Standard disclaimers for Gundam Wing apply. Anita Blake and
other subsequent characters from the Anita Blake series are the
property of Laurell K. Hamilton. Suing me is pointless, 'cause all of my
money goes to supporting my addictions. I'll just let you wonder what
those are. ^_^
Warnings: Lots of language. I've never been known for a clean mouth.
Some very mild shounen ai.
::grins:: Okay, okay, just a couple of little notes here. This first
part has actually been sitting on my hard drive since…oh, The Killing
Dance. In other words: a fricken' long time. It wasn't until I noticed
that other people were posting GW/AB crossovers that I got up the guts to
post it. ...Peer pressure? Me? Naaaw.
Posted: April 2000 Revised: August 2002
It was an awful day—I didn't even need to open my eyes to know
that. The headache bent on splitting my skull at the temples was a
good indication of how my day was going to go.
Well, that and the sound of clacking keyboard keys, which were
resounding through my head, like a stampeding herd of obese mammoths.
Oh, yes, this was going to be bad.
With a small whimper I opened my eyes, quickly closing them again with
a groan. Fuuuck! Yeah, I know. Not the usual morning words of greeting by
any standards. But then again, this wasn't your usual morning and I
definitely wasn't what you'd call your usual person.
And, hey—what do you expect a guy with the hangover-from-hell to say
when the first thing that he sees is a damn neon yellow smiley face pinned
to the ceiling directly above his bed?
My friends, you see, have a sick sense of humour.
No, no, that wasn't fair. Trowa would never do something as sadistic
as this, so it was either Wufei's or Quatre's idea. I was guessing Wufei
since Quatre's not a morning person, and whoever had put that poster up
had done it some time after three this morning and before—well, whatever
time it was now. Okay, it was probably a lot later than, say, noon, which
meant that Quatre was probably more than up by now, but the poster thing
just reeked of Wufei.
"Duo, I know you're awake," a slightly nasal voice said softly.
I cringed mentally. Great—he's still here. I'd kind of been
hoping that the clacking keys were a hallucination brought about from my
overly enthusiastic efforts to get plastered last night. No, I'm
not, I throw back at him mentally. Hell, this is all I need to top my
morning off, Heero. Godzilla size headache, the smiley face of death, and
thou; if I'd felt a little more human I would have sat up, said this
aloud, and reached over and pinched his cheek. As it was, I attempted to
burrow deeper into the blankets and think nasty thoughts at my roommate. I
don't know why I put up with your cold, unemotional shit, Heero Yuy.
"Duo, get up now or I sacrifice your braid to my demon idol."
That got my attention. "Touch my hair and die, Yuy," I snapped,
shielding my eyes to toss him my own version of his trademarked Death
Glare. Duo Maxwell will put up with many forms of torture, but hair
threats were my breaking point. Hair threats were personally signed death
warrants.
But Heero was already ignoring me, presenting me with his lovely
backside once again as he typed away on his ever-present laptop. I knew I
should have thrown the damn thing out when I had the chance. But nooo-I
had to go and get sentimental. Ch'. I hate wasting a good threat. And what
good is threatening a guy if he ignores you? It sure doesn't do much for
my ego, that's for sure.
With another groan of protest, I managed to lever myself up into a
sitting position, blinking my eyes slowly to get used to the light. It
wasn't much, thank god. For once I was glad of Heero's propensity for
mushrooming.
Yes, all hail the absolute darkness that is Heero's bedroom.
With absolutely no grace whatsoever, I stumbled towards the bathroom,
tripping over a pillow and stubbing my toe on a sock.
Don't ask.
After having brushed my teeth twice to try and get rid of that
'something-crawled-in-my-mouth-and-died-and-has-already-begun-to-decompose'
taste left by last night's overly imbibed alcohol (And, by the way, if
you're prone to puking after too much alcohol, might I recommend
not using toothpaste?), I caught sight of my face in the mirror and
grimaced. I don't think I've ever looked so bad in my life.
All right, so that was a personal opinion—of course—and it comes with
living in denial for the last month, plus a little. I'm sure that Quatre
and Wufei would remind me that I've looked much worse.
With a sigh, I tugged the hair band from the end of my braid,
unravelling the heavy twists. I grabbed my hairbrush from the sink counter
and wandered back out into the bedroom.
Our current safe house wasn't much when you got right down to it. It
was a large, rundown thing that probably could have been classified
as a house at one time, but now looked like Trowa's circus buddies had
gotten a hold of it and gotten creative with the architecture. It was
scheduled to be demolished sometime in the near future—not a surprise
given the number of roof leaks we'd had to deal with already. Well, it had
actually been scheduled to be demolished for several months now, but with
the war going on people felt there were more important things to worry
about. It wasn't bad as far as houses-waiting-to-be-destroyed went. The
rooms were bare except for the cots we'd managed to sneak in. The ceiling
was missing in spots and the wallpaper was faded and torn in most places.
And, from what I remember from last night, there's a reeeally big hole not
far from the doorway. I managed to find it and ended up flat on my face. I
was just glad that Heero slept through it. I swear, that
guy—thankfully—sleeps like the dead.
The first thing I noticed when I looked up from my reverie and around
our room was that Heero was gone and his laptop had been turned off. Thank
God for small miracles. The second was a little blue sticky note stuck on
the closed top.
Curious, I leaned over to see what it said, eyes widening in surprise
even though I should have been expecting it. Belatedly, I reminded myself
that curiosity killed the cat and what was left of my sanity.
Of course, I've also been told there wasn't much to begin with.
Sanity, that is. For me. Gah, never mind!
The little blue rectangular sticky note was a list—a list that Heero
began about a month or so ago which has steadily been growing. It wasn't
the original list, mind you. The original list had been folded and opened
so many times that Heero had to sit down and write up a new one less than
a week later. If I remembered correctly, which I probably don't if you
remember the whole 'living in denial' thing, this was actually list number
five. Maybe it's six or eight or thirteen; I'm not exactly sure. When
you've been trying to live the last month in a haze of sorts, Heero's
thrice-damned list doesn't help a whole lot.
Why, you ask, does a measly list—a piece of paper with nothing more
than a bunch of words on it-bother me so much? Here's a hint: it begins
with vampire, now ends with dryads, and has everything from lamia
and necromancer to lycanthropy and homo arcanus in between.
I've seen a lot of strange shit in my days as a street brat,
terrorist, and Gundam pilot. But let me tell you, what's happened to me in
the last month since I got Heero back has been the icing on the cake. It's
an icing that somehow manages to be sweet and healing, bitter and
poisonous, all at the same time.
You know, kind of like if someone spiked your cotton candy with
antifreeze. Yum, yum.
You see, I lost Heero a month and a half ago—sort of. No, I didn't
misplace him or get physically separated from him; I've been accused of
being flighty, but look at me people. I mean, I've made it this far,
haven't I? Give me some credit here.
Losing Heero was a lot more permanent than something as
trivial-sounding as that. He'd taken on a solo mission and failed—which
means, in Heero-terms, he'd self-destructed to save the integrity of the
mission. And it looked like his self-destruct plan had succeeded this
time.
Kaboom. Eighteen high-powered C4 charges set to go of in
sync and demolish a mobile suit production factory. When that moron
realised he was surrounded with no chance of escape, he stayed inside the
building rather than risking capture.
I sometimes wonder if he and Wing aren't hardwired for that kind of
thing, self-destructing. I mean, Sandrock wouldn't self-destruct with
Quatre still in the cockpit, and Deathscythe thought I was off my fuckin'
rocker for trying to self-destruct the both of us. See? Even when I'm
without my sanity, I can count on Deathscythe to keep both our wits
about.
…My thoughts made more sense when I was drunk, you know.
But we all know that Heero seems to do everything to excess, and the
charges he'd placed in the factory were no exception. The reports we got
after the explosion were horrible. There were no survivors. Most of the
bodies were charred so badly that they'd have to be identified by their
dental records. For three days I sat in front of his laptop; hoping,
waiting for the e-mail confirmation to come and pick him up. It was awful.
I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, and Quatre had to remind me to go to the
bathroom. I was like a vegetable, sitting in front of the laptop glow as
if it were sunlight, waiting for miracle to occur.
It never happened.
The others were upset at Heero's loss. After all, he'd been our friend
for a long time, and much as we hate to admit it, we all looked up to him
in a certain respect. He might not always have been the most mature one—or
the sanest, for that matter—but he was one of us, a Gundam pilot. And more
often than not, he was the drive that kept us going when we were ready to
give up. So yeah, I could see where the other guys would be a little
distraught…but that didn't prepare me for the way I would feel when it all
finally sank in. I was utterly devastated. Heero was my best friend. I'd
already nearly lost him once. He'd been lucky to survive when he'd
self-destructed Wing. Losing him like that was hard—it felt like a
personal betrayal.
I snorted, shaking my head as I sat down on my bed and began to brush
out my hair—no minor chore, that. I keep using the past tense when
thinking about him, even though I know he just left the room scant minutes
ago.
In regards to his death a few months ago, I should have been prepared
for such a possibility with my track record. I tried so hard not to care
for that brooding, homicidal psychopath.
But I'd failed—quite miserably, at that. I'd cared much more than I'd
realised, discovered that when I'd lost Heero I'd lost a part of myself as
well. Those two weeks of living hell…well, I don't like to think about
them. I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of, things that aren't good
to dwell on. Things that, if Heero found about them, would get me knocked
into next week and then locked up in the nearest mental ward. I think,
that, between the three of them, Quatre, Trowa, and Wufei managed to give
me a bigger guild trip than even Sister Helen was capable of—and she was
the best when it came to things like that.
Then had come Quatre's dream. He and Trowa had gone out, some how
managing to recover Heero's body. I would have gone with them had Quatre
not drugged me up to my eyeballs and sicced Wufei on me. I still remember
clearly how his prone form looked on the couch. He was just as perfect as
I had remembered, which had come as quite a shock. I mean, I had been
expecting anything we found of Heero to fit into one of those gallon size
Ziploc bags. Easily. Instead, Heero had looked as good as always, just
without a pulse. Firm, chiselled facial features; full lips, relaxed
instead of twisted into a scowl; tumble of untidy dark brown hair that I
always just wanted to reach out and run my fingers through—
"Ye-ouch!" Figures—pulled too hard on my hair. Only you, Yuy, could
make me lose concentration on my hair to the extent of yanking. Well,
maybe it was for the best. The pulling distracted me enough to realise
where my thoughts were heading and those thoughts are best left alone, or
they'll have me reaching for the bottle again-just as I have nearly every
night the past month.
And, no, just for clarification, I'm not an alcoholic. Alcoholics go
to meetings. I'm a drunk, thank you very much.
The door opened and I looked up, breath catching in my throat. Heero
had come back—with coffee it looked like—but it was what he was wearing
that had snagged my full attention. I was used to seeing Heero in his
green tank top and black spandex—occasionally blue jeans—ninety-nine point
nine fine percent of the time.
I really should have paid more attention to what he was wearing when I
first woke up. Then I could have drooled and looked like a besotted idiot
in private.
Shit! Who'd have thought that Heero Yuy—the "Perfect Soldier," Mr.
No-nonsense, master of death threats and the secrets of hiding a 9mm in
spandex shorts without any betraying lines—could look like sex in leather?
I mean, we're talking front cover material for Wet Dreams 'R' Us here!
Tight black leather pants, which laced up the sides through silver
eyelets, were tucked into mid-calf high black suede boots. His shirt
appeared to be made of midnight blue silk and the collar of the long
sleeve shirt was open just enough to reveal a tantalising flash of smooth
skin. There was a pattern work of silver embroidery on the collar and
cuffs, but my mind couldn't quite focus enough to make out exactly what it
was. There were silver streaks threaded throughout his dark hair, matching
the small silver hoop in his left ear—which I hadn't known he
had—and the silver ring with a dark purple stone set in it on his
left hand.
Heero stepped closer with the styrofoam cups in his hands, settling
beside me on my bed. "Here," he said softly, handing one of the cups to
me.
"Um, sankyuu,"[1] I muttered, taking the cup after setting my brush
aside. Hopefully he hadn't noticed my stupefied expression…hopefully I was
only drooling mentally rather than physically.
"What is it?" I asked, sniffing at the opening distrustfully. You can
never be too careful when it comes to coffee. I mean, the last time
someone brought me coffee, it had been laced with some sort of drug that
knocked me out for half a day. I would never trust a set of big, bright
blue eyes ever again. Especially when they were set in as innocent a
seeming face as Quatre's. How the hell does he know about all that herbal
shit, anyway? Little neo-hippie punk…
Heero smiled faintly, dark blue eyes flashing with what looked
suspiciously like amusement. "Coffee—black. No-one put anything in it," he
promised me.
I grinned, taking a hefty swig. "Hot!" I managed to get out after a
moment, tongue feeling numb from the heat. But hey, it was coffee!
Nothing helped me to regain focus the morning after a binge-drinking
session like black coffee. I set the coffee down and picked my brush back
up, beginning to brush out the snarls on the right side.
I was watching my hand intently; Heero was still sitting beside me on
my left, so I was brushing the opposite side of my hair—didn't want to
thwack him with my brush, you know. It was hard to resist the temptation
of looking at Heero, but I was determined to succeed. If I'm never known
for anything else in my life, I can be secure in the knowledge that I'll
always be known for my stubbornness.
I am mule, hear me bray… Excuse me while I dissolve into helpless
snickering…
I felt the barest touch on my hair and stiffened slightly. Relax,
Maxwell, I told myself, attempting to follow my mental advice without
noticeable success. I was so paranoid by this point in my life that I'd
probably jump if my own shadow looked at me funny. It was probably
nothing, just me shifting on the ends of my hair or something. I went back
to brushing, watching the individual teeth of the brush part through the
strands of my hair. Pursing my lips, I decided that I was beginning to
grow tired of the medium brown colour I currently had my hair died to;
maybe I would do something about it before I went on my mission tonight.
With a heartfelt sigh, I began to count my brush strokes: juuhachi,
juukyuu, nijuu, ni—
Tug, tug.
My eyes widened in surprise, my hand stilling completely. I could
clearly feel that. Heero was running his fingers through the hair
on the other side of my head, and as I watched from the corner of my eye,
he brought the ends up between his fingers, gazing at them in what
appeared to be avid fascination. Personally, I'd never thought of the
shade my hair currently was as particularly interesting. I mean, it's
brown. It's boring. And it's supposed to be that way. So what did Heero
find so damn captivating about it?
"Um, is there something you wanted?" I asked carefully. Hell, I wasn't
sure about that look in his eyes. It was kind of scary. And it looked a
lot like that really intense one he used to give me right before he'd
punch me.
Heero shook his head, letting my hair slip from his fingers. "No."
I shifted nervously, wanting nothing more than to dive onto his
bed to finish my hair brushing. He may have let go of my hair, but he
hadn't moved from his position beside me. As a matter of fact, he'd
shifted closer. I could now feel the line of his thigh pressed against
mine. Damn, I thought. He's awfully touchy-feely today. Not that I
particularly minded or anything. Hell, under normal circumstances I would
have died of happiness—and probably utter shock—if Heero wanted to touch
me. Right now it just seemed…weird, somehow.
"Oi, Heero, if you don't mind me asking…"
"Hn?" Heero looked at me with a raised eyebrow, fingers rubbing
absently—and seductively, dammit!—across the bared flesh of his
throat.
"Why are you dressed like se—ummm, I mean, that?" Whoa, almost
slipped up there big time, Maxwell. Yep, he probably would have decked me
into next week if that had finished popping out of my mouth. 'Why are you
dressed like sex?' What can I say—Freudian slip?
Somehow, I don't think that excuse would stand up in the Heero Yuy
Court of Law.
Heero cocked his head to the side, eyes closing halfway as he watched
my hand run the brush through my hair-at least I think that's what he was
watching. "New mission," he said.
I spluttered in shock, my eyes feeling as if they were popping from my
face. Hell, for all I knew, they might be. "You're dressed like
that for a fucking mission? Goddamn—what kind of a mission
is it?"
Heero smirked at me, dark blue eyes narrowing as he watched my face,
and I could feel myself just melting into a puddle on the bed at that sexy
smirk. Yuck. It's really disgusting what he does to me; just absolutely,
totally, completely and utterly disgusting—and I really needed to quit
using synonyms. Maybe I should check myself into the nearest mental ward
and save everyone else the trouble.
"Sore wa himitsu desu," he said mysteriously, rising from the bed.
"A secret?" I blinked in surprise before I narrowed my eyes at him.
"Just what's that supposed to mean? Since when do you keep you're missions
a secret from me—"
We both froze as that last word slipped from my lips. The brush
slipped from my fingers, clattering noisily against the floor. To my ears
it seemed to resound like a gong through temple halls, but I didn't really
pay attention to it. I'd gone to staring fixedly at my hands, which were
now clenched in my lap.
I'd been careful—so very, very careful these last few weeks not to say
anything. I guess I was bound to slip up some time—but why right now? I
still wasn't ready to deal with it yet. I wasn't sure I ever would
be. I mean, who's ever really ready to deal with their best friend—who
also happens to be the one they love—dying one day and coming back from
the dead a couple weeks later? It's not like it's an everyday occurrence
or anything.
I was so absorbed in my own chaotic thoughts that I didn't notice
Heero's weight settle beside me on the bed once again. He grabbed my chin
in his hand, forcing my eyes up to meet his. You know, I sometimes think
that I could stare into those endless pools of prussian blue darkness
forever, drowning in their depths happily. Like a deer caught in the
headlights of an oncoming vehicle, I couldn't turn away.
Heero smiled—it was a small, sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. "It's
okay, Duo." He said it softly, holding my gaze the whole time. His words
echoed through my head like a mantra—one that, once it pierced the fuzzy
haze I had been existing in, sent the whole barrier crumbling down.
"God!" Yeah, I know that I profess not to believe in Him, but in the
enormity of my situation, it was something of a comfort to say His name
even if He were nothing but a figment of humanity's mass imagination.
I closed my eyes, the tears slipping free at last. I'd kept them pent
up too long—I knew that. Hell, I hadn't cried at all those two weeks prior
to recovering Heero's body. I couldn't. I did cry…that night…but those
were tears of relief that only Wufei had been witness to. This was
something else. And without my Great Wall of Duo to protect me and keep
the bad thoughts out, I was like a little lost child in the wilderness
after dark.
"No, Heero, it's not all right!" I couldn't help it. Heero was looking
at me with such—emotion. There are times when I think that nothing
will ever be okay again, because I know that nothing can be as it was
before Heero's accident. I tore my face away from his hand, curling over
onto my side, bringing my knees up and burying my face into them in a
foetal position.
I really, really wanted a drink—now.
I felt like a complete idiot, falling apart in front of Heero like
this. I expected him to leave the room, leave me all alone with my tears
and my pain. He'd never been comfortable with emotions, and I was
exercising enough of them at the moment for the entire dorm floor of the
boarding school we'd vacated last week.
So, needless to say, I was shocked when an arm snaked around my chest
drawing me back against the hard length of Heero's body. His other hand
was running through my hair as he whispered over and over into my ear,
"It's okay, it's okay."
Blindly I turned, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face
in the crook, hot tears leaking into the fabric. I wanted to believe his
words so badly. I wanted to believe that after everything we'd been
through—all five of us—over the past year-plus, we'd come out of it on
top. That we'd make it through all right, surviving anything this bitch of
a war threw our way.
Heero just held me, rubbing one hand soothingly up and down my back
while the other kept me close, as if Heero were afraid I'd try and leave.
Hn. Where would I have gone? Truth told, there was no place else that I
would rather be than where I was right now. Heero was warm and real, a
tangible thing in my arms. I needed to touch such a reality at the moment;
otherwise I might lose the tentative hold I'd existed on completely.
When the tears and my trembling finally stopped, I was afraid to look
up. I was afraid of what I would see in Heero's eyes; that I'd see pity
for the poor, overly emotional Gundam pilot. "I'm sorry," I whispered,
closing my eyes tightly. "Really, I'm very, very sorry."
"For what?" Heero asked. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Duo."
I looked up suspiciously at the tone in his voice. It sounded as if he
were being sincere.
"I'm serious," Heero said earnestly as I stared up at him with
suspicion evident all over my face. "There is absolutely nothing for you
to be sorry for, Duo." He smiled softly, brushing bangs from my eyes and
tucking strands of wayward hair back behind my ears. "When I get back,
we'll talk about this."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he quickly covered my lips with his
finger, giving me a stern look. "We will talk about this, Duo, make
no mistake about that. But I need to get going, and you need to get ready
for your reconnaissance mission with Wufei."
Still scowling, I pulled back slightly, rubbing my sleeve across my
eyes and nose. I probably looked absolutely awful—despite what you see in
movies, no-one can cry pretty, not even Relena-oujousama herself—but I was
too miserable and too emotionally worn out to really care. "Wufei and I
aren't supposed to leave until seven. I have plenty of time to get ready,"
I muttered.
Heero smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "And just what time do you think
it is, sleeping beauty?" he drawled.
I glanced at the blinds, noting the filtered sunlight that spread
across the floorboards. "I dunno. Two or three in the afternoon I
suppose."
Heero's smirk broadened and I briefly thought about smacking him. I
didn't like being smirked at; it made me feel smaller than I really was.
"Try seventeen-hundred, Duo. I know how long it takes you to get ready for
a night out; you'd better start now or Wufei will drag you out without
your hair being done."
I blinked dumbly. "Seventeen…hundred… Shiiit!" I wailed, jumping from
the bed and running for my carrisack. Briefly I wondered how I'd managed
to sleep so late. After rummaging around and grabbing my towel, shampoo,
and conditioner, I turned back around to find Heero laughing at me
softly.
"What's so funny?" I asked, eyes narrowing. It struck me as a little
odd that Heero was laughing at me. Well, not really odd. I mean, of
all the people in our little group to laugh at, I'm probably the best
candidate and all. But what was so damn funny?
Heero just shook his head. "Oh, it's nothing," he said softly, waving
a hand in dismissal.
"Hn." I began to move past him towards the bathroom, being stopped
short when he grabbed my shoulder and turned me around. I almost let out a
very undignified eep when I found myself nose to nose with Heero.
"Hee-Heero," I stuttered uncertainly, blinking in confusion. Shit,
Heero's weird behaviour was seriously starting to freak me out. Hmmm… I
wonder if Quatre slipped something into his coffee.
Heero just stared at me for a long moment, then closed his eyes and
shook his head again. Much to my surprise, he pulled my head down and
pressed his lips to my forehead. I almost passed out cold. My eyes went
wide and if it weren't for the fact that it was my only hand hold on
reality, I would have dropped my shower stuff.
"Be careful tonight, mon petit," Heero murmured, before turning
and striding out the door of our room.
I sat down carefully on my bed, still blinking dumbly at the door that
had closed on Heero's backside. What the hell was going on? It was like
I'd woken up in the fucking Twilight Zone today. And when the hell had he
learned French?
A glance at the clock I'd buried under yesterday's shirt confirmed
that it was indeed after five in the evening. I'd need to shower fast if I
wanted to be ready in time to meet Wufei. One of his few drawbacks is that
Wufei's a real stickler for punctuality. Besides, there was no way in hell
I was going into this particular little mission without looking my
absolute best.
As I walked into the bathroom and shut the door, a niggling thought
that had been suppressed by the strangeness of Heero's behaviour finally
jumped into the forefront of my mind.
"When the fuck did Heero get a demon idol?"
[1]. ::grins:: Duo sounds so cute when he says thank you like that.
[Part 2]
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