to the bathroom tonight.'

Duo rolled his eyes, stepping into the room, his eyes darting around, taking in the emptiness. "That´s too /easy/!' he complained, bouncing down on the bed next to the Latin boy, whose shock at the abrupt action was evident in the dark eyes. "Way, way too easy!'

Trowa stood up suddenly, causing Duo to overbalance as the bed creaked, "I´ll go and fetch the oil for you.'

"Nah, don´t bother, I´ll go myself later.'

"You´ll forget.'

Violet eyes clashed with a single emerald, before Duo shrugged, backing down. "Ya know, I don´t understand you Tro, you´re always so frikking quiet. Even this room is bloody impersonal! Don´t you have anythin´ better to do, like, maybe, enjoy yourself?'

The green gaze slid away to rest on the accusing masks, "No. I´m fine.' The slim pilot took the few steps towards them, reaching out to caress the icy plaster.

Duo´s mind raced, watching the pilot carefully, how the elegant fingers stroked the impassive material like it was the smoothest flesh of a long lost lover, how the focused eyes ran over the neatly perfect edges of the white sculptures and made his descision with his characteristic impusiveness. "What´s that saying? 'Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside´?'

He succeeded in gaining a stone-cold impassive glance from underneath the hair´s shadows, which cracked slightly under the silent amythst gaze that shone from a suddenly serious face.

"I´m not a clown any longer, you know that.'

"Did I say I was talking about you?' The brightness had faded from the lively voice, leaving a tone more suitable to the braided boy´s namesake, the god of death. The black-clothed boy took the few controlled steps across the room to stand facing his friend. One hand lifted silently, the open midnight stare caressing sheltered forest eyes as the hand drifted up across a pale cheek, barely touching the delicate skin. "You´re not the only one who hides within yourself.'

(What is he saying? Duo?) The expression never changed, but Trowa could feel puzzlement slipping into his eyes as the Deathscythe pilot´s fingers skitted like butterflies across his flesh, throwing his hard-won control into confusion. Before he could collect his thoughts enough to speak, the purple eyes flew into life again, the braid flying in the air as Duo twisted away towards the door, the moment shattered.

"I´ve decided,' he paused dramatically, "Heero can be woken up again. It´s too /cold/ to be trudging around retrieving the oil. Thanks for the offer tho´!'

(What?) Trowa could only stare after the bouncing retreating back, still caught up in the feel of the American´s words and touch. (What is he saying? He…)

Outside, Duo once again found himself resting his head his damaged wooden door, his heart pounding as fast and loud as gunfire. (What in the seven hells possessed you, Maxwell?) he berated himself angrily, the familiar cheerfulness starting to slip back into his thoughts unconsiously. (What in all the /hells/ did you go and do that for? Fuck knows we don´t need another known manic depressant in this team. Trowa doesn´t need to know you, of all people, has major problems!)

The feel of his wet clothes and braid finally soaked into him, and thoughts of baths and showers drifted up from the mists of rationality before he could rant at himself any more. With a loud sigh of exasperation, at himself and the world in general, he dragged the door open, pointedly ignoring the creak, and went in, undressing as he closed the door behind him again.

A single green eye watched as the door closed.

It was the door creaking open that roused Duo from dreams that scattered like the breeze. The shadows closed around him in familiar comforting darkness, save for the shaft of moonlight that fell through the window and tumbled to the floor. "Heero? Wufei?" It would be just like the Chinese boy's sense of justice to disturb his peaceful night's rest in return for his early waking of last night.

Silence responded.

Now a little more panicked, the American levered himself up, reaching for the gun in his bedside drawer. "I'm warnin' you, whoever you are, it ain't nice to…"

His words faded like his dreams as the sharp sillouette in the darkness resolved itself into a slim shape, familiar hair flopping over familiar eyes. The moonlight accented the whiteness of the half- mask that caressed the pale skin, the colours grey in the darkness. Even the green fire in the eyes had been extinguishished to a black flame, the expression mourning some unfanthable loss.

Those eyes lifted to meet Duo's own, the thin soft lips wet with nervous swipes of the tongue. "I'm not the only one?"

"Oh man…" Duo's voice tried to form the joking, teasing language and failed, the seriousness of his friend pushing all the pretense away. (I can't /do/ this, I… I can't!) his mind protested weakly, (He can't see me…) But his hands strayed unbidden to the hair tie holding his thick braid, and slipped it out. With practise borne of long ease, he unravelled the silken strands, not commenting when Trowa leaned in to help remove the few remaining knots, before leaning back into the moonlight. "You're not the only one." He whispered, reaffirmed, watched the pain die a little in the other's eyes, felt the pain grow a little in his heart. He bowed his head, letting the lose hair fall around his face, "This is my mask."

"Your hair?" The surprised tone made a small smile dart across Duo's lips.

"It's all that remains from the real Duo Maxwell. The one who became Shinigami. I play his role to hold back the pain and dying that I have caused. To hold back the darkness within me."

Trowa's hand reached out, and violet eyes flew upwards with fingers to bat the Latin boy away, stopping hesitatingly as the slender musician's touch brushed away the long strands. "You mask yourself by yourself. I mask myself with another." The fingers wrapped themselves slowly in the chestnut fall.

"I… My name isn't really Trowa Barton." Before Duo could pull away, the cool impassive voice continued. "I'm Nanashi, No-Name. I… Heavyarms was… given… to me, and I took the name from the previous owner." His free hand stroked the mask he wore outwardly, the burning eyes still holding Duo captive. "These masks are all I have that are truly mine to wear."

"And, what do you look like, Nanashi?" The name was spoken softly, Duo unwilling to break the midnight spell with shock. The hand clenched around the fragile mask, lifting it off to reveal the oh so familiar face, "And this is the only other thing that is mine. My face, my voice, are mine, but my thoughts, they must follow a path that /I/ may not wish for."

Fingers convulsed in the thick hair, and Duo's hand grasped his friend's wrist tighter than necessary to ease up on the tension. "None of us have thoughts of our own. Heero is so damn mission orientated, you think that's because he wants to think that way? Wufei and his obsession with /integrity/ and /justice/, maybe he's got a reason to need to fight for them, and I guarantee you it's not bloody because he woke up one day and thought it'd be /fun/." The hissed words cut off abruptly as he saw the hurt in the other's eyes. "God, Trowa. We all wear masks. We must to survive."

"We all, wear masks?" The Latin boy's voice was soft, as he turned to look out the window, not meeting the piercing gaze. "But, you all have homes, Quatre has his company, Heero has Relena…"

"And Wufei /had/ his clan, I /had/ my Church." Duo pointed out, the harshness counterpointing the other's quietness. "You have us, Trowa. You have me."

Trowa's eyes flew back towards Duo, the amazement plain in his eyes.

"We all have each other. Hell, none of the others know about my mask, and I don't think they'd wanna, but I thought you might wanna to know, make you feel better. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to sleep."

The green eyes blinked as Duo pulled away, out of his now loose grasp, curled back under the covers, rolling over and buried his head in the pillow. Then one finger reached out to stroke the hair that spread like a cloak across the blanket, before he leaned down to place a soft light kiss on the younger boy's head.

"Thank you." he whispered, turning to go.

The rustle of the covers stopped him, and Duo's voice stroked across his ears, "Why'd you kiss me, Trowa?"

"To say thank you."

"But you said that."

The black shape half turned, the face re-entering the moonlight. "My words mean nothing."

"Aw, hell, Trowa!" The exclaimation started loud, fading abruptly in the darkness as Duo scrambled out of the bed. "And your kiss does?"

"My body is mine to give."

It was only when Duo's face was illumiated by the moonlight, the tear tracks shone on his cheeks. Trowa lifted his hand helplessly to touch the wetness, starting to lean in to place his lips on them.

"No. No, Trowa, Nanashi, whoever the hell you are. Not as a thank you, or apology." The usually cheerful voice almost shook with the emotion. (No, I can't, not with Trowa, I can't really care, can't let him in. Oh God, last time I cared that much, last time I let people /in/, he's too fragile, oh God…) "Your words hold enough meaning for me."

"Then accept this not as a thank you or apology, but for comfort for both of us," Trowa murmured, his façade of indifference shattering and melting under Duo's haunted stare as he leaned in to touch his lips to an unresisting American's.

Duo blinked, then blinked again, trying to link the feel of Trowa's lips with the fact that he was awake. The other boy pulled back, the impassive mask dropped again over his eyes, only a glisten of sadness in the emerald depths.

"I'm sorry, Duo."

It was then that Duo realised that throughout that kiss he hadn't moved, hadn't even responded to the most simple of movements and touches. Was it any wonder the slim brown-haired boy was backing off with veiled disappointment? Before the latin boy could turn tail back to his room, he spoke softly, coaxing his friend's eyes back to his gaze. "No, I'm sorry, Trowa." A hand shot out to prevent the other from taking that sentence the wrong way as well, and then it was his turn to touch unmoving lips.

Trowa reacted. A gasp expelled from his mouth, the breath mingling with Duo's as the American wrapped his arms around him, his hair wrapping around them in a chestnut cloak. For a long moment they just revelled in the touch of flesh against flesh, then Duo's tongue challenged his partner, and the questing, tender, age-old battle for supremecy began.

When they broke for air, Trowa brushed lithe fingers down over Duo's cheeks, smoothing out the remains of the tear tracks, trailing under the chin. "So, this is the real Duo Maxwell…" he murmured, searching the wide open amysthst eyes, memorising the soft look his friend bestowed on him.

Duo's hand reached up to entwine with Trowa's. "Nuh huh. This is part of the real Duo Maxwell." The gaze darkened, became haunted, as shadows drifted across it. "But not all of him by a long way." He closed his eyes, forcing the memories back, shoving them violently behind the mental screen. The cries of war, the screams echoing in mobile suits, his… his pleasure in it.

Then pleasure swept over him from outside himself, as Trowa took him in his arms, pulling his against his chest, enclosing him in strong arms. With a suddenly contented sigh, the memories receded reluctantly, and he returned the embrace, nuzzling against the bare chest. He felt the taller boy rest his chin on his hair, and heard the deep breath that was the result of the scent of his pineapple-and- orange shampoo drifting upwards.

The outward breath tickled across his hair and ears, and he looked upwards, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "God, Trowa..." Before he could apologise further, he found a finger firmly covering his mouth, and his legs being propelled back to his bed.

"Get into bed." The impassivity was still there, but emotion flickered through the green eyes as Trowa's face passed through the moonlight, the physical mask now lying forgotten on the floor.

Duo curled his legs back under the bed covers, the bed springs creaked slightly, Trowa collapsing his slender form onto the aged mattress as the American wiggled about, getting comfortable. He was silent, waiting for the Heavyarms pilot to speak as the twitches in the long jaw predicted.

"I'd better go back to bed." Trowa's tight grasp on the bedspread contradicted the softly spoken words. "You have a mission tomorrow. I'm grateful that we could have this talk..."

"Fuck the talk." Duo's voice was equally soft, but infinitately more passionate, one hand darting from beneath the covers to cover the Latino's clenching hand. "You proved to me that I can still be who I used to be. And you've been more open in the last five minutes than you have in five /months/!"

With a sigh, the intensity dropped from Duo's face, and his hand drifted up and over his friend's face, pushing back the bang so he could meet the two eyes equally. "Thank /you/, Nanashi." Leaning foward, he gave the other pilot a gentle kiss, hardly daring to push for anything more than a friendly touch.

"Not for apology or thank you." Trowa whispered, pulling back.

(Was that... humour?) Duo thought irrationally as he answered with a familiar smile, "No, as comfort and friends." There was no resistance as his hair fell around them.

The kiss lasted a long moment, and Duo was very grateful that he'd only ever worn boxers, finding pyjamas too hot and uncomfortable. How Quatre could wear fleece he'd yet to figure out. The lack of clothing over their chests meant their hands had free range to stroke and massage as their mouths caresses and teased. He gave in gracefully as Trowa's tongue darted with characteristic suppleness into his mouth, and sucked it gently, wrapping his own around it like a snake.

When they broke for air, Trowa's face was open and vunrable, mirroring, Duo knew, his own, and he watched the features in awe, memorising them before they shut back down into the familiar mask, and he felt his own do the same. "You know, you can't go out now." he grinned, even his voice switching back to the teasing tone. "If Heero heard the door creak /again/..." he trailed off, watching with amusement as the other pilot turned a critically apprasing eye on the offending object.

"I should have got the oil for you earlier." Duo noticed happily that Trowa didn't sound entirely unhappy about being stuck in the same room as him overnight.

Duo allowed a small smile to slip across his lips, breaking the emotionly charged air that crackled around them, but kept his gaze firmly locked with the latin pilot's. "Nah, don't worry 'bout it." The bedclothes rustled as he moved across the narrow bed, making a small amount of room at the side. "I'll make room for ya tonight."

Green glass was hidden before it could shatter, the long eyelashes sweeping over Trowa's face before he answered by sliding under the covers. "If you're sure..." he whispered, his breath tickling his friend's ear.

"I'm certain we both need remindin' we're not alone in this damn world." Duo responded, turning to face the other boy, one hand sweeping across the bang of hair that fell into the expressive eyes, baring both of them to his smile. His own hair swept around them in a silken cloak, wrapping themselves in a shelter from the world.

As they fell asleep, the draining emotions pushing them dreamwards, the thin white mask lay in the moonlight where Trowa had dropped it.

The knocking roused Duo from dreams and nightmares of the past, and Heero's voice totally destroyed any hope he had of crawling back into the images of L2 that were slipping from consciousness.

"Duo, is Trowa..."

"I'm here."

To Duo's slight irritation, the reply didn't come from the bed, but to one side, where, once he forced his eyes open, he was treated to the site of a bare-chested Trowa, hair still falling over his face, slipping on tight jeans with a grace he envied.

"Hn." the steel eyes were accusatory, as they took in Duo's current state of almost-nudeness and Trowa's writhing. "What is Trowa doing in your room? We've got a mission to run and you're not even out of bed."

"Hell, Heero," running his hand over his face, his mind protesting vigously against such early morning excersise, Duo forced himself out of the bed. He reached for a t-shirt, and stumbled towards the door as he pulled it on, muttering as his tangled loose hair was pulled. "Me 'n Trowa had a talk last night, we didn' wanna wake ya up, so Tro slept here. My door still ain't fixed."

Before Heero could return fire, Quatre pushed passed the Wing pilot to insert himself in between the two pilots, staring back and forth with mixed confusion and unhappiness. The blonde's eyes turned blue pools onto Heero, but the iron will of the smaller Winner heir was evident beneath the innocence. "Does it really matter, Heero? Duo's awake now and I'm sure he'll be ready for the mission as soon as he gets dressed, won't you, Duo?"

"Er, yeah!"

"And I'm sure Trowa didn't make Duo stay up all night, and I'm sure they're not going to do anything to endanger us, so, please leave them alone?"

Colbalt coolness raked over the two half-dressed pilots as the Deathscythe pilot became a minature whirlwind in his preparations, clothes flying across the room without an provocation, hair spray clouding the air, and static electricity crackling through the already tense air. The more sedate acrobat picked up the clothes that were being scattered everywhere, neatly dancing around Duo, starting to neaten the room around him in silence. "Hn. As long as it doesn't affect the mission."

Trowa stopped suddenly at Heero's words, his gaze was caught by the abandoned mask he'd left on the floor in the dream of the night. Lifting it, he caressed it lovingly in his hands, closing his eyes to draw up all the memories that it symbolised for a long moment, before speaking quietly. "I can't hide behind Trowa forever." He stood, and the sound of stone shattering echoed through the safe house.

"Trowa?" Duo's startled squeak caught the silence and ran with it, "What the hell?"

"We all wear masks you said, Duo. I refuse to wear this one any longer."

"Meaning?" Heero's voice was puzzled as he turned back towards the tableau playing out in the room, Quatre starting forward towards his friend.

With a rare smile, the Heavyarms pilot spoke quietly, "I'm not going to hide any longer. I'm not going to let outside forces influence my own descisions. Not here, with you, any of you, any longer." He sighed, closing his eyes, "Maybe if I can drop my mask... you'll follow. Quatre's so strong beneath his softness, Heero, even you have emotions, and Duo, you really are alive," his voice cut off abruptly to swallow, "Even Wufei is gentle and... I... need to know I'm not alone."

When he shook his head, darting a painful look of longing towards Duo, and ran out the room, no one stopped him, frozen in place by the long speech - and truthful words.

Duo fingered his still loose hair as his whisper once again broke the silence, "Give us time, Tro." He looked up with a shadowed gaze, and met the startled emotion in Heero's eyes, and the quiet resolve in Quatre's. But maybe the masks were already breaking... He just hoped they didn't explode in their faces. "Thank you, Nanashi."

"Nanashi?"

"Let me explain over breakfast, we've got time for breakfast haven't we? ...Look, Heero, I'm not gonna pilot 'Sycthe on an empty stomach, no way, no how..." Duo's chatter continued loudly down the hall as the problem of convincing Wufei to cook pancakes after the 'onna' comment became the priority of the moment. Only glittering green eyes caught the soft smile and wink holding promises of the future.