Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara (Part 1)

Demi had been on the computer for four hours.

Duo rubbed the back of his head ruefully at the view that presented itself from the kitchen door. Heero had assembled his slim black set-up on the coffee table - which Duo privately thought of more as a chips-and-beer table - and was now seated cross-legged on the floor, typing away while referring to a treeware notebook in his lap. Duo had no idea if the laptop was a ring-binder-sized monster like his Gundam-era Old Faithful, with three-gens-ahead chip architecture and arcanely proprietary OS, but it looked like a clone of it from the outside. A tad overkill for word processing. Duo himself had downgraded to a pretty little Komuro 2MX years ago, and with a bit of judicious tinkering it served his purposes well.

Not that he'd had occasion to touch the machine today. Discounting dinner, Demi'd been hogging the keyboard since his afternoon nap, sprawled on his stomach on the futon sofa with his legs kicking up behind. Despite the posture, he looked like Mini-Heero. An affinity for gadgetry was probably to be expected of their mutual offspring, but still Duo found it obscurely unnerving. Kids that age weren't supposed to have attention spans that long. He wandered over to Demi's side.

"Hey, kiddo. Whatcha doin'?"

"Surfin'," Demi said with conciseness. Duo made to sit down and the boy obligingly wiggled aside to make space. "I made an account on 'nother server."

"That's pretty cool," Duo said truthfully. Affinity for gadgetry indeed. "What's it for?"

"T'keep stuff." Duo peered over at the screen and blinked. A purple blob floated in a virtual display room, bouncing leisurely off the texture-mapped walls. A cow - no. A dinosaur. A purple dinosaur. What th-

"See? Look." Demi fiddled with the sensitive roller pad, and the dinosaur hopped vectors to bump into a far corner. It changed color at the moment of impact, flashing yellow and then blue before settling on purple again. "His name's Philbert," Demi said, and beamed up at Duo. Who tried to smile back encouragingly from the depth of his bemusement.

Definitely a longer attention span than he'd had as a kid.

"Philbert, eh? That, uh, that's - that's great. Nice dinosaur name. Philbert rocks. But it's getting kinda late - time for you to be in bed, kiddo, or you'll be sleeping through breakfast tomorrow."

Demi pouted, but slid obediently off the sofa. "'Kay." He padded toward the single bedroom of the rented house on stockinged feet.

"Don't forget to brush your teeth," Duo called after him. "You want some help?"

"S'okay." Duo had discovered in the first week that Demi was both independent-minded and capable of handling most hygiene matters by himself, so he let it go. He couldn't imagine that the scientists had been remiss in the way of training, anyhow - it wasn't their style to coddle any more than necessary. "Oyasumi, Duo-touchan. 'Yasumi, Papa."

"'Night, kid."

"Good night, Demi," Heero said surprisingly, looking up from the screen. Demi disappeared behind the bedroom door, and after a moment Duo heard water running. He sank back on the cushions and glanced over at Heero.

"Clear me up something," he said. "Why the heck are you 'Papa' and I ended up 'Duo-touchan'? You're the Japanese one."

Heero shrugged slightly and turned back to his work. Duo was familiar with that shrug: it indicated that the question at hand was trivial beyond belief, and that he, Heero Yuy, had more practical and urgent matters demanding his attention, such as developing a plan to cripple a nuclear plant. Well, maybe not that anymore, but still

They'd fallen into the old routine of living together without so much as a thought spared. Funny how that worked out. Duo could admit to himself that Heero's asceticism and his own chaos made for an unlikely balance. Not that Heero was a neat freak, he did what was necessary to keep the house going and no more, but he never left much, really, to mark any place as the one he lived in. No changes, no mess, no possessions. Duo remembered gazing at their room during Heero's separate missions, unable to infer from its lines the other pilot's onetime presence, his eventual return

He'd been so brave back then. Quietly brave - really! - sure that weakness took no part in whatever kept Heero at his side. Determined to be laughing, carefree Death, so that it would be his embrace cloaking Heero as he tempted fate once again in Wing Zero. With the result that a good many of the "wrong" words had never passed his lips, even when they'd touched each other, even when Heero - perhaps - would not have heard. Proof positive that Shinigami could shut up when he wanted to.

He'd no more need for that front. Then again, Heero hadn't given anything resembling a sign that he'd like to pick up where they'd left off. He'd slept on the couch since the night of his arrival, leaving the twin beds to Duo and Demi, but just his physical presence in the tiny beach house was playing havoc with Duo's system. Fifteen Duo was not - not anymore - but he wasn't over the hormonal hill yet.

Not necessarily a comforting thought at the moment.

Duo sighed. He slid a finger across the sensopad, and Philbert the purple dinosaur responded by adjusting direction and velocity. It looked like a particularly pointless piece of software, and he wondered why Demi seemed so fond of it. When he couldn't get it to do anything else, his attention wandered.

"Oy, Heero. He-e-ro. Whatcha doing? That like War and Peace or something you're writing?"

Heero's fingers hovered over the keyboard in the minutest of pauses. "I used to think it was just me," he said drily. "But you bother our son almost as much."

"Heero! I'm hurt!" Duo clapped his hands over his heart melodramatically, feeling incredibly happy. He still couldn't get over the casual way Heero referred to "their" son: as if Demi's existence were nothing out of the ordinary. It all seemed too much like a fantasy game of house to Duo, who'd begun wondering when his bubble was going to burst. If it were going to burst. He hoped it never would.

Heero made a dismissive sound, the keyboard clatter starting up again. Duo pulled a loose cushion from the couch and plunked himself down by the adjoining side of the coffee table, all the better to watch him. Watch his fingers dance over his chosen instrument du jour, and the absorption in those blue eyes. Surely there was a way to pry boy from screen. Take him for a walk along the beach Chances even were, Heero might be more amenable than he was in the old days.

Not that that would be difficult to achieve.

"Hey, Heero. Wanna go for a walk?"

""

"We could head for the beach. It's stuffy in here."

""

"C'mon, it's a gorgeous night out there. What's the point of renting a house by the beach if you don't take advantage of it? You've spent like the entire day inside, enough is enough. If I stared at a screen that long I'd go blind. I mean, what're they gonna do, fire ya for slacking? Growing boys need their exercise. Whaddya say, Heero? Heero?"

""

"Yeah?"

"Shut the hell up."

It seemed so real, so blissfully predictable that for a moment he was sure Heero'd heard the imaginary conversation too, and glanced up to share the joke. Heero was, of course, totally oblivious. But somehow that didn't even make a dent in Duo's good humor. He wanted to scoot over and put his arms about the other young man, touch his lips to the warmth of Heero's nape bent over endless streams of data, take comfort in his presence, the half-remembered scent of his skin It was the closest he'd had to a sure-fire distraction tactic, back then. Duo shifted, becoming aware of longing.

"Hey, Heero-"

The phone rang.

Fuck.

Duo allowed himself a calming breath and got up to answer. Maybe he should disconnect the damn thing. Except it was probably Hilde, back from her Valentine's-Day retreat to Lord-knows-where. Duo figured that was why she hadn't called on the fatidic day to warn him Heero was coming. Unless she'd wanted him to be surprised. Hilde had a robust sense of humor. She was probably chuckling over her impromptu plot at this very moment.

He should disconnect the damn thing.

"Maxwell here-"

"I'd thought you had some honor in you, Maxwell. Not to mention intelligence."

Duo's mind blanked. It wasn't that the voice or the scathing tones were difficult to recognize; it was that they weren't, so to speak.

"Wufei?"

"Don't act surprised, it's past time for it. This is a matter of international security, Maxwell! Your idiocy is beyond words. I'm beginning to think you have no understanding of the consequences of your actions. Do you have any idea what the penalties are for this kind of interference?"

Duo brought his jaw up with an effort. "Wu. Wu, I-"

"Marquise said it had to be someone with skills equivalent to ours, but it didn't even occur to me that one of us was responsible! I'll have you know that your senseless little prank rendered invalid two months of set-up-"

Heero was watching him. "Wufei, I don't-"

"-Full complement of Preventers, outside specialists, all thrown off. And it's likely now that they've discovered our trace because of your cowardly actions. How are you going to answer for any retaliatory measures they deploy? You've caused all of us to lose face! The sheer irresponsibility-"

Duo didn't know if he should laugh or cry. "Wufei. Wu. What'd I do?"

"You know very well what you did!"

"Um no I don't?"

Some of the sheer pathos in Duo's voice must have carried over the line. Wufei snorted, but his next words were delivered at a pace somewhat short of rant.

"It's no use trying to deny anything - you left a clear trail. We have you pinned down on three ends by cybersector, geostational satellite and hardware identification. Komuro Twomix, three years old, last official upgrade three months ago, your name's on the register. You used to be less incompetent, come to think of it. Maybe you'll tell me you were drunk." Pause. "Maxwell."

"Yeah," Duo responded automatically, but he'd missed the last half of Wufei's speech. Komuro 2MX He glanced over at the cute little laptop, Philbert still drifting majestically across the screen, and a seriously queasy feeling began to build in the pit of his stomach. "Um, what did I - I mean, what am I supposed to have done with my computer?"

Heero watched Duo a moment longer, then got up, crossed over to the phone stand and hit the intercom button. Wufei's impatient voice rang out from the tinny speaker.

"Assuming you keep up with the media, Maxwell, you'd have heard of the Aeonist group that claimed responsibility for the bombing of the Planetary Economic Development Board central building in Stockholm. Terrorists who use dishonorable tactics in pursuit of their ideology, nothing more, but very well-organized. We managed to localize their home base and major nexus of support in Southern Europe, and were trying to tap into their database to find out more, but your little impromptu hack ruined all of that. Not to mention tying up the entire local-access network with this ridiculous, disgusting - what the hell is this? This lizard are you still there?"

"No. I mean yes. Yes, I'm here. Oh God." Duo found the support of the wall. "Wufei. Wu-man, that wasn't me, I swear it, I didn't know, I wasn't using the thing-"

"Well, who the hell was it then?"

"My-" Duo stumbled to a halt. He was suddenly aware that the words "my son" at this juncture - on a long-distance line with an irate Wufei whom he had last seen all of six months ago, at which point Duo had been strikingly son-less - would be to a can of worms what Deathscythe Hell was to an action figurine. He didn't even want to think about what "Heero's and my son" would provoke in the Chinese ex-pilot. "That is-"

Heero reached out and plucked the phone out of Duo's hand. "Wufei," he said into the mouthpiece.

Wufei said something in what - to Duo's ears, over the intercom - sounded like Chinese.

Impolite Chinese.

There was another pause.

"Yuy? Damn." Not however accusingly, more as if Wufei were coming to an urgent and - Duo realized sinkingly - probably incorrect understanding. "What were - no. Enough of this. I'll send a chopper over; we've got you posited by satellite. Stay where you are." The line went dead with a click.

Duo stared at Heero, who was advancing toward the guilty computer. "He's sending a chopper over."

"I heard." Heero set the phone down and tapped at the sensopad. The view shifted, and happy, tinkly music began to play over the speakers. "Sloppy covering his tracks," he muttered.

"Sloppy-" Duo stared. "Heero, he's three. He's - how in the name of french crisps did he hack into the Preventers' network?"

Heero was typing into the keyboard. "I don't know."

"You don't know."

"He logged off when you told him to - this is just a shell." Tap, tap. "It'll take me some time to recons-"

"You don't know." Duo covered his eyes with one hand and let himself fall into the sofa cushions with an oomph. "You know, I'm getting a really ungroovy vibe from this, Heero-man"

There was no answer from the erstwhile pilot of Wing Zero. After a minute or so of the happy jingle Duo realized he wasn't registering keyboard sounds and peered up.

"Heero?"

Heero was staring at the screen, his features bathed in fitful green light. It took Duo a moment to realize that the flicker came from data rolling up the screen. Lots of data.

"Um"

Heero hit Destroy and stood. "Wufei's men should be here any minute. Get your things together. I'd like some questions answered."

Duo gazed, open-mouthed, as he disappeared into the bedroom.


--Montreal, February 2000