Hey, hey! ELLE here again! Thank you lovely readers for continuing along with us. =) Hopefully this chapter will answer some questions for you all... Or maybe just add more?! ;-P
12.
Heero didn't particularly care to be paraded around like a peacock. Well, in fact, he fucking hated it. He tolerated it when Relena required it because it was her and he loved her in his own way and clearly he would move heaven and earth for the people he loved.
He would kill for the people he loved.
But in this case he didn't mind standing before all those sleazy ass motherfuckers. He stared at the crowd and he recognized too damn many of them. He had shook their hands, stared at them on video feeds, knew their names and titles and he memorized each goddamned face so that he could recall it for his report, recall it so that they could be arrested and brought to trail for supporting this base crime against humanity.
Kerrigan spoke but Heero didn't hear a damn word as his eyes landed on the last two people he'd ever expected to be there, let alone together, let alone with their skin touching.
This had gone far enough. Way too fucking far.
He watched as Duo closed his eyes and Milliardo's lips whispered across his cheek. Milliardo was Relena's brother, a fellow Preventer agent, a high-ranking Preventer agent at that, someone who Heero respected, at least, and Milliardo damn well knew Duo was his. Damn well knew their relationship and their history and knew to keep his hands off. Why he was here, Heero wasn't sure. If he was here as an undercover operative it seemed like overkill and it seemed damned foolish but then if he wasn't here as an operative why the fuck was he here?
And Duo... Duo wasn't supposed to see him here, wasn't supposed to know that he was prepared to kill. He'd be mad, he'd be worried, he'd... The only thing his mind could supply was a picture of Milliardo with his hands in Duo's hair and his mouth on his and Heero's fists clenched so hard they ached and he forced his eyes back to the other men in the room, forced himself to memorize each face to erase the vision he didn't want – didn't need – couldn't fucking live with.
It wasn't that Heero thought Duo would betray him for Milliardo. No. His faith was far deeper than that. He didn't doubt Duo. He never fucking doubted Duo. It was that he was prepared to kill for Duo, to save him, to get them off this god forsaken shit sack. If Heero was prepared to kill, what was Duo prepared to do if he thought he had to? Was Duo prepared to sleep with Milliardo? Duo wasn't a slut, but Heero wasn't a killer. And although he only understood it in a distant way through the lens of his own bent emotions, he understood that it had hurt Duo to see him in that bunker and he understood that Duo wouldn't let him go back there and he understood that his recent actions would seem like he was retreating into himself because he was but it wasn't like that. It wasn't like the bunker and the ration bars and the beard and the filth. But he couldn't explain it. They had no time, they had no privacy, they had nothing here but were forced to plan based on assumptions of another man's perspective that was completely different than their own and it fucking sucked.
Heero hated this mission. He hated wondering if Milliardo was already balls deep up Duo's ass and he hated wondering if Duo enjoyed it. It had been weeks since they rolled against one another in the slick humidity of Duo's room and Duo gave him damn near nothing during training and Heero couldn't guess what he was thinking, always sucked at that, and Duo knew it. He wondered how long Duo had known about Milliardo being here. He wondered how long they'd been fucking.
"No one since you, baby." Duo's voice, husky, full of need and longing. Heero wondered if that was still true.
Luckily as a newcomer he was in one of the first rounds so he wasn't forced to sit there and watch Duo with Milliardo, his perverted hands on Duo's neck, brushing down his braid, resting on his arm like he was a damn whore only there for his pleasure. And thank fucking god because if his imagination was anywhere close to reality he wasn't sure he could stop himself from climbing up into the stands and beating the living fuck out of Milliardo whether he was Relena's brother or not.
He was announced by stage name only as he stepped into the cage, assuring some level of privacy for men who'd likely crossed paths with the powerful figures watching them from outside the mesh during the war. Despite the fact that Kerrigan wanted men to die tonight, he didn't want his best fighters being picked off by angry politicians with lofty bank accounts and friends in the assassin business.
When Heero took the cage he noted the placard hanging on a board mounted on the cage post in his corner. The placard had a painted picture of a mask, wing tipped at the ends with slits for eyes – and he looked over at his opponent's corner and saw the same oversized placard with a ram's head painted on. He looked up at the crowd and saw suddenly that men were smiling and nodding in Milliardo's direction and Milliardo was grinning like a goddamned serpent, waving that coy little one handed tip of a wave the rich employed and he was sure it wasn't because he was rich so much as because he wanted to keep his other hand on Duo's arm – and fuck but Heero wanted to break that hand.
He shook when he noted the lapel pin Milliardo wore that matched the symbol on his placard and he realized with startling clarity that he had been set up. His first night in the cage Kerrigan had called Milliardo his friend and Heero thought it presumptuous but it wasn't. He was Milliardo's bitch. Heero had Milliardo's dick equally as far up his ass as Duo, he just didn't know it until right then. Oh sure, it was easy for Milliardo to get him in because he was Milliardo's goddamned fighter. These fights were personal for the men attending. They vetted and had their own men trained up just to die and it made him sick to realize he was going to have to kill a pawn. An opponent that didn't want to be here. An opponent who may have had no choice. What did his sponsor demand of him? What war crime would be wiped clean if he competed? What debt did he owe? At least Wade chose this life willingly, misguided though he was. Heero doubted any of the men here had a choice.
Fury rocked through every nerve ending in Heero's body and he forgot about getting Duo out and he forgot about locking down his emotions and he forgot about the mission and the bunker and the whole damned series of events that lead to this one moment in his life and all he wanted to do was climb up into that seating, rip Milliardo's filthy fucking hand from Duo and beat the shit out of him. Everything they'd experienced together during the war, all the respect he'd had for him vanished in a horrifying, crushing instant and he felt cold.
If this was what Milliardo became post-war, if he could rationalize this kind of behaviour somehow to himself, was Heero not any better than that? Was he equally disgusting when viewed from the outside?
But he didn't have time to consider that, didn't have time to think. He looked across at his opponent, a man he'd seen in the gym many times. Maybe a few years older than Heero, a bit more bulky, a pretty good opponent, fought well from everything Heero saw, but he was scared. He was so fucking scared of him it hurt. Heero saw the way he looked at him in the gym, in the locker room, hell in the goddamn bunks when he walked by. Saw the fear in his eyes, saw the way they shone with terror when Heero stepped onto the mat in the gym, saw how he darted to the other side immediately – putting as much space between himself and Heero as possible.
And now, here he was, standing in front of him, his terror peaking and practically rolling off of him in waves so palpable Heero thought he might suffocate. He knew this was the end. He knew he was going to die here and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about that. Heero didn't want to do it this way. He didn't want to kill a man who knew he was about to die. He sure as hell didn't want to kill for Milliardo.
When the bell rang he didn't pause, didn't hesitate, he sped towards his opponent before the man could even respond, his terror freezing him in place. And with the most gentle, kind hands he could manage and the dedicated, deliberate skill of someone who'd killed his first man at age five, he snapped his opponent's neck. Heero felt his body go limp instantly and he let him down easy, some fucking pathetic attempt at honouring the dead or something. He stared up at those men, the collective silence of shock, and he watched as suddenly the entire room erupted in a mix of horror, elation, and outrage.
It took a minute – took too damned long – for someone to come and escort him out of the ring. And when they finally did it was too late – way too damned late – for the look in Duo's eyes had already seared itself into his retinas and it haunted him all the way back to the empty patch-up room.
He slammed his fist into the flimsy metal wall and the poorly constructed piece of shit actually bent under his wrath. He shouldn't fucking be here. Une should've known better. He couldn't handle this shit. Couldn't handle turncoats and death and fuck – Duo. Couldn't handle trying to be partners with him like this, now, now that they were involved – couldn't handle fucking up their relationship even further to make this assignment work. He realized when he saw that look – Duo was more important to him than this or Une or Preventer or any-other-fucking-thing and even if their relationship wasn't perfect and even if some goddamned pamphlet described it as abusive and even if they could never be anything more than a couple weeks of fucking every few months – none of that mattered because as long as it made Duo happy, as long as it made Duo happy...
Heero came to suddenly and he was staring absently at the wall as his thoughts deteriorated into the startling realization that this was love. Yes, he'd thought it before, never corrected the assumptions of others, and assumed it was himself, but it wasn't until that very moment that he realized what that word truly meant.
As long as Duo was happy.
But Duo wasn't happy. Duo wasn't happy here, with this, on this assignment. And Heero hardened his heart against the fact that he'd just killed a man in cold blood as Milliardo's pawn because it didn't matter. The plan stayed. He had to get Duo out of here. Get him away from this shit hole and away from the bastard Milliardo and try to make him happy again.
Fuck if the last part didn't sound impossible. Heero had no idea how he was supposed to make him happy. Just when he thought he'd succeeded, Duo would always run.
"Hey, Heero."
He turned suddenly at the unfamiliar sound of a woman's voice and was met with a slender chick dressed in next to nothing with a furtive look in her eyes. His brows narrowed in irritation and confusion at her but she didn't flinch. Must be used to assholes, Heero thought bleakly.
"Your trainer –"
"Tell him to go fuck himself," Heero shot back quickly, immediately trying to put distance between them. What the fuck was Duo thinking? Attending this fight with Milliardo – he'd be completely fucked if Kerrigan saw him – and then sending messages by serving wench to him after the fight? Jesus Christ, they were doomed to fail. This whole damn mission, doomed to fail.
"He's worried about you." She tried to touch him but he stalked towards the door before she could. For some dumb fuck reason that didn't dissuade her and she followed him out in the corridor.
"Go back before you get caught," Heero commanded with an air of authority he didn't have but she had to know how stupid she was being. Surely Kerrigan's orders overrode anything Duo would say. Why the hell did women never think? They always seemed to be disobeying orders, disrupting expectations, causing all kinds of fucking problems.
"He just –"
"I'm fine," Heero emphasized. She paused and studied him for a minute but to Heero's relief she didn't say anything else. She just nodded a moment and left, leaving Heero pent up and frustrated again.
He wanted to beat the shit out of something – but Duo knew he'd want that, knew he'd want to go to the gym, knew he would find him there. He really wanted Duo but he wanted to go somewhere Duo wouldn't find him – wouldn't harass him with questions and worries and blow their cover. Take him back to his room. Fuck him senseless in that humid box until everything smelled like cum and sweat and sex and Heero groaned, a pathetic sound in the back of his throat, and with the adrenaline coursing through his veins just remembering the smell made him hard.
He wanted a shower – and not a fucking cold one either – and he found his feet moving in that direction despite himself. If Duo found him in the showers, well...
And Duo did find him there – at least in the privacy of Heero's mind as he quickly jerked off to the thought of Duo touching him, sucking him, fucking him up against that tiled wall while the tepid water turned cold.
