KS: Okay, we're back on track. There's a little home trouble going on right now, and I'm delayed in all my projects. But I think I can handle it. So forgive any delays.

The World's In Your Eyes, by Kaoru Saotome

"Sylvia," said Heero, Prussian eyes glinting slightly.

"Yeah?" replied the girl timidly. She turned to look at him and noticed for the first time how close he was. He was less than an inch from her, messy brown hair brushing against her own golden fringe, his warm, sweet breath tickling her cheek slightly.

A hand came up and caressed her face. He hadn't needed to continue verbally; that gesture contained all the feeling he was trying to express. His eyes showed pain, conflict, and fear; he had never shown this much emotion to a female, he was terrified of rejection…

That all stopped when her own hand touched his, and she smiled. A second later their lips touched passionately, opening to one another, seeking satisfaction within one another's arms and mouths as they fell back on the large bed, bodies locked together.

"Heero," she whispered lovingly, as the fire of her passion built within her. His strong arms were around her as tightly as the safest protection, and she sighed contentedly into his ear – purring as her eyes closed in bliss.

"Heero…" murmured Sylvia, stirring in her sleep. She didn't stir very far; this was due to the sleeping bag and a pair of arms encircling her shoulders and waist.

The passion of her dream finally caused her brain activity to spike. She awoke, eyes fluttering open as her lips parted in something between a sigh and a query.

She finally brought herself into perspective and checked out her surroundings. She was very warm, in the shade, in a sleeping bag, with arms around her, there was birdsong somewhere above her –

Rewind. Arms? Sylvia turned her head and caught the scent of Heero's breath. Now she remembered her dream, and went pink. She was embarrassed; yet he slept still and had not witnessed whatever she had thought of. Somehow, though, she still wished it hadn't been a dream.

Am I falling in love? Her eyes widened. She didn't know, she'd never done it before.

Hang on. Why are his arms around me?

Heero twitched one, twice, then groaned slightly as his eyes opened. For a second he didn't know where he was – in that split instant, she saw him as the human she'd been trying to see beneath the Perfect Soldier's mask. He was vulnerable, confused…as she watched, his face hardened. Then he focused on her, the way his arms had wound themselves around her, the warmth of her body, her chest pressed against his…

With a half-grunt of shock, he released her and shifted back slightly. He went pink as his head bowed, hiding his eyes beneath his chocolate-coloured locks. "Sorry."

Sylvia pitied him in that moment. She'd seen, she thought, all sides of his nature now; the image before her was not that of the perfect warrior, a Gundam Pilot with twice the strength and power of an ordinary man. This was just a boy, scared of his own feelings in case they got him hurt.

There wasn't much she could say. She considered embracing him in turn. She wanted to. But she wasn't ready; she would be signifying that she loved him, and even she wasn't sure about that yet. So, difficult as it was, she stood up and walked out of the tent silently.

Later that morning, they set off once again. The tent was packed away, and all the camping equipment had been put away. Heero had done most of it, the incredibly deft hands of the pilot making the entire camp-striking process a ten-minute job. Now they were on the road, Sylvia looking anxiously over to the male with whom she was traveling. Heero simply sat with his chin in his hand, looking out of the window, too uncomfortable to say anything.

He'd behaved like a kid. He hated moments of weakness. As if it hadn't been bad enough to get talked into sharing a tent with the girl, now he'd embraced her involuntarily.  He'd let his guard down – and he did his best never to do that. The untouchable aura that surrounded him was something he'd cultivated during the war; if he was close to no one, he reasoned, then no one would be hurt as a side effect of the attempts on his own life. It was a philosophy that had kept his friends – such as they were – alive through the entire conflict. But they'd been either under his protection anyway or Gundam pilots themselves…

He wasn't sure if he wanted to live like that any more. The war was over; he would have to relax sooner or later. Even Wufei was adjusting to the peacetime way of life; he still fought, but only in hand-to-hand or with a katana. The dojo he used was among the most famous in existence, purely because of his presence. It was rumoured – but, Heero thought, unlikely – that the heir of the Long Clan was searching for a wife with whom to continue the bloodline. That was probably wishful thinking; after the Mariemaia episode, during a night of drunken revelry, Wufei had been loosened sufficiently enough to tell them about his past. It had come as a shock to them; the thought of consummating a marriage at fourteen had Quatre cross-eyed. More surprising still had been the effect on another of the pilots.

Duo had never fought with Wufei again.

Heero pondered this as they passed the border and entered Belgium. It had seemed unlikely that the braided pilot would leave Wufei alone forever, but it had been a couple of years and there hadn't been a single threat to cut off the American's ponytail with a katana. There had been a surprising lack of activity from Duo; it was as if his mission to make the Chinaman's life hell had been negated by the sheer volume of crap Wufei had already undergone. It had been scarily quick; no sneaky darts laced with laxative hidden in Wufei's mattress, no alterations of Nataku to give it comedy breasts, no switching the Oriental's Happy Birthday banner to read Have A Fantastic Period - nothing. There was still the occasional jibe, a quick mickey-take just to keep the camaraderie going - but Wufei, having worked out that this was the limit of what would now be forthcoming from the American, took it all in his stride. He had actually laughed and joked with Duo the day they had finally gone their separate ways, which - Duo had told him later - scared the Yank so badly he didn't hit on a single attendant on his whole four-flight journey home.

Heero was jolted from his reverie by music. Again. Impassively - or as near to that as his permanent semi-glare could get -the Wing pilot turned his head to look at his companion. She looked at him briefly, but broke the look off almost immediately. She was, it was clear, highly embarrassed about the whole tent indicent and eager to forget it. So, being who he was, he proceeded to broach the subject. He'd never done a damn thing the easy way.

"Sorry about this morning," was all he began with. The ball was in her court. He waited for a reply.

"It's okay," was what he got. Not very encouraging. Normally he'd be fine with this low-level conversation, but he wasn't feeling himself. He put it down to worrying about Trowa and formulated something to say to her, just to keep the conversation going. When he spoke, so did she.

"Listen, I - "

"Look...".

They both paused.

"You first," said Sylvia timorously.

"I didn't mean to do what I did," said Heero, forging on ahead. "I was asleep, and..."

"I know," said Sylvia. "Let's just forget it happened. I mean, it was an accident, so it doesn't matter."

"Right," agreed Heero gratefully.

"Right," echoed Sylvia, her voice confident. Her mind was filled with doubts, however, and her hindbrain was screaming at her to go for his clothes as soon as possible. She had no idea it was possible to be this attracted to a male, and it was taking all her diplomatic skills to hide what she felt. It was still proving difficult. Sighing inwardly, she concentrated on her driving. Beside her, Heero switched off the classical channel. It was replaced by one of her old music discs, which opened with Fireball by Deep Purple. There was a long pause, then they grinned wolfishly at one another as Sylvia gunned the accelerator and pushed the truck to its limit.

Some hours later, still blasting insane-sounding keyboard solos over the Belgian countryside, they began to pass news vans and reporters. They knew they were getting close, and Heero swore loudly as a flashbulb indicated someone had recognised him. The stream of reporters gradually increased, and Sylvia found it harder to overtake the pelting vehicles with their satellite dishes and top-mounted cameras. Almost two hours after sighting the first newsgroup prepresentatives, Sylvia decelerated with a smirk. They were at the gates of the Winner Mansion. The tiny speaker mounted into the wall near Sylvia crackled briefly before speaking.

"Names, press affiliation and reporters' licence numbers," it said haughtily. Clearly whoever it was had long ago become sick and tired of doing this. The Arabic accent told Heero exactly who it was, and he smirked quietly.

"Uh, Sylvia Noventa," said the girl awkwardly. "Personal friend?"

"Yeah, right," said the voice sarcastically. "No licence, lady, no interview!"

Heero was now angry. He dropped to the ground beside Sylvia's door - surprising her as she hadn't heard him climb out and over the roof - and growled at the intercom.

"This is Heero Yuy, former pilot of Wing Gundam. Abdul, if you don't let us in right now, the medical world will spend years puzzling over just how I did what I'll do to you."

Sylvia leaned back, horrified. The gates, however, swung open immediately.

"Good God," she breathed, as Heero walked through the gate. She followed, taking care not to run him over in a fit of irony. Parking the truck in the first safe-looking place, she hopped from the cab and followed Heero inside. Or, rather, tried to; the door was closed as she reached it. She stood, astonished, for a moment or two before it was opened again and Heero's arm pulled her off her feet and through the portal.

Inside the house, all was quiet while Heero glanced around. The Maganac who'd let them in had already disappeared, having been assured rather menacingly by Heero that he knew what to do.

"QUATRE!" roared the Wing pilot after his cursory search. Sylvia clapped her hands over her ears. Where had he learned to yell like that?

"Heero?" came another voice, sounding almost thin and weak by comparison. The acoustics of the huge lobby rendered it totally useless to attempt to follow the sound, but after a few seconds a familiar blonde mop poked itself around a corner.

"Heero!" repeated Quatre, stepping out from the corridor and smiling broadly. Sylvia glanced at Heero only to find a similar grin on his face; this was surprising, as most of the time he either looked ready to commit murder or seemed glad that he just had.

"Quatre," said the Perfect Soldier, walking toward his friend and shaking his hand warmly. "How are you holding up?"

"Always to the point," smiled Quatre, releasing Heero's hand and placing his own in his pockets. "I'm doing okay. Rashid and the others are a big help to me."

"Yeah, uh..." Heero looked embarrassed. "I kinda threatened one of your friends just now. The guy at the gate...Abdul."

"Don't worry about it, Heero, they're used to it from you. Especially him. Listen, there's something you should..."

"HEERO!" came another voice. A horribly familiar voice.

An American voice.