by Chustang
Heero Yuy wasn't his real name, neither was 'the
Perfect Soldier', but sitting silent on the curb of that abandoned street,
many would have dubbed him depressed or in need of comfort. There was moonlight,
there was silence, and there was solitude. At first, he'd thought solitude
had been the right thing, but now... he should have turned the other way,
to someone who'd listen. After hundreds of these late nights, it
was becoming more and more addictive to shrink away, and not risk anymore
of his emotions. Heero glanced up to the streetlights, dying from lack
of maintenance, and sighed deep with in his throat. Things were bad, to
underestimate the whole situation; and drawing the worse summary, it was
pure and factual hell to a point. A point that felt like it was crawling
down his throat and never looking back. And here he was, slumping over
to hide his face in his hands, messy hair, in old, ripped clothes, with
blood fresh from a real knife's blade still warm and sticky along the curve
of his face, and even worse, he was doing something against his whole life's
teaching.
In all his years as a soldier, a pilot, a killer,
he'd never expected for life to actually become too high a wave to ride,
to tough out when the white water stung, when it all came crashing down
around his ears. Then again, as a happy six year old, he'd never thought
he'd be this, so it wasn't too much a turn of the table. Heero felt his
shoulder rack violently, and through blurred eyes, watched his pain
trickle down the curb into the drain on the corner of the street. Nothing
felt as good and horrible as this.
Becoming as human as he had in the two years with
his comrades had brought with a baffling front of emotions along with it,
stabbing him in the back whenever he least expected. He'd managed to master
some of them, to smuther and dim them behind a stoic face of stone indifference,
and to ignore others. But he couldn't suppress his pain anymore. Too much
humanity slipping into his world of simplistic obeidience. He didn't know
how to handle change. He'd always been focused, cold, and withdrawn into
his own thoughts. And now, he was being pulled out of his shell like a
child from the saftey of the womb. Into something he wasn't trained for.
Didn't know.
He remembered the sharp lick of the knife, and the
feeling of his comrades pinning him down, tossing the knife away. Couldn't
they understand? He winced at the thought. Again, death had been denied,
by the people he had trusted to understand him. They couldn't see.
That's why he was standoffish, a loner, someone who seemed to want no companionship.
Here he was, sobbing in the cold night, crying because
he was turning on himself by denying need, denying humanity. One moment,
he'd be cold and vicious and withdrawn in himself because of his discomfort,
then crying and wanting someone to lean on. He'd shun them away, only to
glance back and watch them sadly when they weren't looking. Had he gone
insane? It was possible. Heero sighed, and folding his arms, felt the sobs
melt away. Now, after the breakdown, he was left empty and strangely filled
with false comfort. Maybe he was right. "I am a bastard," he whispered
to himself, gently reaching back for his gun. Although he knew it wasn't
there, he pretended to unlock the safety and snap the trigger at nothing
in particular. A street lamp, an old newspaper, stray cats, or the faint
fireflies that drifted on the breeze.
It made no difference.
Wufei had the gun hidden somewhere in his room,
preferably near his sword, so if Heero made another attempt at the weapon
to his head, he'd be ready for it. Trowa had the knife, locked away
in a closet jam packed with the previous owner's junk, and had decided
to sleep near the door. Now it seemed impossible to kill himself.
He could leap off countless buildings. He'd only survive long enough for
his fellow pilots to discover it and nurse him back to heath, even against
his will. It seemed like he no longer was following his emotions, just
the drive to stop the pain. And it was the only way he'd been taught to
ease pain. No one had bothered to teach him trust in others, that friends
would support you and stand you back up, just that the only trust that
was safe was with yourself, and if you can't bring yourself to rise on
your own, you'd just die.
He didn't know what to think. Was he right to side
with cold and survival oriented ruthlessness that had driven him to solitude,
or with a new source of comfort that his friends offered. Sure, he been
saved by them, he'd saved them, he'd trusted them, he'd talked once and
a while, they'd had their fun together, but it never really had clicked
completely with him. There had always been that one thought that turned
him back away. Finish the mission efficiently, quietly, and with no more
distraction than allowed, no comments or hesitation. That was against what
they showed him. Sure, they were pilots too, and they knew that piloting
was number one on the list for their attention, yet the blonde and braided
boy insisted they relax and enjoy life, understanding and feeling.
Could he ever do that? Be normal again?
He suddenly realized that he had no idea what dandelions
looked like, what chocolate cake smeared across your face feels like, what
its like to stay up late, watching scary movies while pulling pranks on
each other. Heero had never put much into remembering his short childhood,
or even trying to. And now, with the war over, it was strange. That was
the only thing on their minds now, not surviving, but how to enjoy the
peace they'd fought to achieve. They'd always thought it would always be
that way, that they would never have to step off the road they'd been forced
onto, and return to where they'd started out: as kids, as human beings
with normal lives. With emotions they'd been cut off from.
So now, he was crying because of...what? Fear, nothing,
everything? What?
Heero sighed once again, his breath clouding before
his face in the chilly air. He felt a shiver run up his spine, as it grew
colder as the new morning came with midnight. The teenager was about to
stand up again and wander into his home, when he heard a voice echoing
from down the street.
"Hey, Hee-chan!"
He lifted prussian blue eyes up just to met what
he expected. A yet again drunk Duo staggering down the sidewalk, with his
braid half undone and tangled and messed. The long chestnut strands caught
his breath, and the pilot glanced up to the giddy expression on Maxwell's
face as he came to the fence around their rented home. The drunk had his
hat stuffed down his shirt, and a constant hiccup. "Wassup Yuy? *hiccup*
How's it *hiccup* going, handsome?" he stuttered, leaning against the fence
as he blinked gazed over eyes at Heero.
"Duo," he said softly, "not again."
The drunk grinned lopsidedly then sank to his knees
and dazedly glomped the cynical Heero. Duo hiccuped again, liquor
heavy on his breath, and laughed as he proceeded to poke at his nose. Shinigami
giggled like a kid, ignoring Heero trying to stop him, and muttered, "You're
an elephant nose! *hiccup* Hehehehe! *hiccup*"
"Come on Duo. Let's get in the house," Heero said,
rolling his prussian eyes as Duo tightened his arms around his neck and
purred in his ear, still with glazed looking eyes. The teen lifted the
drunk up, supporting him on his shoulder and had no problem keeping him
up; Duo seemed very capable to hang onto Heero. As he tried to ease him
to the broken gate, he hiccuped violently, screwing up his face, then resisted
him.
"Hee- *hiccup* chan! Bad boy! *hiccup*"
"Now what, Duo?" he asked, hiding his flushed emotions
behind a flat, monotonous voice.
Heero paused his eyes on the long, wavy hairs that
were messily flying around, some over his shoulder and tangled up in his
shirt, then blinked in surprise as the drunk staggered back and hiccuped
again. "I ain't going *hiccup* in there till *hiccup* Hee-chan gives me
a goodnight *hiccup* kiss!" he slurred, smiling beneath beautiful violet
eyes. Suddenly before Heero could react, the drunk moved with good speed
for his intoxicated state and grabbed his face and locked him in a kiss.
Duo grinned lopsidedly, still intoxicated, and took something in his pocket
and quickly stuffed in his collar, just before Heero broke off in surprise.
The pilot quickly stepped back from Duo, eyes wide
with shock and a confused emotion. Still clutching at his throat, Heero
stuttered as he recalled the kiss and the fire it had sent up and down
his entire body. He spit out his words quickly, unbelieving of what had
just happened. "Duo, you tongued me!" he said in shock, staring at the
boy who drunkenly leaned against the fence.
An wry smile escaped him as he hiccuped once more
and said, "Yeah, Hee-chan."
Heero took the five dollar bill from his collar,
blinked in horror, then showed it to his comrade pilot, voice still able
to keep a cool exterior. "Is this a joke, Duo?"
Duo just giggled, hiccuping again.
Defeated, he sighed to himself, then stuffed the
money back into Duo's pocket. Heero slung Duo's arm around his shoulder
to help him into the house and as he continued to be glomped, a spark lit
up in his eyes. It was strange. Perhaps he had the answer now, why he had
brokendown. It was just a small suggestion in his whirling mind, that maybe
his friends were right. While Duo flickered lazy eyes as sleep began to
overcome him, Heero smiled in his mind as the boy leaned on him. Then stepping
in the door and leading Duo long enough for him to collaspe, snoring lighlty
onto the couch, he stepped back in the dark of the silent house. Heero
watched the sleeping Duo with prussian eyes, then stuffed his hands into
his pockets. But he didn't even glance at the door again, with no thought
of ever returning to that street curb crossing his mind, as he collasped
onto the floor beside the couch, sitting up, and fell asleep with
his head leaning it and Duo's limp arm holding his shoulder.
Close enough to normal.