Disclaimer applies.
Note: I guess this has little point-I just felt like writing this. Please review.
A Year Later
Duo sat alone in his room, his back to the door, his eyes downcast, focused on something in his hands. Quatre peered at him through the barely open door, concern showing plainly on his pale face.
Duo's shoulders shook slightly and he beant forward further, yet he made no noises. Quatre's expression deepened, and he quietly pushed the door open.
At the slightly sound of the wooden door running over the thick green carpet, Duo straightened, turning to face the intruder. Quatre stared back at him with ill-concealed worry.
"Hello, Duo," the angelic Arabian said, stepping further into the room without invitation. He carefully pushed the door closed behind him and walked over to sit beside Duo on the carefully made bed.
"Hello Quatre." Duo smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes, which remained meloncholy and far away. He turned slightly, slipping whatever had been in his hands under a knee where Sandrock's pilot couldn't see it. "What can I do for you?"
Quatre studied Shinigami's expression carefully-the false smile, the stiff cheeks all held some clue of remorse. "Actually," the young man said, drawing his knees up and giving Duo a serious look. "I wanted to talk to you."
Duo spread his arms. "So talk,"
"About Heero." Immediatly, the other pilot's expression dropped, dispite his attempts to hold it. Quatre leaned forward and placed a hand on the black clad pilot's shoulder, as the other's head began to droop slightly. "I know you miss him," the blond began softly. "We all do. Things won't ever be the same without him," Quatre trailed off momentarily, uncertain of what he was getting at. "I guess what I'm saying, is that if you ever need to talk, I'm here."
Duo gave the small boy a valient attempt at a smile, though Quatre's words had done nothing to ease the ache in his heart. "Thanks a lot, Q-man," he said with more cheer than he felt, hiding behind the small grin he wore. He reached out and patted the other boy on his back. "If I ever feel the need to talk, you'll be the first I come to," he continued, meaning every word.
Quatre stood uncertainly, still watching the other pilot with suspicion and worry. Slowly he nodded. "Of course, Duo." he said, then quietly left the room, leaving Deathscythe's pilot to himself.
Duo let out the breath that had filled his lungs, and felt his false smile evaporate as the other pilot left the room. He moved his knee slightly aside to reveal the small card that lay below it.
With trembling hands, he lifted the card, gently running his hands over the writing that was faded from handling. It was a valentine-not an ordinary valintine with hearts or lace, but a small, black and white card. But it meant just as much to him, it was written with just as much love.
It had been written by Heero, in elegant Japanese script that Duo could translate only in part. Writen for him a year ago, just before Heero's last battle.
Duo could remember the warmth he had felt when he recieved it, the smile he wore as his koi read it to him, translating what he did not understand over a dinner that the stoney pilot had secretly prepared for him.
The dinner had never been finished-it had been interupted by an urgent mission, one that could not be put off. Apologizing quietly, the perfect soldier had gone off, leaving Duo with the small valentine and a half-empty flute of champaine. Heero hadn't returned.
Wing Zero had been destroyed, blown to countless pieces with Heero inside. Duo could remember the pain of loss that he felt-he was still feeling it, even today, a year later.
I warned you that it was pointless.
Note: I guess this has little point-I just felt like writing this. Please review.
Duo sat alone in his room, his back to the door, his eyes downcast, focused on something in his hands. Quatre peered at him through the barely open door, concern showing plainly on his pale face.
Duo's shoulders shook slightly and he beant forward further, yet he made no noises. Quatre's expression deepened, and he quietly pushed the door open.
At the slightly sound of the wooden door running over the thick green carpet, Duo straightened, turning to face the intruder. Quatre stared back at him with ill-concealed worry.
"Hello, Duo," the angelic Arabian said, stepping further into the room without invitation. He carefully pushed the door closed behind him and walked over to sit beside Duo on the carefully made bed.
"Hello Quatre." Duo smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes, which remained meloncholy and far away. He turned slightly, slipping whatever had been in his hands under a knee where Sandrock's pilot couldn't see it. "What can I do for you?"
Quatre studied Shinigami's expression carefully-the false smile, the stiff cheeks all held some clue of remorse. "Actually," the young man said, drawing his knees up and giving Duo a serious look. "I wanted to talk to you."
Duo spread his arms. "So talk,"
"About Heero." Immediatly, the other pilot's expression dropped, dispite his attempts to hold it. Quatre leaned forward and placed a hand on the black clad pilot's shoulder, as the other's head began to droop slightly. "I know you miss him," the blond began softly. "We all do. Things won't ever be the same without him," Quatre trailed off momentarily, uncertain of what he was getting at. "I guess what I'm saying, is that if you ever need to talk, I'm here."
Duo gave the small boy a valient attempt at a smile, though Quatre's words had done nothing to ease the ache in his heart. "Thanks a lot, Q-man," he said with more cheer than he felt, hiding behind the small grin he wore. He reached out and patted the other boy on his back. "If I ever feel the need to talk, you'll be the first I come to," he continued, meaning every word.
Quatre stood uncertainly, still watching the other pilot with suspicion and worry. Slowly he nodded. "Of course, Duo." he said, then quietly left the room, leaving Deathscythe's pilot to himself.
Duo let out the breath that had filled his lungs, and felt his false smile evaporate as the other pilot left the room. He moved his knee slightly aside to reveal the small card that lay below it.
With trembling hands, he lifted the card, gently running his hands over the writing that was faded from handling. It was a valentine-not an ordinary valintine with hearts or lace, but a small, black and white card. But it meant just as much to him, it was written with just as much love.
It had been written by Heero, in elegant Japanese script that Duo could translate only in part. Writen for him a year ago, just before Heero's last battle.
Duo could remember the warmth he had felt when he recieved it, the smile he wore as his koi read it to him, translating what he did not understand over a dinner that the stoney pilot had secretly prepared for him.
The dinner had never been finished-it had been interupted by an urgent mission, one that could not be put off. Apologizing quietly, the perfect soldier had gone off, leaving Duo with the small valentine and a half-empty flute of champaine. Heero hadn't returned.
Wing Zero had been destroyed, blown to countless pieces with Heero inside. Duo could remember the pain of loss that he felt-he was still feeling it, even today, a year later.
I warned you that it was pointless.