When He Wakes
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: This story was conceived while painting my nails in an enclosed area and being bored. It's… serious, strange, humorous and an introspection POV fic. I do that a lot. Forgive me and review it?
1x2, Duo POV. Waking up with the Perfect Soldier after the war.
It's the tiny movements that warn he's going to awaken. Not real movements, actually. I don't know how to explain. He doesn't really move; his breathing doesn't change; no EKG would ever know that he went from sleeping to awake. But I know. I always know. It's a twitch in his aura, a change in his eye motion, the tiniest muscle shudder where he's pressed up against my thigh. How else would I know when I needed to pull away? He never wakes up as peacefully as he'd have everyone think. I've woken up one too many times to a gun pressed against my forehead to trust him anymore.
"Heero? 'S me, Duo. Remember? You don't need to shoot me. Or threaten to shoot me. Or even consider threatening to shoot me. Really." Maybe I should come up with a better line. But the longer I ramble, the less likely he is to shoot me. I don't know why, I don't think he does either. And so I talk. I talk on and on, pointless, meaningless words that start to bore even me after a while. They calm him, though. Who'd have thought that all these years later, this is what he'd need? "Besides, you don't even have a gun anymore. And your fingers just aren't threatening!"
"Hn." His grunt is enough to inform me he's awake and that I can stop babbling. It's hard once I've gotten started, but he lets me peter out naturally. At least that's one thing that's changed since the war. He never would have let me talk myself out. "Time?" But he still tends to speak in grunts, at least before 8 am. Who would have thought the Heero would decide he didn't like mornings? I can't tell if it's an act, something he does to show he's more normal, or if he truly dislikes it this early.
"7:30 in the morning, Heero my dear," I grin from behind my bangs, flicking my braid over my shoulder as I sit up on one elbow. The pillows all ended up on the floor, my head on his chest and the blanket tangled between our legs. "Time for a shower, breakfast, steamy kitchen sex and then the sheer excitement of the ride into the office," I stretch and he almost chuckles. Sometimes, if I catch him off guard, he'll laugh before he's tucked away some food. But it's not common.
"You use all the hot water," he nods at me, though he doesn't move. This is all a ritual, our ritual. "I'll take the first shower." And we both need this, just as much as we need each other. This is the ritual that keeps us together. I lean over him, the tip of my braid just touching his chest.
"I need all the hot water! My braid doesn't exactly clean itself!" My lips brush his and he slowly relaxes back into blanket. This is our drug, our therapy, all our little idiosyncrasies wrapped up in a clever little exchange that lets us start a day apart. We've tried going without it before, without the touches and the words and the softly shared breaths. "My shower first."
"Hn." I can feel his fingers at the back of my neck, playing with the base of my braid. The skin there is sensitive and I let myself inhale sharply when his fingers start to stroke my skin. "Just don't use all the hot water." I don't quite know why he cares, though it doesn't matter any more. He always take a lukewarm shower, just like the rest of us, just like we used to take back in the safehouses. The hot water wouldn't run out if I let the water run all day, maybe even all night. But we started this and now we'll never stop.
"I promise," I breath the words and kiss him again, sighing out happily as his hand tightens on the back of my neck. "Now let me up, so I can live up to my promise," this is the important part, I've found. I promise him and he holds me. It's his promise in return, unspoken but so very needed and so very important. I can see in his eyes how much he hates to let go and I know he can see that I don't want to move. But there's no forever, not yet, and we can't just stay here.
"Good," he grunts again and his fingers slowly peel off my neck, relaxing one by one until I can move my head again. I grin, peck his lips and hop to my feet before he can grab me again, dancing out of reach as he stretches out on the bed. His fingers brush my leg and he relaxes again. It's amazing, sometimes, how much he seems to need me. But now we have to separate, at least for a little while and for at least the first time. A soft laugh escapes me as I turn away, darting into the bathroom. Our ritual is finished as I close the door, let it slip into place with a soft click that starts our day.