AN: ok I got asked for a sequel for this and I thought why not, so here it is, a bit longer than the last one and everything.
Rating/Summary/Disclaimer – Please see the first chapter
Scars
Chapter 2
Duo is one of the few others who knows the location of all of Heero's scars and, like Zechs, he knows that there is a never forgotten story behind every single one
Unlike Zechs however Duo knows because it was usually him who got the job of cleaning Heero up after…
Well, after everything.
Missions gone wrong.
Missions gone right as well, come to think.
He was the one who got to see when Heero trained too hard and for too long, even the Perfect Soldier bled after hitting a punching bag continuously for over three hours.
He was the one who got to see Heero when he cried as Duo wrapped the broken, bruised and bleeding hands.
He was the one who got to watch as Heero would go out and get broken into little pieces as he fought.
And he was the one who would be waiting at the safe house to put him back together again, both mentally and physically.
And so far he's had no reason to believe that fixing him this time anything would be any different.
But there is something.
He can feel it.
Even if he doesn't know what it is yet.
Maybe it's intuition.
Or maybe it's something else, something to do with the fact that Heero hasn't needed putting back together at all lately, well, not as much anyway.
And then he sees them.
New scars.
Ones that shouldn't be there, because he knows they're too old to have come from this mission and this is the first time that Heero been out on one since the last time Duo patched him up.
And they definitely weren't there then.
Then he looks at them closer. Definitely knife wounds, in all his experience Duo's never found a weapon that can exactly imitate the visual effect that results from a perfectly sharpened stiletto positively gliding across the skin.
Sometimes the sharper blades don't even hurt.
There's something captivating about these ones. And that's not to say that the others aren't because Duo knows that there's a story behind every single one and the story is almost certainly filled with stunts worthy of a 007 movie, adventure, bravery, and death, lots of death…
But he gets enough of that at work and something about these scars is telling him that it's a different sort of captivating, a different sort of injury.
One that isn't an injury, more of a mark, a claim.
Carefully he smoothes the skin, intending to get a better look at it but a hand come up to wrap around his wrist firmly and he realises that he's been caught.
The look Heero gives him as he meets the deep blue eyes is blank but in any case the message is clear… don't.
Don't look.
Don't touch.
Don't ask.
Don't tell.
'Just don't Duo, please.'
Heero's eyes are so easy to read if you know how, if he's let you know how, and so, for a second, despite the seeming vacancy of the stare, he doesn't realise that Heero spoke the last four words running through his mind out loud.
He pulls his hand away and nods, offering a tentative smile as he does so.
Heero looks relieved and he drops the wrist, offering a smile of his own back.
He looks tired Duo realises, tired of fighting, tired of war and tired of being held together by bandages wrapped round the constant yet ever changing wounds.
He doesn't know what to say.
So instead he just checks Heero's body one last time, making sure there are no lesions that he's missed. Then he stands and makes his way to the kitchen.
Heero will know where he's going, sake with toast and soup, one of the few constants in his existence.
But as he walks away he realises just what the scar was, two letters, nothing intricate and not too clear, should anyone looking at it wonder.
An H and an Z entwined and he realises with a jolt that the mark will scar, claiming Heero, forever branding him as belonging to the enemy.
But surprisingly he also realises that he doesn't care, maybe because he knows that Heero doesn't, that he asked for it, maybe simply because he knows that it makes his team-mate happy.
Or maybe because he just knows that there has to be an identical one. Carved, with exquisite care, into the chest of Zechs Marquise.
Fin
AN Ok, I think this is it now, what did you think?
