Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! Here's the next chapter – Swordy.
Til the Clouds Roll By
Part 2 – Life As We Know It.
I decide that shorts aren't really adequate for a motorbike journey despite the clement weather and realise that I need to go back upstairs to change. Trowa is on hand to help me find my way upstairs since Heero is nowhere to be found. I'm guessing he isn't even in the house as Trowa takes the opportunity to ask if everything is okay between us. I smile although my heart aches when I realise Heero's indifference is now noticeable to the others.
"You know Heero," I say, trying to sound casual and nonchalant.
Trowa, as perceptive as always, sees past my façade. "Don't worry," he says in an emotionless voice that belies his true concern, "he's just trying to adjust to what's happened."
I want to shout out that surely I'm the one that's got the greatest amount of adjusting to do, but I know Trowa didn't mean it like that. In a lot of ways, he's very similar to Heero. I know from what Quatre has said that Trowa doesn't find it easy to talk about his feelings but at least he seems to have a handle on how to react to situations outside his role as a soldier.
We enter mine and Heero's room and I go to sit on the bed whilst Trowa finds me the faded denims I have requested. He passes them to me and leaves, saying he is going to change before we head off. After I am out of my shorts and into my jeans I grope under the bed until I find the battered pair of combat boots that I am rarely without. Trowa has said he will come back for me when he is ready, so the silence leads me into my favourite boredom-occupying thoughts: Heero and Me.
I realised I felt something for Heero not long after we met. Something about the way he completely drove me round the twist every time we were in the same room. I still marvel at the fact that I didn't kill him when I (foolishly) thought I was protecting Relena. Heero said I really made an impression on him that day. No shit, since I shot him in the arm. Looking back, I realise that Relena was a key figure in the path our lives took. It was her dogged pursuit of Heero that made me aware that I was jealous, particularly when Heero showed her any interest in return. Since I've never shown any interest in the non-fairer sex, I wondered initially whether it was her I had feelings for. Yeah I know, but there was a lot of vodka involved when that particular thought flashed into my fucked-up head. When I'd got that crazy (and slightly sickening) notion out of my brain, the process of elimination led me to Heero. I didn't hate him, I loved him! Now how crazy is THAT?
Denial followed swiftly afterwards but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get the thought out of my head that we'd make one cute couple. Cuter even than Quatre and Trowa, who still try to play down the intensity of their attraction to one another, even now, when they know we know about them.
After denial came awkwardness. I couldn't be around him without my face looking like someone had turned the heating up real fast. To hide my attraction I engineered arguments; fights that made it look as if nothing had ever changed. We were renown for our personality clash so I just acted the way everyone expected me to. Heero came pretty close to kicking the shit out of me on a number of occasions, I wound him up so much. After several months of that he finally flipped and I found myself being tube-fed in the ICU ward of the hospital Sally worked at. Lucky really that our identities weren't known at that time, as hell knows how I'd have got treatment otherwise.
Everyone was shocked, but no one more so than Heero himself. He prided himself (if he knew what pride was) on being in perfect control of his emotions and I'd caused him to lose that control. Logical as always, he turned up one night, long after visitors had been sent away, demanding to know how I'd achieved something he'd always presumed was impossible. Whether it was the drugs or the blow to my head, (I remember him smashing me head-first through an antique dressing screen, which wasn't quite as flimsy as it looked) but I told him. I was in love with him and I didn't know what to do about it. Through the one non-swollen eye that actually opened I observed his reaction.
Nothing. Nada. Zip
I awaited further pummelling but that never came either. Instead he just calmly turned and left as if I'd told him something completely insignificant, like what I'd had for lunch (through the tube of course). He never returned during the remainder of my stay in hospital, which was about a week and after I'd graduated onto soup and pureed solids. Imagine my surprise then; when on my day of release, I was greeted at the main doors by Heero alone. Sally, who'd been on duty at the time, had looked a little perturbed at the idea of releasing me into the care of the person who had tried to open my face up by repeatedly smashing his fist into it. Clearly she thought I should stay the hell away from him and him from me, but in the true style of the lovesick, I reassured her that I would be fine and wanted to go with him.
He helped me from the wheelchair and ensured I was seated comfortably in the old battered sedan he'd 'borrowed' (there's that euphemism again) for the occasion of collecting me from the hospital, before he fired the engine and drove off. We'd been travelling in silence for some time before I realised we weren't heading back to the safehouse. For a moment I reasoned that the guys must have moved safehouses whilst I was in hospital but I knew they would have told me if that was the case. Then the sick, horror movie-loving side of me decided that Heero was taking me somewhere desolate so he could 'finish off the job' and bury me under some shallow mound of earth.
"Uh, Heero?" I said, glancing across at the grim-faced boy beside me. "You wanna tell me where we're going?"
He ignored me until we reached the end of a long, un-asphalted track. I hissed in pain once or twice as we hit potholes that jarred my bruised body and frankly, by the time he stopped the car I was not in the mood for any of his shit.
"Come on, Heero," I complained grumpily, "we're supposed to be at home and I've got my medication to take. You know the shit Sally will give me if I don't…"
"I love you too," he said quietly, never looking up from his fingers, which were twisting nervously in his lap. That was weird.
I looked across at him and blinked. Did he really say that?
"Whoa, Heero," I started to blabber, "I think maybe you pierced my eardrums or something when you beat the crap outta me, come to think of it, I probably sustained a little brain damage, 'cause you really know how to throw a punch…"
For the second time in five minutes I was interrupted by the taciturn object of my affections, although this time he never used any words. Whilst I'd been blabbering and staring out of the window as my face changed an interesting shade of crimson, Heero had edged a little closer until he could reach over and turn my face to his. Then before I could laugh, cry, protest, do anything, he was kissing me deeply and passionately until my brain reminded me that in order to go on living, I needed to breathe.
I managed to pull back and take in a huge gulp of air as we remained almost nose-to-nose inside the rusty sedan. His eyes bored into mine and, even in my extreme state of confusion, I registered the look of uncertainty in those cobalt orbs. That was unnerving. Heero, who'd always been so sure about everything, was looking at me for the answers.
"I don't understand," I said to him, savouring the smell of him being so close.
Heero shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Nor I," he replied in his usual monotone.
Without another word, he moved back into his seat and turned the key in the ignition. As he started to reverse up the track I realised that the conversation was now at an end. As bizarre as that may seem to you or I, what happened made perfect sense to Heero. He'd decided that I was to be his and from that moment on I had no say in whether I was in or out. We were now a couple although he never made an issue of it. He never denied it either but clearly he thought it was something between us and us alone. Laugh if you will, but he can be extremely tender and in our more intimate moments he can say the most surprising things. I guess that's what hurts so much about the way he's treating me now. I may be blind, but I'm still Duo Maxwell. If only Heero would realise that…
The door opens again and Trowa is back.
"Are you ready?" he asks and I nod in reply. Time to blow this Popsicle stand.
We head back downstairs where I hear someone moving about. Trowa calls out to the person, who turns out to be Quatre, and asks him to fetch our coats from the cupboard under the stairs. My Arabian friend hands me my treasured black leather and I pull it on, feeling a little more like me when wrapped in its creaky folds.
"Very Arnold Schwartznegger," Quatre says appraisingly as he takes in the image of me in my leather jacket and sunglasses.
"I'll be back," I reply with a giggle. Quatre laughs in response but Trowa remains silent. Man, this guy needs access to a TV!
The three of us head outside to where Trowa has prepared the bike. As we go to get on, Heero appears as if by magic, his booted feet crunching on the gravel around the side of the house.
"Be careful," he says warningly. "If anything happens, hide Duo and deal with it."
I realise now that he was only addressing Trowa when he spoke. Sensible advice yes, but I can't help but feel hurt. He makes me sound as wretched and useless as I feel. I suddenly feel guilty burdening Trowa with my presence but before I can offer to stay home he replies.
"Don't worry we'll be fine," he says calmly, "Me and Duo can take care of ourselves."
That one small comment reaffirms my faith in humanity. I think Quatre's personality is rubbing off on Trowa more than he realises. Remind me to thank him later.
I feel my way onto the pillion before Trowa hands me the helmet. It's a tight fit with my braid sticking out the back but the chance of another head injury is something I just don't need. Trowa then climbs on in front on me and starts the engine, rendering any further conversation impossible. I snake one arm around his waist before we pull away from the house and out onto the open road.
The wind whips against my un-visored face and drags my braid out behind me like a pennant. The wispy strands of hair broken off through years of plaiting my lengthy mane tickle the nape of my neck as we roar along and the sensation of speed makes me want to whoop with pleasure. As if he senses my exhilaration, Trowa yells 'faster?' and now I do shout out loud, urging him on like the reckless youth I am. I don't need to see the road rushing past us to know that our velocity is both illegal and insane, but I know that Trowa is enjoying this as much as me. You see, Trowa is a lot like me in many ways (although those similarities are very different from the ones he shares with Heero). He too has a daredevil streak, which I hastily add, he conceals a lot better than I. Catherine once remarked that he genuinely has no fear when faced with a set of knives which are about to be thrown about his head and body and I completely believe her. He has no fear of death and nor do I. Kindred spirits are we, brought about through circumstance and a similarly shitty childhood. I don't need sympathy; I accepted that I got dealt a bum hand many years ago.
After many miles at breakneck speed, Trowa brings the bike to a halt at the side of the road. Engaging the kickstand, he helps me off and we sit side by side on the grass verge for a breather. I take off the glasses Quatre bought me and place them inside the upturned helmet as I allow my face to cool in the early afternoon breeze. My skin is warm and damp through being constricted inside the helmet and I savour the feeling of the wind until Trowa hands me a bottle of water.
"Thanks," I say gratefully before taking a long, hard swig. "How far away are we now?"
"About another forty minutes," Trowa replies, accepting the bottle from me when I've had enough.
"It's good to be out," I say, voicing the thought most prominent in my mind. I seem to be doing that a lot lately and I'm amazed that I've never insulted anyone yet as most of my musings aren't as innocent as that one.
"Yeah," he replies from beside me.
"Thanks for letting me come," I say and mean it, "I know bringing me is a bit of a burden if we were to run into any Ozzies."
"You know, Heero didn't mean it like that," he says, knowing that my lover's earlier comment will have inspired that thought.
I wish I could be so sure.
"He's hurting because he sees your injury as his failure."
I snort incredulously. "How can he possibly think that? He wasn't even on the same mission when it happened!"
"I know," Trowa replies, as placid as always, "but it still hurts him."
Silence swoops and carries away any further conversation like a hawk's unsuspecting prey. I want to believe Trowa, but I can't help the nagging suspicion that Heero no longer loves me because I'm no longer useful. I don't believe for a minute that he'd kill me like he would have done when we were barely acquainted, but I think he thinks I should leave our group to remove the burden on the rest of them. Maybe he's right, maybe it's selfish of me to stay now I'm no longer part of the cause, but where would I go? Call me ignorant but I'm sure the phone directory's not crammed with numbers of rest homes for out of commission teenage terrorists like myself. Maybe I should start my own: Duo Maxwell's home for war veterans who aren't old enough to buy alcohol but are old enough to get themselves blow up. Scratch that; the sign itself would bankrupt me.
My off-the-wall thoughts are interrupted by Trowa, who suggests that we should resume our journey. I nod my agreement before I replace my sunglasses and slip the snugly-fitting helmet back over my head. Thank God I'll not be able to see how bad my hair looks when we get to Howard's place! Heh, I may be blind but I'm still as vain as hell!
Before long, the smell of the sea reaches my nostrils and I know that we're nearing our destination. The large converted tanker owned by Howard and the Sweeper group will be docked specially for the occasion of our visit and I'm guessing that it's plainly visible now owing to the sheer amount of space its hulking great mass occupies in the water. The bike slows and through the reduction in noise I hear the welcoming shouts of Howard's men. Trowa parks up the bike and the two of us head in the direction of said noise. His touch on my arm is minimal, knowing my stubborn pride is dictating that I should try to look as independent as possible in front of my old friends.
"Duo!" Howard calls out as we reach the top of the steel gangway. Before I can respond, I'm enveloped in his wiry-armed embrace. He smells of motor oil and burritos.
"Hey, Howard," I reply, almost overwhelmed by his warmth. Funny how something simple like a hug can threaten your sensibilities when you're feeling a bit sensitive. "How's tricks?"
Howard makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a laugh and a sneeze. "Not bad," he says cheerfully, his hand still resting lightly on my arm. After a brief pause he must have turned to my companion because he says, "Trowa," by way of a greeting. Above the clanks and clunks of this huge vessel, I hear the shuffling of bodies somewhere close. The awkwardness I'd dreaded at this meeting of old comrades creeps up on me but I can't blame them; I'm not sure I'd know how to react if the situation was reversed. Howard, whose wisdom clearly extends beyond gundanium alloy and propulsion systems comes to my rescue yet again by instructing his men to come up and introduce themselves so I know who's there. Almost immediately my hand is clasped by a rough, callous-covered paw.
"It's Eddie, Duo, glad you're here kid."
"Thanks," I say before he's stepped away and another presence has taken his place.
"Digger," comes the second voice followed by a firm hand gripping mine.
And so it continues. I can't help but smile as an assortment of names and nicknames are related to me, swiftly followed hugs, handshakes and claps on the shoulder.
It feels like a homecoming of sorts.
TBC…