Title: Maximum Pulse

Chapter: Deja Vu

Status: Complete; open to revision

"No, Duo! I'm going to get my bike, now."

Whatever reassurances the American had been trying to give him were falling on deaf ears. All that he was interested in right now was getting down to that bar and making damned sure that his bike was all right. Hiirou practically galloped down the stairs, his mechanic friend hot on his heels, and he got as far as the front door of the restaurant when a commanding voice got his attention. "Hiirou, wait." Both young men stopped, and when the Japanese male turned he found Wufei in the doorway, an anxious-looking Quatre behind him. "Before you go rushing out, you should probably take a look at this."

For the first time in a long time, the delivery boy was actually a little hesitant. He locked his eyes on Wufei's as he approached, trying hard not to look down at the plain cardboard box in the Chinese youth's hands. "What is it?" he asked, quietly. Half of him wanted the other boy to lie to him. He was fairly certain that he knew what was in there.

Quatre stepped forward, taking the box from Wufei and upturning it onto the dining room floor. Out clattered the tags to Hiirou's bike and an envelope. The Japanese youth hissed angrily, burying his face in his hands and gritting his teeth together. He walked a little ways back into the restaurant. Behind him, Duo sighed and bent to retrieve the plates, and he turned the card over skeptically. With the other two boys watching from over his shoulders, he opened the envelope and pulled out a rather tacky Easter card. Inside lay a polaroid photograph of the Hayabasu and yet another map. It was an outlined course, complete with a starting time and date. "Meet us at the location on the map, and you're gonna race our newest member. Win and you get your crotch rocket back. Lose and you leave town," he read. Blue, violet, and black looked up from the scribbled message, to the Japanese youth now standing frighteningly still in the middle of Chinatown's dining room. "Hiirou?"

Quatre and Wufei remained silent, the blonde chewing his lip and his Asian counterpart looking to him for some plan of action. Duo wasn't sure that he could conjure up something reassuring to say to his friend. He stepped forward, handing off the materials to his companions and approaching the delivery boy slowly. Hiirou's lean frame was taught, and he seemed ready to lash out at the first thing that threatened him. It was like watching a wild animal backed into a corner, and he wasn't really too keen on taking the hit, but he laid a careful hand on the boy's shoulder. When Hiirou didn't make a move to strike, he felt a bit more comfortable, and he slid both arms around the youth's tense shoulders, laying his cheek to the back of Hiirou's neck and fumbling for words.

"You can get your bike back, Hiirou."

The boy chuckled, and it was enough to set Duo's hair on end. It was deep, and spiteful, and full of a contained rage. "How?"

The mechanic thought for a moment. "Race them for it."

"On what?" Now he sounded annoyed.

"I-I'm not sure..." Duo was starting to get pretty uncomfortable. He'd never seen this side of his friend, and he prayed he'd never see it again. His voice was cold, apathetic, and he thanked the higher powers that he couldn't look Hiirou in the eye at the moment. "Hiirou, it'll be okay--"

The hit sent him flying back at least three feet.

He wasn't even sure how the boy had gotten out from his hold so fast, but he was now standing over the braided youth, fists at his sides. "No!" He shouted at the other brunette. "No, Maxwell! It's fucking over! They won! I can't race them for it without another bike, and I can't go to the fucking cops, because they already know about us! It's over!" The last word was a scream, and Hiirou started towards the front door once again.

Wufei and Quatre were standing, shocked, beside Duo, who was pulling himself up off of the floor, clutching his side, and then the mechanic vaulted across the room and tackled Hiirou bodily to the floor. "You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" He pinned the Japanese youth to the floor and growled down at him. "You're not quitin' that easy, damn it! Where'd the stubborn, competitive Hiirou go, huh? Where's that asshole that was talkin' trash at the bar last night?" He released the other boy's wrists and punched him across the face, and Quatre gasped, Wufei cringing at the sickening sound of bones cracking under flesh. "What did you do with my fuckin' friend?!"

Hiirou lay under the braided boy, staring up at him unresponsively. The mechanic was breathing shakily with anger, his teeth clenched, and his violet eyes were furious, and it sobered Hiirou up. The sound of the American's normally articulate and laconic voice cracking in rage was enough to snap him back into reality, and he frowned. "Duo..." He trailed off, and settled for letting his head fall to the floor in surrender. Duo was right; he had to get his bike back...

Quatre and Wufei made a stealthy retreat into the kitchen, and the two boys found themselves alone in the dining room, their anger and frustration looming vigils in the background. They sat in silence for a while, until Hiirou finally worked up the nerve to speak. "I shouldn't have hit you."

Above him, the mechanic snorted wryly, clearly unamused. "That was a shitty apology, and I refuse to say 'sorry'. You fuckin' deserved that."

For once, he couldn't argue with the idiot's logic.

"...No one's touched it in almost five years, but it runs great..."

Hiirou touched a tentative hand to the tender area of his jaw, wincing as the abused skin and bone ached in response. That hit was definately going to leave a magnificent bruise... He followed Duo to the back of the garage, and watched as the boy struggled to tug an oversized tarp off of some random vehicle that was remotely motorcycle-shaped. After a few seconds of struggling, the tarp lay on the floor, and Hiirou was looking at a Suzuki Katana. It was a beautiful bike. "Duo, where did you get this?" He moved closer, eyes raking over the black and white paint, the iron cross graphics skillfully crafted into the design, and then he saw the number one written across the back in kanji. "Oh."

Duo gave him a forced half-smile. "Yeah. This is Solo's old bike."

The two boys stood side by side, gazing at the Katana in the midafternoon sunlight, and when Hiirou broke the silence, his voice was quiet and reserved. "I owe you," he murmured, and Duo looked over at him, arms folded across his shirt, and gave him a small, genuine smile.

"If you act more like the guy I woke up next to this morning and less like yourself, then we'll call it even."

Azure blue eyes glanced over at the mechanic, assessing. "Are you going to be okay with me riding your brother's bike?"

It was a valid question. Hiirou could only begin to imagine the psychological impact it would have on his friend to watch him race the bike that took his twin brother's life, and it wasn't pretty. He wasn't even sure that he was comfortable handling it, but he had to get his Hayabasu back.

Beside him, Duo kicked at the ground a little, giving Hiirou a quick sideways glance, and then he turned back to the Katana. For a moment, the Japanese youth was certain that he wasn't going to respond, but then the boy reached out and took his chin in one hand, turning his head to gain eye contact. Duo took a step towards him and paused. "Yeah," he nodded, and while they both knew that he was lying, it was left unspoken. Hiirou was a little distracted by how expressive the boy's amaryllis eyes were at this close a distance to even argue. He was even more thrown-off when Duo pulled his head forward a little roughly and pressed their lips together.

The mechanic's mouth was warm to the touch, and the contact was brief, but when he pulled back Hiirou felt as if he'd suddenly lost something that he'd only recently discovered. He didn't like that feeling. Before he could even make a comment or react at all, Duo had turned on his heel and was walking out of the garage, leaving Hiirou and the Katana behind. He got as far as the 'lobby' when he stopped, his back to the other boy, and sighed. "Just don't die on me."

0226AMEST01Nov04

The race started in less than five minutes.

Hiirou had already been checked out by the 'Jet' mechanic, and he was adjusting the tack on Solo's Katana beside his new challenger. The other youth was tall, and his bike was the first European model that the Japanese youth had raced thus far. It was a green BMW, and he wasn't too sure about what kind of performance he could expect from it. He'd only seen one other bike like it.

The delivery boy readjusted the ventilation ducts on the helmet that he was wearing for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last half hour. The damned thing was a snug fit, and he wasn't used to it yet. Duo had handed it to him, along with the keys to the bike, without a word, and Hiirou had simply assumed the worst. This was Solo's, as well. It wasn't nearly as creepy as he had thought that it might have been, to be racing in a helmet that he knew another boy had died in. For some reason it was almost as reassuring as Duo's presence was, and he couldn't explain it.

"Guys, I just want you to know that this whole damned thing is not sittin' well with me."

With a nod, Hiirou turned to acknowledge that familiar voice, and behind him stood Chad, a pair of bright yellow goggles holding his hair in check, and he seemed pretty pissed off. "Do your best, Hiirou," he mumbled, distracted, and wandered off in Quatre's general direction. The blonde was setting up shop on an abandoned billboard display on the side of the road, and he'd already done a check on Hiirou's new headset. He'd be able to communicate with the radio tech throughout the entire race. A part of the team as always, Wufei had gone to race his Celica down the course outlined on the map, but the other garage had stopped him. They were waiting to find out why.

Duo had been exceptionally quiet since their arrival. The mechanic was leaning against the side of Hiirou's bike now, silent, arms folded across his chest and brooding. It wasn't characteristic of the boy, but the Japanese youth knew better by now than to press the issue. If Duo wanted to be quiet, Hiirou wasn't going to argue. He could understand the problems now plaguing his friend. He settled for being a silent support, checking his tack again, and every now and then he'd brush the back of one gloved hand over Duo's arm, tug lightly on the end of his braid. He was honestly hoping to inadvertantly get the boy to talk, but it didn't seem to be working.

"Listen up, faggots."

The boys turned to the collectively-loathed face of the blonde man whom Hiirou had first raced, and beside him, Duo tensed up. "I outlined the course on the map. I trust that everyone did their homework?" he snickered, and his friends laughed.

Wufei was the first to step up, and the Chinese boy was angry. "Cut the shit, pal. Why wasn't I allowed to decoy? We don't need any more problems with the cops."

Arching an eyebrow, the former garage leader gestured towards the map in his hands. "I guess they don't know, guys."

Patience worn way past thin, Wufei blew up. "Don't know what?!" The boy seemed ready to swing at the blonde when Duo finally stepped away from the Katana, hands stuffed into his pockets, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes.

"This is the Highway 17 course," he stated, his voice flat, dead. "We don't need a decoy, because this highway is closed to through traffic. The cops don't come down here."

Blondie clapped. "Well, someone knows his stuff." He unfolded his map. "You two will race down this course. It's a straight shot, a few turns here and there, but other than that it's simple and clean."

Hiirou mulled this over, but something didn't sit right with him. The mechanic beat him to the punch, though. "Except the fucking fifteen-foot ditch at the end of it, you asshole!" He snatched the map, pulled a pen out of his pocket, and drew a thick black line across the road where the break was. "Forget about that?"

Rolling his eyes, the blonde sighed. "Of course not. If they want to complete the course, they jump it." His eyes narrowed at the braided youth and he pushed past him. "Go do your damned job and check out our prodigy's bike."

Duo growled, bristling under his hooded sweatshirt, and shoved the blonde out of his way, kneeling down beside the green BMW. Hiirou's bike had already been cleared, and Quatre had checked in with him on his headset to test the connection, so he hunched over the frame of the Katana, shifting his weight. Duo worked in silence for almost three minutes before standing to his full height. Blondie was talking something over with the redhead from his garage, and Quatre, Wufei, and Chad were engaged in a heated discussion atop that billboard. When a strong pair of slender arms wound around his waist from behind, he quelled the urge to strike and turned to glance over his shoulder at Duo. "Are you okay?"

The American shrugged, catching his eyes. "Promise me somethin', Hiirou?" With those beautiful violet eyes on him, Hiirou would have agreed to virtually anything. He nodded and waited. "When this is over, promise me that I can come home with you and Wufei." The Japanese boy nodded, and Duo seemed satisfied. He stood and rapped Hiirou's helmet gently.

"All right, let's get this over with. I'm tired of watchin' these fairies..." Blondie stepped between the two bikes, and Hiirou watched over his shoulder as the youth lit a cigarette, pulling his cap back down. "On my signal." As he began to count down from ten--a little too theatrically--the youth on the BMW turned around, flipping his visor up.

"Holy shit..." Duo murmured as he gazed at the youth's green eyes. He froze. Then the youth turned around, slapped his visor down, and revved his engine. Both bikes were gone before Duo came back to himself.

I have to jump that fucking ditch on Solo's bike, in his helmet...

Hiirou couldn't focus on the road. He knew that the other bike was directly behind him but he wasn't concerned with the race anymore. His Hayabasu was important but he was beginning to understand that the stupid mechanic that he'd left on the starting line meant more to him. Wufei, Meiran, Quatre, and the girls meant more to him than his pride, or the money at stake. He took a sharp turn, listening to the humming of his engine and the white noise filtering through his headset.

"Hiirou!"

The shout shocked the living hell out of him. He recognized Duo's voice instantly, and his frantic, desperate tone sent a chill through the boy. He reached up carefully, keeping an eye on the road, and clicked his headset on. "Duo, calm down. What's wrong?"

"You've got to turn around!" The feed was breaking up, and the American's frenzied screaming wasn't making it any easier to understand. "Don't try to jump it, Hiirou!"

The connection severed, and the Japanese youth cursed. What the fuck was that idiot playing at?

"Duo, you have to chill the fuck out, man!"

Chad sighed in exasperation as he ripped his headset away from the youth, swearing. Quatre was glued to his laptop's screen, his GPS tracking the two bikers closely. The American was acting very strangely, and he couldn't understand why. "What's goin' on, Duo?"

"The guy that he's racing right now? You don't remember him, do you?"

The boy's voice was dead. "No," the referee murmured. He kneeled down beside the brunette and frowned. "Should I?"

Duo looked up at him and gave a shaky little laugh. "That guy killed my brother."

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