Impossible

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Rambled Off by The Manwell

Book Two: PREVENTERS

Duo Maxwell

Volunteering to be Heero's therapy buddy had been one of my typical impulse decisions. I suppose I'd been spurred on in part by guilt over still not having managed to spit out a proper apology for treating him like the Anti-Christ, and also in part by pure morbid fascination for his injuries. And, if I'm totally honest with myself, I have to admit that I'd been pretty damn curious to see just how Heero would react to his circumstances. I guess I've always wondered what exactly the guy is made of and having the chance to watch him fight his way back from severe solar burns and radiation poisoning had been an opportunity of a lifetime.

Damn, that makes me sound like some sort of bloodthirsty, ancient Roman spectator in the Colosseum or something, but it's true. And, you never know, maybe I had been a spectator in the Colosseum in a previous life... although it's far more likely I'd been the entertainment. In any case, now I had the chance to watch someone else's vital struggle and I found myself signing up for the ride. I'm not exactly sure what Heero thought about me inviting myself along with him to his therapy sessions, but he never voiced a complaint.

But then, I'd quickly learned that complaining was something Heero just didn't do... even when I could almost taste the physical strain he was under and my own muscles were screaming in sympathy. Hell, in those instances, I'd almost complained for him. But I'd exercised uncharacteristic self-restraint and forced myself to generate encouragement instead.

I grunt softly under Heero's weight as he wobbles a bit unsteadily and leans on me a little harder. "Okay, man," I hear myself say in an unusually accommodating tone, "slow it down a bit for me here, all right?"

"Am I... rushing you?" he grits out around the pain.

"You know me," I reply around the laugh that wants to escape me, "just a lazy good-for-nothing."

Heero takes another, better-measured step. "Not true," he mutters.

"Sure it is," I tell him. "Which one of us is actually walking and talking right now? You know I suck at multi-tasking."

He just shakes his head in disagreement, but I notice that his glower isn't quite as dark as it had been a few moments ago. "Not walking," he corrects me softly. "More like... shuffling."

This time I let myself chuckle. And I feel Heero pause beside me. I tear my gaze away from the goal line ahead of us and find myself looking directly into his eyes; they're a little hazy from the persistent aches of his body but otherwise completely focused on me.

"What?" I demand, a little nervous at being on the other end of that look, especially at this close range.

He shakes his head. "I just can't remember the last time I heard you laugh at something."

I dredge through my memories of the last week or so and I realize he's right. What with this whole probation thing, I've been one moody sonuvabitch. I open my mouth to apologize for that and I'm a little surprised it seems so easy to do at this moment, but Heero cuts me off.

He looks away and concentrates on his feet. "It's nice to hear. I've missed it," he tells me.

He's missed my laughter? Well hell, what am I supposed to say to that?

"Er... who knew that after this past week, I'd still have a fan club?" I manage and try not to cringe at the pure cheese-factor of what I'd just said.

But Heero smirks. "It takes more than that to scare away the die-hard fans."

"Also known as stalkers," I reply in one of my sagest tones. "Thanks for the heads up."

The smirk on his lips stretches a little wider. "Anytime."

I nod. "Right. Shall we stop fooling around and kick this course's ass or what?"

He chuckles and takes another step forward.

I've got to admire the guy. I mean, here he is: weeks ahead of his therapy schedule and not showing any signs of giving up or breaking down. The sheer momentum of the man is admirable. Despite the fact that he's only allowed short rests between his three therapy sessions every day, he's never balked at them. I can't say I would have handled it the same.

This is our last workout of the day and although we do end up kicking the course's ass, albeit in very slow motion, we both collapse on a nearby bench. Perhaps it's from habit or something, but Heero's leaning against my shoulder. And I'm a little startled to realize I don't really mind. The bit of warm weight actually feels kind of nice.

"At this rate, you'll be back on field duty in about five minutes," I tell him with a grin.

"Hm," he replies and I can't tell if it's an "I can't wait" Hm or a "Whatever you say" Hm. He seems really mellow about it and that kind of weirds me out. I mean, if anyone would be chomping at the bit to get back to work – other than me – it's Heero... isn't it?

"Um, you do want to get back to work, don't you?"

"So I can set Une straight on this shit story about you endangering my mission? Most definitely," he says with surprising strength.

Startled by his reply, I hear myself reassure him once again, "Look, don't worry about it, man. I'm sure it'll work itself out." After all, it has to. I found my post-war home in the Preventers. The very thought of having to give it all up and start over leaves me feeling shaken and weak.

Over the last few days, Heero's suggestion of going back to the scrapyard to give Hilde a hand has intermittently passed through my thoughts, but my initial refusal hasn't changed. After all, I'd started fighting for people like Hilde: people who believed in something; people who had dreams and optimism; people who still thought heroes were real. To see that open, innocent admiration in her eyes – and in the eyes of every other colony citizen who'd known that I'd piloted a Gundam – had been beyond painful. It had forced me to recall – with every breath I'd drawn – of a time when I'd had a best friend and hero I'd believed in... only to realize a short time later that there are no heroes. There are only frightened people and children who do what they have to in order to make it through another day.

During the war, I hadn't fought for the deaths of the people I'd loved as a child. I'd fought for all of the innocents out there in the world who still believed in happy endings. And that's why I'd joined the Preventers. I'd needed to battle alongside other scarred and restless soldiers who understood that while fighting is tough, looking into the faces that remind you of who you used to be before you bought a clue and grew up is a hell of a lot tougher.

And these thoughts lead me to a rather unexpected place: I wonder what Heero had fought for in the war... and what he's fighting for now. I'm a little amazed at my sudden, burning curiosity. But I don't ask him. How can I? Asking him why he fights would be an invitation for him to reciprocate the question. And I just can't open myself up like that to him.

A small, rueful smile touches my lips as I contemplate the surprising number of things I've discovered I can't do lately. And most of them have something to do with Heero. Odd. And to think, not so long ago I'd believed that for me – the God of Death – nothing had been impossible.