AN: This is a story that I fell in love with awhile back. It was removed from Fanfic for some awful reason. I finally found it again and am reposting it just in case anyone else wants to read it. However as I have absolutely no writing talent and no author permission, I will not be completing this. I morn that is seems it will never be finished, but at least we have what we do right?

Following the Dolphins

By: Jay

Chapter 1

I stared at the rather dilapidated house teetering in front of me with a bit of trepidation, cocking my head to meet its slanted sway. That was the safehouse? Didn't look really safe to me. Somebody leaning on it just a bit too hard would probably collapse the whole thing.

And the steps. I eyed them rather dubiously, then gingerly placed a foot on the first. It creaked. Loudly. I pulled my foot back quickly.

Okay. No way was I gonna try walkin' up them and risk breaking my neck. Or fracturing my ankle. Or humiliating myself thoroughly.

I considered leaping the five steps. Calculating the distance from where I stood to the porch was enough to make me discard that idea; I'd rather not miss. Really rather not miss.

Back door? Guarded by these monstrously huge bushes that looked like they'd eat me alive, braid and all.

When I found myself debating between climbing the shack, then dropping down the chimney, and just huddling under the vicious, man-eating bushes for the night, I jerked my thoughts to a screeching stop.

Then, I looked myself straight in the eye, took hold of my nonexistent collar and said firmly, Okay, you are Duo Maxwell. Street rat extraordinaire and self-proclaimed God of Death. Just because you're going to meet four other guys who share the same distinction of being Gundam pilot as you do, does not mean they're going to try to rip you apart or anything. You're going to be cool, you're going to be a guy who they can work with, and you're not going to mess this up.

I groaned. Yep. That was my problem. I mean, me: a skinny, eyes-too-big-to-be-a-guy, hair-too-long-not-to-be-a-girl, orphaned street rat. How could I not mess this up? And I wanted it to work. I really did. I wanted friends, and I...I was afraid I was going to ruin everything.

It didn't help that I already met one of them. And my reaction to him? Heart-stopping terror. As a kid on L2 and a soldier, that kind of fear wasn't really one I was familiar with. I just became kind of numb, really, after seeing everything that the monster that sometimes masquerades in people's skin can do. L2 is really the sewer system of the universe...makes sense that we'd be the filth of the human race. Fear couldn't exist there. You did what you had to do. The rule of life and survival. In fact, most of the time, my fears didn't stick around long after I identified them. Someone once told me that I'd made the phrase, "face your fears," into a freakin' art form.

When I saw him, that night, with the gun, and the girl, I wasn't afraid. No, I was just thinking more along the lines of What the hell is he doing?

And then I saw his eyes. And for a moment, there I couldn't breathe. It just freakin' lodged into my throat, and I knew my heart stopped right then, just for a second. I was so damn scared I couldn't have moved an inch if a freakin' tornado was headed my way. I've never felt that kind of fear before, so, in a pure Maxwell move, I went and shot the guy two times.

I mentally cringed. I'd be lucky if he didn't try to throttle me to death before I was all the way past the doorway.

And as for that whole hospital fiasco...well, I rescued him, I suppose, and helped him break his leg in the process.

Admittedly, I had been rather angry about his burglary of my poor Deathscythe, but I really couldn't blame him. Machines are replaceable, no matter how much you value them. Life is not. Isn't that rather hypocritical of me? I'm a soldier, and I talk about how life is precious. Well, I never said I wasn't hypocritical. Everyone knows my rather twisted little mantra by now: I run, I hide, but I never lie.

At around that point, my thoughts were disturbed by footsteps. Alarmingly close to me. Whipping around, I caught a glimpse of somebody climbing up the steps swiftly, confidently.

Asian, I mentally catalogued. Ponytail. About my height.

And if the steps could take his weight, they could take mine. He probably thought I was some dim-witted idiot, standing and staring at nothing for who knows how long. Yeah, great start you're off to.

Mentally berating myself, I followed his shadow into the house.

Cautiously, I continued further in and claimed a room that appeared empty. There, I dropped my things with a loud thump, and collapsed on the bed. I lay there for a while, rubbing a hand over my face, like I could melt my masks into my flesh if I tried long and hard enough.

After some quiet encouragement to myself, I ventured into the kitchen, only to have the grin that was so much a part of me threaten to collapse at the sight of another Gundam pilot.

And here, I was struck with another new sensation. Maybe it was the fact that he was a good four inches taller, or maybe it was that his eyes, green, I realized, were almost totally hidden under that thatch of brown hair, or maybe it was just that he was so horribly, oddly, silent.

I mean, there's somebody who's just not talking, and somebody who's just plain quiet. This guy carried the silence around him in a shroud, which seemed to say in great big neon signs, quietly of course, to keep away.

And this new feeling? I was feeling timid. Timid! Duo Maxwell, and all that name entails, which I think I've mentioned already, simply does not have timid in his repertoire of emotions.

And so that little voice in my head that makes me do all the crazy things I do popped back up. It's never really far away. I think it practically slavers in wait, ready at a moment's call to order me on another mad stunt. This time, it wanted me to make the guy talk. It didn't like silence anymore than I did.

I wasn't used to this kind of...calm. I needed noise, needed sound, because silence unnerves me, and so I fill the silence with words, fill it until it could burst.

He took a step forward, snapping me from my thoughts, and into action. I flashed him a smile, and stuck out a hand.

"Hey, how're you doin'? I'm Duo Maxwell. Pilot 02." I sort of trailed off after that, when all he did was stare at me from behind his hair.

Right when I was about to withdraw it, he reached out and grasped my hand. Then walked away. And stopped. And said, a bit grudgingly, "Trowa Barton. 03." I get the feeling he doesn't like to open his mouth much.

Well, at least it didn't seem like he hated me on first sight or anything. I just sort of got this neutral feeling. I sighed.

Okay, just two more pilots to meet. Hopefully they'll be more...approachable than the first two.

After exploring the house for a while, and not meeting anyone else, though I kind of hesitated on opening closed doors, I finally just plopped onto a couch and nursed a cup of hot chocolate.

While staring into space and drifting off into a nice nap, I was unpleasantly interrupted from my thoughts of nothing by a rather deep, growly kind of voice.

"Who are you?" The Asian guy from the front porch came around the couch to stand in front of me, and thus, treat me to a suspicious glare.

Yikes. I winced. Who taught this guy manners? Or, sneaking another look at his angry glower, maybe he just doesn't like me. Idly, I wondered why. I hadn't done anything to him. Yet. Sighing mentally, I acknowledged that it was probably the braid. You could tell from one look that he was one of those macho, manly kind of guys who saw my braid as a sign of weakness. And they annoyed the hell out of me.

Unfortunately, I was still struggling to climb from the depths of la-la-land, and unable to muster up just the right amount of rage, so I settled for a healthy dose of indignation.

And even more unfortunately, I didn't really want to get off to a bad start, like I said, and merely said in a drowsy voice, "Duo Maxwell, at your service." I would've given him a bow, but that demanded getting off the couch and I wasn't sure my legs were working yet.

And then, he looked at me with such...astonishment, that I couldn't help cracking a grin. "Yes?" I asked him.

"You're a boy," he accused me. As if it were my fault.

I couldn't help it. I really couldn't. He totally set himself up for it.

I looked at myself in mock surprise. "Why, so I am. How strange."

He stiffened. He knew fully well I was teasing him, and to stave off an oncoming eruption, I said, and quite politely too, "And you are?"

He looked like he wanted to take offense even at that, but couldn't find anything to be angry about, so said stiffly, "Chang Wufei."

"Cool." I offered him a smile, but with a pointed glare, he refused my proffered olive branch, and sat down on a chair. A rather uncomfortable looking chair. And, might I add, as far away from me as possible without leaving the room. Then he set out to ignore me as noticeably as possible.

Well, then. Feeling unaccountably hurt, I went back to hovering in the state between true sleep and wakefulness while contemplating the soporific effects of a warm cup of cocoa, which was quickly cooling, and struggling to not be upset by the actions of the only other occupant in the room.

Sometime later, I dimly noticed Trowa Barton entering the room, and seating himself quietly – of course quietly! – on the floor.

It was only until the last pilot I had not met walked in that I snapped out of my stupor. For a moment, all I could think was, finally, somebody who actually makes a sound when he walks!

Okay, so I kind of slip around too, but it's nice to actually be able to hear someone coming. Relaxes my soldier instincts. As tense as I am, not being able to hear them come and go just tightens at my nerves till they're ready to just crack from the pressure.

And when he walked into view, I wanted to freakin' cry from relief. Luckily, I was able to control myself in front of Mr. Silent and Mr. Moody, but the smile I gave him threatened to freakin' break my face in half. I probably looked like a maniac.

He looked a little surprised, and his eyes lingered a moment on my braid, but smiled shyly back. Yes! A voice in my head crowed triumphantly, and danced a little jig. A response to one of my friendly overtures, and not a negative one, either.

He settled next to me onto the couch, not really close enough to be invading any personal space, but at least he wasn't trying to get away from me like I had just done something really, really, embarrassing. Like I had just vomited on the new, expensive carpet for no reason at all and the big, bad-tempered, and burly owner of the house was coming in.

I was lost in that imagery for a second, and for the first time, someone other than me initiated a conversation. I could have cheered.

"Hi. My name's Quatre Raberba Winner. It's great to meet you." He looked at me hopefully with those big blue eyes. They looked even bigger than mine.

"Duo Maxwell." I grinned. "Finally, some civilized conversation. You wouldn't believe what I've had to deal with here." I rolled my eyes exaggeratedly. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.

Startled, Quatre Winner laughed.

Chang Wufei sent me another surly look. I sighed.

Then we all lapsed into silence. An extremely uncomfortable silence.

I realized, with an odd pounding of my heart, that the last pilot had yet to make his entrance.

And because I was worrying at that irrational fear of mine, and everybody else was lost in their own thoughts, the silence remained unbroken until he walked in.

At the sound of his bag dropping on the floor, my head jerked up, and I was frozen by his eyes once again.

The moment in which his eyes captured mine and seized it seemed interminable though it couldn't have been more than one or two seconds.

Then, his eyes swept past me, to make a scan of the room. And I could breathe once more.

At that moment, I made a decision. I had decided, long ago, that I would not let fear govern my life, and I've become a little obsessed about taking the bull by the horns since.

I vowed that I would not allow H-Heero Yuy to frighten me anymore. No more.

I groaned silently. Gods, even my mind stuttered on his name. That's a bad sign. I would fight this fear, and I would break it.

Easier said than done, though. I considered my options. How could I neutralize the fear he was causing me? That question stumped me for a minute. I reconsidered.

Okay, the better question would be, why am I afraid of the guy? I hadn't yet examined my reasons for this strange fear of mine, just labeled it as totally irrational.

Daring a look at him, I was oddly relieved and disappointed when I didn't feel as if I were falling off a cliff with no bottom to comfort me. Just plummeting. Forever. A slight shudder ran through my body.

Okay, a pretty normal guy, I suppose. Brown hair. He looked a bit Asian, but it would be hard to determine without looking at his eyes. And I wasn't chancing that. In fact, I wasn't even risking looking at his face. He wasn't as tall as I thought he would be. Of course, the times I had seen him, all I remember were the eyes. But I dismissed height as the problem as it's never bothered me before, not even humongous, hulking, practically seven feet tall, three feet wide steroid-using hunks of human flesh. Maybe a little intimidating. Of course, all that did to me was make me mentally flip them off, rather than in reality. After all, they could break me in half, and contrary to popular belief, I do still have a little sense left. So, it's not size. With a yank, I pulled my thoughts back on track.

I didn't get it. What was it that scared me so?

With a start, I remembered blue eyes. And they caught me still. Amazing. I shook my head at myself. Even the memory of them makes my mouth run dry.

Okay, it had to be the eyes. Something about them scared me beyond human understanding. Well, hopefully not beyond human understanding. If I wanted to rid myself of this crippling fear, I had to understand it.

My mental self uncovered his face and took another peek at the eyes. With a squeak, he slapped his hands back.

Ruthlessly, I forced him to take another look. And another. And another. Finally, drained, he just stood and stared at the eyes, still caught in an overwhelming fear, but too tired to hide from it.

I subsided into a brooding silence, as I contemplated those blue eyes. Vaguely, I noted that my heart was pounding madly, and started breathing slower.

Then a voice intruded on my thoughts.

It was him. Heero Yuy. I forced myself to say his name. Heero Yuy.

"I am 01." And with that, and a piercing stare at each of us (I looked down), he left the room. We all stared after him.

"He's a bit...abrupt." Quatre Winner said, his voice tiny in the stifling silence. I guess even Trowa Barton and Chang Wufei were taken aback by hi...Heero Yuy.

You don't say. I must've made some sound...I don't know, a snort or something, because he turned to me, and asked me, "Do you know him?"

Cautiously, I answered, "I've met him a couple times."

"Is...is he always like..." he made a motion with his hand, "...like that?" He looked at me apprehensively.

I sighed. "I don't know," I said a bit hopelessly. And then because that sounded too bleak, I added, "I hope not."

"What's his name?" Whoa. A full sentence from Trowa Barton.

Recovering from the shock, I said dazedly, "His name is..." I made myself say it without any stuttering, shaking, or thus far mangling of the English language, "...Heero Yuy." And just to make sure, I said it again – without the pause. "His name is Heero Yuy."

And finally, realizing the danger of being swallowed by the sofa, I peeled myself from its cushions, and suggested, "Let's all go to bed. Missions begin tomorrow."

Silently, we all left to our respective rooms.

My last thought, as my head hit the pillow was, Well, it could have been worse. My mental self snorted at me. Hey, I protested weakly, slurring into street slang, 's not like an'body died or nuthin'.

He raised an eyebrow. And I slipped away, into bizarre, whirling dreams of blue eyes that never ended.

My first mission was with Quatre Winner, and I thanked whatever divine spirit there was watching out for me. I even managed to refrain from pointing out the times it must have taken a day off or been too busy to notice a little boy on the streets of L2.

I didn't think I'd be able to stand a mission with either Mr. Silent, Mr. Moody, or Heero Yuy. Notice that? I've been making myself say his name any time I can. Now I can say it without my heart beating erratically or a stutter, mental or not. Aren't you proud of me?

Well, I amended my thought, at least not a mission with them now. Right now, I'm a bit too off balance, and spending time with somebody who doesn't coat his words with disdain (Moody), or keep his mouth closed as if his life depended on it (Silent), or send me spinning into trips of gibbering terror (Heero Yuy) would be a godsend. I had a sinking feeling that a trip with anyone of the three would get me a one-way ticket to an insane asylum.

The mission wasn't anything unusual; nah, it was pretty typical. Infiltrate building, retrieve document, destroy evidence.

My specialties.

It went off without a hitch: a definite success.

I thought it was rather disappointing. I had pinned all my hopes on Quatre Raberba Winner, and though he was by far the most congenial of all of us, we were still far too new to each other.

The whole mission was spent dancing around each other, and being so politely cordial that I wanted to puke.

After landing our Gundams, (I had the feeling he didn't quite know what to make of mine – it was darkly morbid, I suppose, for a soldier) we hiked back up through the trees and up the street in the fading sunlight.

About to head up the steps, we heard a voice nearby, and my nerves still stretched from the mission, screamed, Threat! Threat!

I whirled around to face it, whatever it was, detecting a hurried movement next to me as Quatre Winner whipped around with me. I thought, with a strange amusement, Looks like he's still a bit tense too.

It was a man, a couple houses away, and obviously drunk. Distantly, I wondered at the reason for his current state of drunkenness. The neighborhood wasn't a bad one, really, and the worst you could really say about it was our safehouse, and the fact that half of the streetlamps on the street were smashed. Some kid who was really bored, probably.

Anyway, the guy continued his lurching walk, mumbling the garbled nonsense the inebriated sometimes say, and that make a world of sense to them and nobody else.

And then, I watched, with a sort of shocked sense of wonder, as the guy walked right smack into a pole.

Maybe I was just too tired, or maybe I have a sick sense of humor, but as I heard that resounding thwap he made as body met metal pole, and watched him literally bounce backwards, I was attacked with a sudden urge to laugh. Loudly. And hysterically.

I squashed it firmly, but it resurfaced, and before I knew it, I was snickering helplessly.

And even amidst my laughter, I was almost afraid to look up at Quatre Winner, whom I was sure would be wearing this shocked, how-could-you look on his face. For all that he was a fully capable soldier, I had him pegged as somewhat of an innocent and a rich kid.

So, you can imagine my surprise when I heard a light laugh joining my breathless chortling. When the sound registered, my laugh just kind of strangled on itself and I whipped wide, disbelieving eyes up at him.

When Quatre Winner saw that, he just lost it. I stared at him for another stunned moment; then we were both laughing like maniacs.

Somehow, leaning on each other, we managed to stagger up the steps and get the door open, before dropping on the sofa.

Every time we wrestled our giggling (yeah, giggling. I dunno why, but Quatre just sort of brings the giggles out in you) back into control, we'd look at each other, and start up again.

Shaking with laughter, he gasped, "...your face...you looked...so surprised...and the guy...he just...walked right into..."

"...yeah...I know..." I agreed.

"...did you see the way he just..."

"...hear the sound it made..."

Finally, we stopped, just too exhausted to keep at it, and just lay on the couch.

I, for one, was ready to just drop into a sleep that could have rivaled a coma, and Quatre seemed pretty beat too. Nothing like an attack of the giggles to reduce you to a wobbly pile of human goo.

"Time for bed," I cooed at him, grinning madly.

"Yeah," he smirked back at me (Quatre smirked!), and another giggle slipped past his defenses.

Mission: Complete.

Shakily, we levered ourselves off the couch, and supported each other to our rooms, beaming at each other the whole way. We probably looked like a right pair of lunatics.

This was, I reflected happily, what I was hoping for. This easy camaraderie. As I fell into slumber, I found myself thinking blissfully, Can't wait for another mission with Quatre.

My next mission was with Chang Wufei.

Okay. What words shall I use to describe it?

Maybe...unparalleled disaster?

It began with a rather strained politeness on my side, and a dislike I just couldn't figure out on his.

I really didn't know what I'd done to merit the way he'd stare at me like I was some bug that needed to be squashed. In fact, I kind of figured that he'd be happy to see my little fly guts smeared all over a window.

The guy just plain didn't like me.

I tried talking to him several times, and all that got me were glares and several rants that seemed to link "my insolence" to "injustice." Chang Wufei is totally obsessed with the idea.

I just don't get that guy.

The mission, again was a success. We didn't even really have to kill anybody. I think J and G and all those messed up wackjobs with the one-letter names somewhere out there were just trying us out. Their little experiments. I was sort of torn between failing the mission on purpose just to see what'd happen and blowing their guts out.

Anyway, the mission, so far as I was concerned was a complete failure, since the relationship between Chang Wufei and I was even worse than before.

I was angry, and frustrated, and puzzled, and I'd been downgraded from a bug to a piece of lint.

But I am nothing, if not stubborn as hell and I was determined that I would make the guy, if not at least like me, then respect me and trust me to watch his back.

I really hate being thought of as a piece of lint. At least a fly can buzz around your ear and drill into your measly little brain till you drop dead. And yes, I'm mad, in case you didn't know.

The next was with Trowa Barton. I really don't know what to call it.

We sort of just worked around each other, and all my coaxing him into conversation might as well have been directed at a stone wall. Actually, the stone wall would've been more talkative. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit. Just a little bit. A teeny tiny bit that wouldn't fit on the tip of your pinky.

Once again, the mission was a success. I'm sure the mad scientists were ecstatic. Their little specimens under a microscope were doing so well. Is that sarcasm I hear? Hell yeah.

I really was rather depressed after the mission. I mean, at least there was some change with Chang Wufei, even if it was for the worse.

I might as well have been a robot for all Mr. Stinkin' Silent cared.

That's not a good sign for a strong, lasting friendship. Nuh-uh.

That night, I opened my window, and prayed to the stars, even though I knew perfectly well they wouldn't answer me. But well, Chang Wufei was ignoring me so loudly my eardrums were ringing, Trowa Barton acted like I didn't even exist – and that really, really bugged me – and, well, soon, I'd be having a mission with Heero Yuy. I still hadn't figured out why I was so afraid of Heero Yuy's eyes.

It struck me the next day. Heero Yuy was still out on a mission with Quatre. Wonder why I call him Quatre and everybody else by their full names? Well, I just don't feel comfortable calling them by their first name so casually. It indicates a degree of closeness that we damn well don't have.

I was puzzling over Heero Yuy's eyes again, and then I realized that it wasn't really his eyes I was afraid of. It was that his eyes had nothing in it. Does that sound a bit unclear? It's kind of hard to explain. Well, it's like, when you shoot a guy, you expect him to show something. And I didn't just shoot him once, but three times. He just sort of ignored it and what was freakiest was that his eyes didn't show anything. They weren't pained, or surprised, or anything. I've never seen emotion in his eyes. They might as well be rocks. Yeah, that's right. I'm frightened of his lack of emotion. It scares me like nothing else I've ever seen.

Step one: Identify the threat. Step one complete.

Step two: Rectify the situation.

It's really a rather simple process. Of course, normally, the second step only involves some bombs or guns, which is a lot easier than what I'm trying to figure out. Human emotions are so much more confusing. It's hard enough having to puzzle out mine; other people's just totally baffle me.

I've gotta get him to show what he's feeling. I don't mind so much if his face doesn't twitch a muscle, but eyes. They really are windows to your soul. It's just...not right for your soul to be empty.

World, watch out. Duo Maxwell's got a self-appointed mission now, and it'll take more firepower than they have in the whole freakin' universe to drag him away from it.

Okay, the warning sign's out. Now I can proceed with a clear conscience.

Today Heero Yuy notified me that we had a mission. The guy's a machine. I don't think he's had more than a day's rest between missions.

Today was the first time I've spoken to him since that fateful day when all five Gundam pilots met. Okay, I didn't say anything to him even then.

Of course, I didn't really have a chance. When he isn't out, he rarely leaves that lab top of his, and just sits there, staring at the screen. Quatre and I were rather curious about what he found so fascinating that he couldn't leave the chair for more than five freakin' minutes, and we were kind of appalled when we found out that he was just waiting for another mission. After we discovered that, we were awfully quiet for a long while...

As I slipped past a pathetically weak security system, which I could disable with my eyes closed, I sighed. Another fiendishly uncomplicated mission. I was really getting bored with them.

Heero Yuy's voice crackled into being next to my ear. "02. Report."

"I'm in."

See, that's what our conversation, if you can call it that, was like. It basically consisted of him giving me orders and was businesslike in the extreme. And I, well I hesitated in starting any talk that was not relevant to the mission. My plans in getting him to open up were flimsy as hell, and I wasn't going to launch them until I was sure I at least had a 10% chance in succeeding. They weren't great odds, I know, but with Heero Yuy, any odds over zero were good. Better than good. They were a freakin' miracle.

I finished wiring up the bomb, and said cheerily to Heero Yuy, "I'm done. Let's get out of here."

And we did just that.

Obviously the mission (not mine, the other one) was successful. I don't think Heero Yuy would allow a mission of his to fail. It just wouldn't, couldn't happen.

I was sitting in the cockpit, heading back towards the safehouse, when I realized it'd been three weeks to a day since I met the others. Seems a lot longer and a lot shorter at the same time. Just one of those random little thoughts.

Then I went back to mulling over one of my recent favorite topics. Quatre's self-appointed mission. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he told me he was fixated on Trowa Barton. But, he sounded so...wistful, and a little bit sad, when he said, "There's just something about Trowa..." and I couldn't help but encourage him. Even if I thought it was absolutely crazy and a certain failure. Of course, you could say that about me and Heero Yuy.

Trowa Barton, of course, has to this point, remained totally immune to Quatre's charms. But hey, if anyone can break through that silence of his, it'd be little Quatre. And if you squint really hard, Mr. Silent looks just a little bit softer around the edges, just a little fuzzier. And it's only been a week!

I grinned. Go Quatre! Work your magic!

Sighing despondently, I felt strangely envious that my mission wasn't going nearly as well.

And then Heero Yuy interrupted my thoughts again. "02. Status."

"Uh...Clear." Uh? Uh? Yeah, that's great! C'mon, pay attention!

I pushed all my jumbled thoughts away to the back of my mind, and concentrated simply on getting Deathscythe back safely. Before I knew it, we were back, and I was scrambling out of the cockpit.

Stretching, I turned, and met his eyes. For a second, my whole world narrowed down to them, but with a mighty wrench of my mind, I was able to drag my eyes away. Then, realizing how pitiful that was, I raised my eyes to meet his once again, and held them. I still felt like something had a chokehold on my throat, but I refused to look away.

I felt bizarrely vindicated when he looked away first, then examined me head to toe with an unreadable expression.

Now I felt like squirming. Okay, divert attention!

I grinned a patented Duo Maxwell grin at him, and gave my mouth free rein.

I'm not really sure exactly what I said, on the walk back to the safehouse, but I remember what he said.

"Hn."

"Hn."

"You talk too much."

I remember that he didn't just walk, he strode, and he always looked straight ahead. Not a movement was wasted, everything was calculated for the most power with the least energy.

I remember wondering if he'd ever just skipped or danced, just because.

I remember walking a little too close to him one time, to avoid a puddle, and the way his shoulders tensed.

I remembered that, and watched him closely after that.

I sort of had a suspicion about that, but it didn't really hit me until the time Chang Wufei grabbed him.

I was passing through the hallway when I saw Heero Yuy walk past Mr. Moody.

Pretty usual, so I didn't really pay close attention to it or anything. No, it was the slamming-Chang-Wufei-into-a-wall that got me.

Heero Yuy stared at the poor guy groaning on the floor for a moment, and I swear he almost looked sorry.

And that's when I knew what he needed, what could break past that barrier of his. He needed a hug. Yeah, I know my train of thought is screwed, but it made sense to me.

There were several problems, though. Number one, how the hell was I supposed to give him a hug without ending up like...like hamburger meat? Well, that's the biggie. Everything just relates to that.

Even for a soldier, that kind of behavior is a bit unusual. I know, because I used to act like that, before the church.

The difference, though, was that I just totally avoided touch, and was reduced to a pile of whimpering rags if I couldn't run, while he answered it with violence.

Only people who've never been touched with any kindness act like that.

Which is why he desperately needed a hug. I just needed...to build up to that.