Authors Note: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this little piece! I'm quite surprised by the amount of attention it received considering I don't personally like to read AUs. ;-) I hope I don't disappoint you and that you'll continue to enjoy! BTW, I hope to update every Thursday for those who are following anonymously.
And to Remsyk, the word 'slammed' is a verb in this instance and is synonymous with 'injected.' ;-) So it was used correctly, but thanks! =)
All warnings on part one.
Duo turned out into the bright sunlight, feeling a certain sense of accomplishment as he had secured an exhibition for himself at what was definitely the most prestigious gallery he would appear in to date – by a long shot. The soft, kind words of the owner were a flattery Duo found difficult to accept, but he had to remember to send a gift and passionate thank you note to his most enthusiastic collector for turning the owner on to him.
He wanted to create something new for this exhibit. Something that didn't involve... him. So despite his nagging cravings he knew he was going to have to spend some time off of it. Maybe he'd just get some weed on his way home, though he knew it'd only settle his stomach and make him manageable.
Speaking of, he did feel a little ill, the horrible crashing feeling of the next day always leaving him this way. At least he managed through the meeting without incident. He allowed himself to pause a minute, leaning against the brick wall of the nearest building, the rough stone digging into his back through the thin button-up he'd put on to meet the curator. He closed his eyes, caught his breath. He could make it home before he fell apart. He could do this...
And when he opened his eyes he thought he felt reality crash around him. If he wasn't certain he slammed the last of it the night before, he'd think he was high at that very moment because there, heading towards him with quiet dedication, was the man in all his paintings.
He blinked rapidly, pitching forward a bit to get a better look. Same dark hair falling into his face. Same beautiful dark eyes. Same hint of Japanese heritage lingering in him, giving him an aloof look that suited his demeanor.
Duo didn't really have to look twice. He knew it was him the moment his eyes touched him.
But despite this cataclysmic moment that nearly threatened to stop his heart beating in his chest, the other man didn't even notice him. Sometimes, when he let himself believe there really was another man, that he was real and not some heroin-induced figment of his overactive imagination, he would wonder if he saw him as well. If they were connected somehow, tied to each other in some cosmic way, and he would see glimpses of Duo's life and maybe, one day, try to find him.
And so the disappointment Duo felt as he walked right by nearly had him on his knees. His chest ached and he wanted to call out to the other, but he could hardly breathe, let alone find his voice.
Finally, with a will power Duo forgot he'd had, he spoke without thinking, shouting the only words which slammed through his fog-filled mind –
"Holy shit – it's you!"
The man stopped instantly. He completely froze. Duo didn't know whether to approach him or hide, suddenly terrified of this man he knew nothing about and how deranged he'd appear once he tried to explain. The conflict in him was nearly overwhelming – concurrently begging him to keep walking, ignore him, leave him in peace, or turn to him, ask the question, find out who he was, finally learn his name.
The roar of Duo's heart in his ears was almost more than he could bear as the other man slowly turned, a distinctive glare he'd seen so many times chiseled into his face. He stormed towards him with the fury of a hurricane and Duo was terrified he'd get swept up in it. Duo backed up quickly as those hard eyes pinned him down and slammed hard into the brick wall he'd only moments before leaned against gratefully, completely shocked he didn't even remember it was there. There was no escape.
Despite the anger in his face, the words were soft and disbelieving, the voice he'd often longed to hear making him weak.
"How do you know me?"
"I – I can't explain," Duo replied choppily, having no idea where to begin. Oh, you're just a vision I get when I'm high on fucking H, no biggie, I might be talking to myself right now for all I fucking know – probably wouldn't go over too well.
"Well, you better think of a way," he growled, intimidating Duo in a way he'd never felt before. Even when shit went down with junkies at parties and he had a gun in his face, he didn't feel as scared as he did right at that very moment.
"I've painted you," he breathed, unable to believe the words escaped his mouth in his panicked state. The other man looked shocked and confused for a brief moment before his emotions were clamped down and a stoic mask was shifted back in place.
"You what?" he asked simply, as if he didn't really comprehend what Duo had said.
"I – I've painted you," he repeated, suddenly more nervous than scared, his heart slowing a bit as he realized the man wasn't going to assault him physically. At least, he didn't think so... "I don't know you, but I've painted you."
Those dark blue eyes he'd seen so many times narrowed a moment, inspecting him carefully, looking over his face suspiciously before he suddenly turned away, apparently seeing him as essentially harmless. And although Duo was glad to be out from under those serious eyes, he felt his heart crash against his stomach and he lurched forward, leaded feet fighting him as he finally was near enough to reach out and grab his arm.
Duo quickly realized what a horrible mistake he made as he was flung backward callously like the other man was smashing a bug under his foot. Miraculously he managed to stay on his feet and he looked up to realize he was still stuck under that fierce stare.
Feeling the fool he unceremoniously dug a handful of business cards out of his pocket and threw them at the man, afraid to approach him again. In truth he wanted to simply grab one and hand it to him like a normal person, but he was shaking so hard from fear and nerves and the low that he couldn't make his fingers work to pick a single card out from the stack.
"Look at my work!" he shouted crazily, feeling completely insane and knowing he looked it. "You'll see. You'll see!" The man just stared at him, still as one of his paintings, confusion and what Duo was sure was disgust seeping through that perfect visage of calm apathy.
Without waiting to see if he picked up a single card, Duo turned on his heels and walked stiffly away, his stomach churning from the meeting, trying to appear as though he was somewhat collected after such a ridiculous outburst.
This... this changed everything. In ways Duo couldn't even hazard to guess at, even if he never saw the man again, his life was forever changed.
He was real.
Heero stared at his reflection in the dark computer screen. He barely let himself think since... it happened, deciding that instead of discovering the city any further, he would simply buy groceries, cook, do anything he could to distract him from... from the incident.
The incident. Even to give it such a vague name was to acknowledge its occurrence. Those crazed violet eyes and tousled hair stopping his heart with those simple words.
"It's you."
The memory of them made him swallow hard, unable to combat his fear. They were the two most terrifying words an undercover operative would ever hear. To be recognized was to be discovered and to be discovered was certain death.
But he had no recollection of the thin man in tight fitting jeans and a loose white shirt, unbuttoned at the top in a very metro way that Heero found immediately distasteful. He had no idea how he could possibly know him. He had never been stationed here – in fact he had never been to this city in his entire life. Unless they were high school classmates or something...
No. He fingered the business card carefully then, thick white linen cardstock, letter pressed with the simple signature 'Duo Maxwell' in brown ink. He had never known anyone to go by that name and it was too uncommon to forget. Underneath the signature was his title, 'mixed media artist,' and Heero couldn't help but think how useless a profession that was. The only other information imprinted on the small card was a phone number and a website.
He didn't really know what compelled him to pick up the card. He certainly didn't want to. Giving in to such a fanatical demand wasn't something Heero usually did. But... he had to know. If someone knew him, he had to know how.
So it was with much reservation that he turned on his computer and pulled up the web browser, typing the simple URL in almost against his will.
Heero's first impression of the work was neutral, to say the least. Art was something he had no interest in and modern art especially completely eluded him. He supposed it took emotions to understand. Hadn't someone told him that once?
Yeah, he remembered then, his high school girlfriend. It had been a long time since he'd thought about her...
He refocused, looking through the work on the first page with indifference. It wasn't beyond his ability to believe the man staged the whole scene for publicity. He certainly didn't see anything that warranted the kind of reaction his presence received from this 'Duo.'
Then he noticed a series of links at the bottom to different galleries organized by content. The very last one was a gallery called 'The Man.' Intrigued and realizing it was the only one that implied paintings of people, he clicked and as soon as the page loaded, he froze. Immediately he felt his blood pressure skyrocket and the blood rush in his ears. There were so many pictures... Pictures of places he's been that were half a world away from here. Pictures of people he was with when he was in the field. Pictures of the way he looked, what he wore, everything exactly as it was.
No one could know this. If the Yakuza had known these pictures were here...
He wracked his brain going through a laundry list of who this 'Duo' could possibly be. Was he on the inside too? No, he couldn't be, he had pictures of him going back all the way to his military career. Was it someone in the CIA? But how would he know exactly what he was wearing when he met with Hideaki over Christmas two years ago? Little details like that, little things that were absolutely perfect made Heero legitimately afraid of this man. Regardless of the fact that he had seemed so crazy and innocuous, he obviously knew way more about Heero than anyone should. Anyone.
He was an extreme liability and he had to be shut down.
But a nagging voice in the back of his head was repeatedly asking – if he meant to do Heero harm, why expose himself now? He could've taken him out at any moment over the last eight years. He didn't even have to do it himself, he could've just given some of these paintings to the right person and he wouldn't even have to get his hands dirty.
Heero stared down at the phone in his hands with quite a bit of surprise that he was actually shaking. He single-handedly took down Yoshinori Hideaki*, for Christ's sake. Some braided lady-man wasn't going to have him falling to pieces over some damned paintings.
Carefully he typed the numbers in and hit send, lifting the phone to his ear, feeling like he was on the butt end of a joke and his handler would pick up on the second ring, as usual, laughing at him.
But the phone rang a third time. And a fourth. And a fifth.
And then Duo picked up on the other end, his voice relaxed significantly, and answered with a breathy "Hello?"
"How do you know who I am?" Heero snapped immediately, unable to keep the anger and fear out of his voice.
"Oh! Ohhhhh..." Obviously the full implication of who he was took a moment for the other man to process.
"How do you have all these pictures?" Heero demanded again.
"I can't explain." The same excuse as earlier. "Can we meet somewhere to talk about this?"
Heero sighed heavily into the phone. The man sounded disoriented now and Heero wondered if he had been asleep. Or perhaps drunk. Maybe high. Anyway, he wasn't getting any information out of him this way and despite what his mind was telling him he knew in his gut that he wasn't a threat. If he meant to kill him he would've done it hours ago and not given him the chance to disappear.
"Where?" Heero found himself asking, almost against his will.
"There's a Mexican joint down the street from where we met – Papi's. Maybe around noon?" he offered lazily and Heero confirmed it. He had to be high.
"You better be there," he threatened darkly and there was a little giggle on the other end before Heero hung up the phone, frustrated and definitely not in the mood to deal with a stoner.
Maybe it was all just a weird coincidence. He stared angrily at his face on the computer screen, staring angrily back at him with the same expression. Maybe he'd seen someone who looked like him somewhere once and –
No. Heero stopped himself from wasting his time wandering down that path any further. Even if he somehow managed to dream up his exact face, he still knew every damn place he'd been for the past eight years. And not even his handler knew that.
* Because I don't know anything about mobs, I turned to my trusty Wikipedia, who helpfully informed me about the Yoshitomi Group which is a Yakuza organization actively involved in Latin American cartels that are responsible for drug trafficking, contract killing, and kidnapping in the US. I combined some names to keep this fictional and I want you to know although this is kinda based on that, this is totally fictional and hopefully I won't have to talk about it too much because I don't really feel like doing a crap ton of research on the Yakuza for a fan fic. =P If you happen to be a Yakuza aficionado, please forgive my total ignorance. Thanks!
