Warnings: AU, TWT, angst, shonen ai, some language, mentions of yaoi.
Author's Notes: My muses spent a LONG time vacationing with Shira's muses. Duo and Wufei finally decided to come back and they brought with them the inclination to write this little fic start to finish. Don't blame me!
Main Pairing: 2+5
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to Shira for sending my muses back to me and to Rhina for allowing me to care about her. The part of Vow is written in memory of Patches.
Dark Clouds and Silver
A Gundam Wing Fic
By: Yuuki Miyaka
Chapter Three
"'Fei?" Duo asked softly, looking thoroughly frustrated. "I know all this shit is supposed to make me calm and clearheaded, but . . ." He scowled, shoving the paper away and staring at the window.
Wufei glanced over at him from his own meditation, black gaze velvet with thought. "It's not?" he hazarded a guess.
"I wanna get out of the city, but I don't have the money. And anyway, I wouldn't wanna go alone." Once Duo had spilled some of his story, he'd seemed more like his old self. But Wufei had seen examples of what Duo truly was, instead of what he'd wanted them to believe he was. And Wufei knew that there was even more to Duo than what he'd already witnessed. The American was giving Wufei constant surprises, and the golden-skinned man found that he was looking forward to seeing even more.
"We can go. The whole point of this exercise is to clear your head. It won't work if all you're doing is getting frustrated." Wufei's words were casual, smooth, as he touched the brush to the canvas once more. He was rather grateful that Duo understood the inherently private nature of his painting and never looked at the canvas, grateful because Duo's expressive face always presented a challenge to capture. The eyes were both his best subjects and his worst, for they were never empty, even when Duo seemed to want them to be.
"'Fei? What exactly do you do? I've been mooching off you," Duo started, only to be interrupted by Wufei. He chuckled after hearing what Wufei was protesting and continued. "Yes, mooching. We both know it. I haven't paid you a dime, I've barely done any chores, and you haven't listened a single time I tried to go somewhere else. So how can you afford this?"
Wufei smiled, the expression almost painful as muscles long out of use stretched themselves to accommodate his needs. "I'm wealthy, Duo," he said, the name coming to his mouth easily after the time they'd spent together. "I have been for a while."
Duo's eyes went wide. "But . . . how? You were just like the rest of us." It didn't seem to occur to him that Quatre was wealthy as well, or had been before he'd been disowned. Wufei touched his brush to the picture once more, then set aside the palette, rinsing the brush in turpentine.
"I paint, Duo. It's more than just a way to cleanse myself. It's how I think things out. It's how I support myself. And I'm good at it, or at least people are willing to pay enough to stroke my ego." Duo chuckled at Wufei's description of his skill. "Mostly, I paint landscapes and starscapes. Sometimes, very rarely, I'll paint people. And even then, when I paint people it's most often from memory. I like to believe that I capture not only their likenesses but their spirits. Most of the time when I paint people, I keep it. Selling those would be a little too much like selling my own soul."
"I write, sometimes," Duo offered quietly, looking at Wufei with something akin to awe. Wufei's brow rose in surprise. "It helps to get it all out on paper. Only . . . it didn't help this last time." He looked down, then sighed. "Nothing's helping this time."
"That's why you're here, Duo. That's why I'm here. To help." Wufei's words were meant as quiet comfort, but they held the slightest hint of something more. Duo glanced back up, catching Wufei's eyes and holding them as he tried to divine just what was hidden within their ebon depths. "And to help, we'll get out of the city. Is camping a suitable substitute or would you prefer something more comfortable?"
"'Fei? What are you getting out of this? No one does anything for free." Wufei considered that for a long time, then nodded.
"Company. It's selfish, I suppose, but I've been lonely, too." Wufei stared at Duo for a long time, not entirely sure what else there was to say. Apparently Duo didn't know either, because he remained silent.
Warmth. The sensation registered before any others. Gentle warmth concentrated on certain points of his body. His ribs, his hands. It took a long moment before Wufei realized the pain was gone, and the warmth was actually healing hands doing their best to bring him back from the edge of the precipice known as coma. His eyes fluttered open, feeling more like lead weights than the light-weight skin they were. He stared up into a sea of violet-blue, unable to speak. No words were forthcoming from his companion, either.
The tableaux stayed silent and still for minutes on end. Eventually, though, it broke. Duo lifted his hands from Wufei's skin, cleared his throat. "Thought you weren't gonna come back, 'Fei," he said huskily, then smirked. "I'll go tell Heero you're fine." That name brought everything crashing down around Wufei's ears, reminding him that Duo was not his, was never his. They didn't even know he was interested, and they would never know, if he had anything to say about it. They would never know . . .
Never know. The words were on his tongue when he woke, the dark depression settling in on him as he realized he was alone. True, Duo was in the guest room, but even with the company, Wufei was always alone. Who could he trust with the knowledge of his past except another Gundam pilot. And the only one left was in no position to jump into a relationship, short-term or otherwise. A slender-fingered hand pushed from his temple to his forehead, then wiped down his face as though to erase the fact that he needed companionship. What kind of monster was he to hold Duo here, to blackmail the poor American with his own emotional instability just so that Wufei could have someone around for a few days?
He covered his eyes, blacking out the world in favor of self-recrimination. What was he going to do? What could he say . . .
"You like the green tea after nightmares, right? Unsugared." Duo's voice intruded on Wufei's thoughts, surprising the dark-haired man. He looked up and caught his breath. Duo's hair was down, tangled around his arms and shoulders, and looking like spun silk in the moonlight.
"Thank you," the Chinese man said softly, reaching out a hand to take the cup. He was careful not to brush Duo's fingers with his own. "Are you packed for the camping trip? We're leaving in the morning." It was an unnecessary reminder, but somehow the gesture felt good to him. It was . . . homey, warm.
"Yeah. Wasn't hard. I never really did much to unpack my duffel. All it really took was shoving the clean clothes back in and piling it and the sleeping bag you gave me in the car. Did that before going to bed." Duo stared into his own mug, then looked back at Wufei. "I set my alarm," he admitted quietly. When Wufei's eyes widened in surprise, Duo shrugged self-consciously. "Your nightmares always come around this time. I figured that maybe I could be waiting with hot tea. It always helps you go back to sleep, after all."
Wufei's throat suddenly constricted and he ran his hand down his face again. The gesture was obviously meant to wipe away the remnants of sleepiness but had the added bonus of surreptitiously ridding his eyes of the tears Duo had suddenly inspired. How could such a simple kindness mean so much to him? "Duo," he began hoarsely, then stopped when he realized he'd been about to share his secret. Duo cocked his head to one side, listening. Wufei grasped for something to say, then settled for, "Thank you. Your friendship means . . . everything to me."
Duo smiled gently, then nodded, rising. "We'd better get back to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us." And was it Wufei's imagination, or did he hear Duo mutter the word 'friendship' in sadness as the American left?