Author's note: Hey everybody… yes, part two is here! Hooray! And.. Confetti… and…. Yeah, okay, it really isn't all that exciting. But here it is anyway. Ready for a little 1 x 2 flashback action? I know I am. Plus, an assload of Duo's stream of consciousness. Also, does anybody know how to unscrew the formatting for uploading onto fan fiction . Com? My text is going all wonky and shoves all together every time I try and put in something with some space in it. O.o;;; Anyway, any help would be appreciated. Put it in the review section I guess? Thanks!


WARNIG SIGNS (part II) Two Steps Forward
By Onions Make Me Cry
…… Time to take it back. ……

To what do you say, a year ago? That feels about right, or so say my guts, anyway. But then again, you know they're all full of shit so, you're gonna have to just go with me on this one.

In the beginning, there was just the mission.

Actually, no, there was always the mission. But it was in the beginning, the middle, and even at the caboose end of the history of "us", and for all intents and purposes, Heero and I began from inside it. He'll try to tell you different sometimes, late at night when he's feeling sentimental, (which isn't very often) but he's always full of horse shit when he goes on about it. Maybe he's trying to protect his rep as Mr. Perfect, but I mean, fuck if I really know. He was always the same amount of mystery to me, though he got a little less cold once we started sharing the same blanket.

"Hey… Heero."

"What?"

"I was just wondering. What… does, what does all of this… you know, you and me… what does it-"

"…mean?"

"Yeah. I just can't help thinking that you… and then I--" sigh. "… fuck me, this is weird."

"I know what you mean."

The night we slept together for the first time wasn't exactly filled with rainbows and daisies. There wasn't a parade or anything like that… no trumpet fanfares, or bells and whistles, or fatass little cherub angels flying around with crate paper in their chubby little fingers. What was there, was about a good fifteen minutes of self-imposed sexual terrorism, and then an eternity's worth of lying in bed inside the horror of the silent, weighted aftermath. That's what happens when you burn it at both ends for as long as we'd been doing it-- being into each other and not talking about it. But then again, neither of us really wanted the attachments of another person-- the attachments that being connected with someone else would invariably bring along.
So think about it. Really do think about it. What's involved? Reliance, dependence, coexistence. We're warming up here. Maturity, integrity, wholeheartedness. Okay. What else? Jealousy, animosity, degradation. Oh my God. Scornfulness, bitterness, sorrow. Fuck me, get me out of here-- Depravation, listlessness, loneliness.

And then…

Love?

I might as well have pissed my pants right then and there. I mean, come on, proverbial ball and chain much? But there it was anyway, in all it's tension and glory, in the form of a spray of mess across our otherwise pristine bed sheets.

"Shit."

"Will you stop talking?"

"What, were you planning on going to sleep?"

"…no."

It was the mission that did it to us. It was the heartlessness of being alone, and having to do what we do every day. And then it was pretty much sink or swim from there. It got Heero before it got to me, I think, though I'd get pounded into our kitchenette if I ever mentioned that idea to him, or to anyone else.

Sometimes, when we're together, and I can feel Heero's hands, and feel his breath, and taste his scent, I wonder about us, and if it could have been different. If it hadn't been for the mission.

…… No. We've got to go further back than that. ……

Okay, so maybe our first night together wasn't completely out of the blue.

I might have been an eency bit guilty.

You know, for… a little bit. Of what happened.

Fuck, fine, okay, so I was a lot guilty. But you know it wasn't like Heero was particularly helpful in the denying department. In fact he was pretty fucking deviant if you want to take it on that scale. He could have turned me down. He should have turned me down. Because, lemmie tell you, I'm fucking trouble on legs. I will mess you up. I'm like that little bit of mold on a piece of bread in the bag, that can turn a whole loaf green over night given the right circumstances. And sometimes, I'm worse than mold. I'm worse than idle chat, and I'm worse than breaking a bone or puppy's blood, or disemboweling a cat. I'm worse than burning a village, or poisoning the water supply, or scalping little girls. I've always been Death for as long as I can remember. It's a pet name to keep me company in the night, but an effective title. It's fitting I think. I kill people. I'm good at it.

And so was he. Heero. That was probably most of the attraction in the beginning, if you know what I mean. That he could do his job so well. I won't bore you with tangents about eyes the color of the ocean at night, or windswept hair or beautiful souls that fit in cookie-cutter molds along side handsome princes out of fairy tale stories. Heero and I were never like that. Because, to be honest, fairy tales always seemed like a load of crap to me. But maybe I'm just bitter because I never had them.

When we were starting, doing that thing were you stare at the other person from across the room for hours on end, we were fortunate enough to be at a boarding school. Mission, you see. So we had lots and lots of time and room to stew in our own juices over each other, while "it" was happening. There were never touching or anything… not so early. That was never Heero's style. But there were some pube-singing looks. And let me tell you, taking a crap on the sun really would have been a welcome change from one of Heero's lusty glances. They were always full-on.

War statistics, numbers, calculations of percentages of enemy casualties, all dangerous information gathered and burned inside me, and then I'd sit with my chin on my fist and watch him. I could tell that he knew, because sometimes I'd catch him with this look on his face… this mild kind of puzzlement behind a mask of calm all drizzled in hotsauce, and he'd stare back.

Okay, so maybe he does have beautiful eyes. I am only a teenager for fucksake.

I never planned on "us" becoming love. I don't think he did either. Crap, I mean, I don't think anybody does. Not really. But I can't help it. I fall in and out of love really easily, so that wasn't a lot of help. Plus, none of the others were ever like Heero. That fucking asshole. With his cool posture and that messy fucking hair, and that bastard attitude. God damn, I'm so into him.

But he never talks about us. I wonder what he thinks about all this.

Flash forward to present day. Heero and I have lasted a little longer than I anticipated. Which is, okay, really nice, but still a little weird sometimes. I know him a lot more intimately, and things in the sack have gotten a lot better since that first night together, as recent exploits in the House of the Lord can elude to. He's still as much of a bastard as ever, but I'm beginning to understand his reasons for being cold a little more than before.

"Heechan, tell me a story."

"I hate that name."

"Fine, Heero tell me a story. And make it a sexy one."

"Don't you ever sleep?"

"No. And get with the talkin'. I can hold this up all night."

"Once upon a time there was a little boy."

"Oh, this is exciting… I can tell it's gonna be good. Hold me closer."

"This little boy was very lonely and didn't have any friends to play with because he'd killed all of them by accident already."

"This is a very disturbing story."

"The little boy traveled through life miserable and alone until the day he met another boy, with whom he became friends. But alas, his new friend was an even greater monster than the little boy himself, and in the end, they destroyed each other and died in helplessness and disparage. The End."

"You're such a miserable bastard."

"I thought you didn't like fairy tales."

"I don't."

"Then shut up."

"How can I? Your story fucking sucked balls! Come on, throw me a bone here."

"You're still talking."

"I'll bet I'm the little boy. And you're my monster prince."

"You're also very bright."

"It's all your genius, just rubbin' off onto my body with your sweat. It's all you, man."

"Stop joking around."

"I'm not."

So in the end, it's just a dangerous process of steps. Two steps forward, one step back, right? Heero is still a little temperamental, (okay, a lot temperamental) but it isn't him I'm worried about. Mostly I think of myself, and wonder if I can hold my place. Not just with him, but with me. My job. My life. Sometimes I reflect on everything I've done and everywhere I've been, and I get overwhelmed. And then I catch Quatre shooting me these sympathetic looks, all oozy with the honey of compassion, and it drives me up the wall. Quatre and his hypnotist-eyes. Quatre with his perfect love. If only Heero were more like Trowa. But wishes aren't horses, so I won't fuck myself up the ass over that subject.

>>>>
>>>>

We're in Quatre's safe house again. It's morning, I can tell, because Trowa put on a pot of coffee-- the strong, black, stomach cracking kind, by the smell of it. He can't drink any other type. He and Wufei both. But whatever… I'll put most anything in my mouth if it doesn't have a warning on the bottle with a chemical sticker.

I fell asleep on the couch in the living room, I guess. That must be why I'm here… and with a crick in my back, I sit up, a little bitter that Heero didn't bother to move me. (My lover is full to the brim with concern for my physical well-being)
The dry, molding taste in my mouth makes me grimace, though not before my head begins to pound in time with the lurching of my stomach. The coffee table is littered with empty beer bottles, and I give a weary, sick sigh. Being hung over is always the best way to be, right before a really important mission, huh?

"Morning, Maxwell."

It's Wufei, striding in with a cup of coffee and the paper, looking absolutely sick with health.

"Hey."

"Did you sleep there?" he looks faintly incredulous, and sits in an armchair nearby.

"Yeah." I want to vomit on his crisp white shirt to make him feel the way I do, he's so god damn fit looking.

"That isn't very good for your spine."

I want to break one of these beer bottles over my knee, and gouge hate messages across the flesh of his clean chest with the jagged glass.

"Thanks for the advice."

"And, Yuy didn't wake you up?"

Fuck being pissed at how clean he is. That crossed a line. Now I want to saw the shiny shoes off his feet and shove the dismembered limbs very, very far up his ass.

"No. He forgot, I guess." I grit.

Wufei seems totally oblivious, and that fact makes me burn all the more. With casual fingers, he unfolds the paper and his head disappears behind the stock market reports.

"Too bad." he mumbles, before totally sinking into his morning activities.

A few moments pass by, with me staring flaming balls of shit in the direction of my comrade, before I have no other option but surrender. Whatever. Fuck it. I'm petty. It probably really isn't as bad as I make it out to be. Plus, I feel kind of like a gorilla crapped me out upside down anyway, so, arguing probably wouldn't be the most helpful thing I could do.

Heero is missing from our room when I go in. Always the worker… he's probably out doing some recon, or shit like that. I don't know. The morning is a rough time for me. The bathroom greets me in a friendlier way, though-- or at least, in the sense that it's there like I wanted it to be. (Unlike certain people whose names begin with H and end with -eero, who will remain unnamed.)

And then it's easy to forget everything. Sinking into the luxury of a full tub of steaming hot water is precisely the thing my wanting flesh is in need of. God, if only fucking could be as good as this. Well, sometimes it was as good, I guess…Especially with Heero. But there had to be a mood. And sometimes a confessional.

"Duo."

I hadn't realized I'd closed my eyes, until the voice at the door made me open them again. Up to my chin in water, I burble a greeting at none other than Heero. Ironic he should show up now, when I was thinking of precisely the thing only he could help me solve.

"Hrrrrwooo."

He looked decidedly un amused. That mirthless shithead.

"Why are you in the tub so late? Everyone else is up and out."

I sit up, and slosh my washcloth over my shoulder. My hair is sticking to my back, and it's beginning to bother me. "Not Wufei." My voice cracks some much needed dryness into the thick moisture of the bathroom. "He's sitting down there waiting for his morning coffee enema."

Heero lifts his left eyebrow ever so slightly… the equivalent of an eyeball rolling, if I ever did see such a look plastered on that man's face.

"Man, whatever. It's your fault anyway." the accusation flops weakly. My headache is making me nauseous. "If you hadn't left me on that fucking couch, I wouldn't be so sore and-- what are you doing?"

Heero's green shirt thuds softly in the corner by the toilet, followed closely by his shoes. Then his jeans go, and then the boxers, (I didn't like them anyway,) and lastly, go the socks. (God damn, that boy could wear Swedish knee-highs naked and make them look full on.) Padding unabashedly nude over to the side of the tub, Heero shoves my shoulder forward, and clambers in behind me. "I slept on the couch with you. Move up."

"Your fingers are cold." I shudder, feeling the insides of his legs close around mine under water, and the icy vice grip he has on my shoulder simultaneously. Wait, he slept with me on the couch? Heero, my angel of mercy! I forgive you, I forgive you.

"I was outside. It's December."

Peering a little over my shoulder, I lean forward to make room for his elbows. "Don't you have work to do? Like, extreme super agent recon stuff?"

"No." A simple answer, quite fitting of Heero. But it goes along with that fucking monotone, so I can't tell what his mood is. I can never tell what he's thinking.

"Where are Quatre and Trowa?"

Fingers snake around my hips, and begin to trace circles in places I'd be embarrassed to mention, if Heero hadn't been there a thousand times before.

"They're out."

Oh. That's what he's thinking.

I bite my lip to stifle a groan-- I can't tell if all of this feels really good, or will result in me vomiting all over myself. (Talk about embarrassing.) My stomach is in that kind of midpoint, where it could go either way.

"You're leaving tonight." He announces in that husky voice… the one which tells me a lot more than whatever words are coming out of his mouth. His hands are also kind of a hint.

Hair is falling in my face, and I twitch irritably and pull it away from my eyes. I feel less sensual by a long run. "Yeah... Mission. Must go. So sorry."

"How long before you have to start preparations?" His voice is hot on my ear, and I shudder again as he squeezes down low with his palms.

"I could… put it off for a while…"

Heero's fingers are beginning to work faster now, in smooth pumping motions that cause the surface of the water to contort into wide faced, shining bubbles. I sink my head down, sighing. A minute later, I at last give in and let out a shallow moan. I know he loves that shit, and it feels so good. At least good enough to give him what he wants. I mean, if he wanted a dancing bear, I'd figure out how to get one for him just to feel the way his stomach is tensing against my back. At least he's pleased with all of this. Because, most times, he's just… not. Miserable unhappy bastard. No wonder we fit together like little puzzle bits.

"unnnh… where's the soap?" the words come out of me before I really understand what I've suggested. A minute of processing really doesn't help though. I feel about the same.

"So soon?" sweet, melodious tones waft from behind me.

My half-nausea, on top of too much arousal makes me short tempered. I also hear that gritting your teeth is supposed to be really bad for you.

"Look, if you don't fuck me right now, I'm going to puke up everything in my stomach into this bathtub, and that, I promise you, really, really will be a penis kill. Get me?"

I can't tell whether he's smiling or not, but the satisfaction comes when I feel him twisting against me as he forages for what we need. A few minutes later, I'm flopped compliantly over the side of the tub like a wet sponge. Angels! Stars! Damn, and fat little cherubs with crate paper too. Bells and whistles, and confetti and a trumpet fanfare to go along with. God damn.

Heero pulls me hard up against him, and I'm lost. Just, fucking… gone. He can do whatever he wants. Anything. I don't care. I mean, even if I hadn't had the time, I doubt I would have been able to turn away. Sometimes I have these thoughts like, what does this make me into then? A whore? A sex maniac? Shit, a masochist? I don't know. Maybe none of them. (But probably all of them.) What I do know, is, Heero's hands on me are what I need right now. I need to feel him, like I felt my anger downstairs. It grounds me, I think. Helps me focus. Helps me zone out less. What is that, anyway? Man, I just feel so lost these days.

I saw this coming. I did. It was never like this before, when I was still alone.


Author's Note: HAH!… well… kind of hah… I was going to add another part to this, and then I thought, WAIT! There will be other chapters, right? Then don't worry about it! So I sedated myself with that thought and ended it here. (Am I a babbler? I think I must be. oo) AAAaaaaanyhoo, Duo's researching himself and his relationship to the world through heero in this chapter. Kind of vague, I know, but a lot of this writing was brainfarting on my behalf, so pay me no mind.