Impossible
A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction
Rambled Off by The Manwell
Book Three: PARTNERS
Duo Maxwell
Contrary to popular belief, I am not an idiot. Arrogant as fuck, maybe. But definitely not an idiot.
So when Heero had looked at me with that "I'm-ready-to-stomp-on-a-pacifist-with-my-Gundam" gleam in his eyes, I'd known a little redirection hadn't only been a good idea, but absolutely necessary. It's a damn good thing redirection is one of my spe-ci-al-i-ties.
I smile easily into that glare and quip, "Not tonight, that's for damn sure. There's a hot pizza, made by someone who isn't me, calling my name."
Both the tension and the hard edge in his features soften just a bit and a ghost of wry expression accompanies his answer, "You're not going to order pineapple on it, are you?"
"Hell, yeah!" I reply. "On my half. You can have whatever the hell you want on yours." I stretch back over the arm of the couch toward the side table and scoop up the cordless hand set. I'm a firm believer in the fact that not everything in life ought to be handled via vidphone. I suppose it's one of the manifestations – and a minor one at that – of the association of anonymity and safety that had been drilled into me during my... well, not childhood... let's call them my "younger years."
I settle back on the couch and allow my body to over balance a little so that I'm leaning against Heero's shoulder again. He needs to feel the lack of tension in my body. Sometimes, words and facial expressions will only go so far... especially where paranoid ex-soldiers are concerned.
I breathe in Heero's scent, smiling slightly as it warms me from nose to navel, and activate the channel. I glance at him and mutter, "Whatcha want, man?"
He smiles ever so slightly at me and I feel the lingering hesitation drain out of him. "Canadian bacon and black olives," he tells me automatically but his eyes are communicating something else entirely.
"Predictable," I sigh with mock disappointment.
He arcs a brow at me and I find myself lifting the arm between us to rest my elbow on the back of the couch in order to ruffle his chaotic hair. I can feel the heat from his scalp against my palm and I think I feel a slight increase in pressure as well. As if he's leaning into my touch.
I punch the speed dial button on my phone. Cradling it against the ear closest to Heero, I wait for the local delivery place to pick up.
"You actually have that on speed dial?" he asks with a genuine grin.
"Of course."
Again, that damn eyebrow goes up. "Of course?"
"Well, think about it, man," I tell him. "If you're too tired to actually feed yourself at the end of a shitty day, are you gonna wanna look up a phone number?"
Heero blinks and looks at me, considering. And that's when the call finally connects. He watches me order a half-and-half extra large pizza, shaking his head slightly and gifting me with a somewhat bemused grin.
I am completely aware that I've just done a total one-eighty. Meet Duo the Dork. His talents include – but are not limited to – inducing relaxation in others through fluffy, dumb humor. It's one of my most effective weapons and I settle into that particular behavioral groove with enthusiastic ruthlessness.
Yes, ruthlessness. This is only one step in the long, delicately arranged technique I'd decided on while Heero had been asleep in my arms. Basically, the progression will happen as follows: 1) establish the problem so that Heero is subconsciously aware of the friendly interrogation I will have to perform; 2) get him to see the necessity of said interrogation and agree to its use; 3) use whatever means – bodily contact and humor included – to encourage his relaxation until he's completely unguarded; and finally, 4) while giving him the appearance of complete safety and control, start picking through his memories.
Like I said. Arrogant as fuck.
But I do honestly believe I can accomplish this. I mean, Heero knows – on every level – that it's absolutely necessary... and – most importantly – he trusts me. Hell, the man had just slept curled up in my arms, for the love of God.
So I tell him stupid jokes, old stories and anecdotes. We do some light reminiscing over past amusements. The pizza comes. We eat. And when he leans back against my shoulder again, his eyelids drooping with satisfaction and his body a limp, warm weight against me, I know it's now or never.