None of them slept, every one in mission mode. High alert. It was several hours before any word was had. It came in the form of a doctor, and Quatre rose to meet the man. Once again, Heero was amazed at the respect Quatre received from the men around him. Heero rose as well at the approach, and out of the corner of his eye he spotted the other two pilots rising. He schooled his expression into neutrality, and he suspected the other's doing the same. But they were all worried, he could tell. Heero stiffened, expecting the worst news. It had taken too long to get here; there had been far too much blood. They stood in silence, until Quatre broke it.

"How is he?" The blonde pilot asked. Heero was grateful for how Quatre phrased his words. Four sets of intense stares centered on the doctor, and Heero watched the man fidget.

"He made it through surgery. You pilots are made of strong stuff; we honestly were not expecting him to make it. His condition is still critical, but if he pulls through the next twenty four hours he'll recover just fine," the doctor reported, and Heero felt, rather than heard, a collective sigh of relief. Heero was torn on whether to ask to see him or try and remain indifferent. He was sure he had lost the effect of his mask around the other pilots by now, but it was so deeply ingrained in his person. Thankfully, Quatre saved him from having to make the decision.

"Can we see him?" Quatre asked. The doctor nodded and beckoned to them before turning back and heading through the doors. The medical area was small but well stocked, Heero thought as they walked through it. The doctor paused at a door, looking uncertainly at the pilots. Heero suspected he was looking at them as teenagers, not the full-fledged soldiers they actually were. It was Wufei this time who spoke.

"We are soldiers. Not children. Nothing beyond that door will harm us, we've seen worse. We've done worse." The Chinese pilot was irritated, irked enough for all of them. The doctor started and shrugged, motioning to the door.

"He's beyond there. There's a nurse standing by if you need anything," the doctor said, and then he fled. Heero could just hear Duo's dry comments on the man's behavior, and the inappropriate snickering. He turned to the door. No one had opened it yet, and he sensed the other pilot's trepidation. Despite Wufei's words, that was their comrade on the other side of that door. Their friend. Wufei finally made a noise of disgust which Heero suspected was more towards Wufei himself than anything else, and opened the door. He stopped dead, and blanched. Heero almost did not want to see what would unnerve Wufei enough for him to turn such a peculiar shade of white, but he had to know. It seemed so did Quatre and Trowa, and they bunched up behind Wufei, forcing the Chinese pilot to step inside. They all soon saw what had caused such a reaction in their fellow pilot. There was an audible gasp from Quatre, but both Heero and Trowa just stood silently.

They'd all been hurt, of course they had, but nothing like this. Nothing so severe. Heero clenched his hands into fists; he could feel his nails digging into his palms. He felt a hand descend on his shoulder, and by feel alone he could tell it was Trowa. Someone had closed the door behind them, at least giving them privacy. He turned his attention back to Duo. To Heero it seemed there were tubes and wires everywhere, but that wasn't what had disturbed him the most. The ventilator was what startled him. That was what had likely caused the reaction in the other pilots too. Heero broke away from the others and approached the bed; the braided pilot had at least been cleaned up. Heero didn't think he could have stood seeing more of Duo's blood spilled. There was a chair by the bed and he let himself fall into it, reaching out to touch Duo's face. He was so pale, and cold. But he was alive, and he was going to stay that way. Heero made a silent vow to himself to ensure that. He was barely aware of the others collecting chairs and settling around the room. He was thankful for their silent support. Heero finally steeled himself and carefully took Duo's hand in his own, clutching it like it was his only line to life. He hated how cold the braided pilot's hand was, but the calculating part of his mind knew it was from the blood loss. He still didn't like it. The only sounds in the room were the machines and the other pilot's breathing, they sat in such pseudo-silence for what seemed like a very long time to Heero. Occasionally Heero would reach up and smooth back Duo's bangs. Finally, he heard the other pilots stirring and standing up. It seemed by mutual agreement that they moved.

"Heero, we're going to sleep. One of us will come relieve you in a few hours," the blonde pilot said. Heero thanked whatever god was out there that Quatre could tell what everyone needed before they knew themselves. He acknowledged Quatre's words with a nod. Heero was soon left alone in the room. He didn't dare sleep. He stayed on guard, senses tuned to the door and the room, even with his attention on Duo. At least it gave him some time to sort his feelings out. Because clearly he had feelings for Duo. But he was uncertain about acting on them, he didn't dare jeopardize their mission, but any of them could be captured or killed at any moment, the whole incident proved that. And there was the matter of Duo's feelings, did the other pilot care for Heero? There was nothing like this in his training, nothing dealing with love, or feelings, or even emotions. Was it love? Was this what love felt like? Heero was so uncertain and unsure about it all, more so than he had ever been in his life. Was love the urge to protect something so dear to you so strongly because you couldn't dare lose it? Was it the fact that Heero's entire world seemed turned on its side? Was Duo even gay? Hell, was Heero himself gay? That, he supposed, he could ask Quatre. Because Quatre had Trowa, and, well, Quatre seemed to know just what was happening. But talking about his feelings with another living soul? That terrified Heero. His mind ran in circles, even as he stared at the wall in front of him. He couldn't, wouldn't, look at Duo too long, because his world tilted a little farther each time he did. He was terrified, truly and utterly terrified of losing Duo. He couldn't imagine a world without Duo Maxwell, without their, his braided idiot.