Fortnight
Ch 08 – Obdurate
by APs
Betas – gothic-pixel and justanotheranimefreak (Who are, as always, super! Show them love!)
A/N – Friday... Yeah, I'm not even making excuses anymore. This story has made it very clear it's going to proceed at whatever pace it likes. The amounts of Quatre in this chapter didn't help.
Thank you to everyone still reading! Comments help me more than you could know!
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Before we can forgive one another, we have to understand one another.
-Emma Goldman
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Wufei realized bitterly that the setup was familiar, conspicuously so. The cafe's patronage was slightly higher than his gloomy restaurant's had been, which could mean either open conflict was being discouraged more stringently or he was being overly suspicious. Yet, the rest seemed in line. Considering the curt invitation, a word he used very loosely, he wasn't particularly surprised. Being invited would imply that a question had been asked and he had found no query in the slip of paper with an address and time matched with the singular grunt: 'coffee'. Of course, Heero didn't make requests. The man gave the proper, observed cues to attain a desired response. In other words, this was extrinsically Wufei's own damned fault. Gruffly biting down on a sigh, he paced into the seating area.
"Wufei?" The voice was familiar and the deja vu annoying. He turned to see a genuinely startled Quatre Winner entering beside one, Heero Yuy.
"Yuy," he greeted his intended companion, though the word sounded much closer to 'touche' than 'hello'. He should have guessed.
His Japanese friend's raised eyebrows as he nodded his own salutation only confirmed it.
Finally, Wufei turned his attention fully on the blond, calmly resolute in the face of the inevitable, "Winner."
For his part, Quatre also kept his head, not readily about to give ground or panic. The blond smiled, holding fast to his initial shock, "What a pleasant surprise."
"Yuy and I had plans," he refuted serenely.
"Ah... Then I suppose I should excuse myself," the blond deftly attempted to withdraw only to find Heero's hand firmly clamped on his shoulder, deep blue glare intensely insistent.
Wufei didn't hide his small smirk before clearing his throat, "I believe our Conciliator's plans involved you as well. Let's sit."
They took a small, round table in a back corner, Quatre against one wall, Wufei on the other, and Heero solidly between. Quatre was being persistent in his front of diplomatic confusion, which allowed him to be tense without appearing to be hostile. Heero, though a successful deterrent to leaving, was obviously struggling with what exactly came next. It left a nagging suspicion in the back of Wufei's mind that this had been arranged by unseen hands. A couple possibilities sprang forward, but speculation of that sort was useless for the moment. Both captive parties watched their captor watch them for a long silent moment, ignoring each other and waiting.
Finally, Heero crossed his arms and closed his eyes, "I've agreed to be the Preventer's liaison on the next Mars tour."
"That's fantastic, Heero," the blond cheered, easing at having focus shifted elsewhere.
It was fantastic. The diplomatic tours of the Mars Colonization Project were highly coveted assignments for many Preventers. The longterm access to high profile contacts on the four month trips out and back made for promotion and networking opportunities the likes of which were unheard of in any other situation. Wufei, himself, had gone once, though more due to Une's reluctance to send any of the less disciplined, at the time green, agents than any interest in furthering his career. Still, it had proven... revelatory. Mostly in the fact that he had no interest in promotion or networking, but also cementing his acceptance of the others as his clansmen, of their necessity in his life. It also meant he was intimately aware of what the other was saying, "The one that leaves next month. The Vice Foreign Minister's tour."
Heero nodded and hummed agreement.
Quatre's smile twitched a little, quirking his face into a subtler, more genuine curiosity, "I thought the crew for that was finalized weeks ago?"
"Tanner," was the Japanese man's simple answer.
The name left a vaguely electric silence. Their traitor had been looking to become upwardly mobile, it seemed.
Heero continued with his usual clip, "I had been requested originally."
Wufei snorted. Of course, Une would want to send not only one of her top agents after their breach, but also someone with whom the diplomats in question were familiar.
"Will you be alright for fourteen months on your own?" Quatre asked, seemingly out of the blue.
The Chinese man blinked at the blond, wondering why someone would ask such a blatantly irrelevant question of anyone, much less their mutual Japanese friend, and in so earnest a manner.
However, from the way deep blue eyes cast downward with a furtive frown, Heero was obviously giving the idea serious thought, "I've contacted Noin and Relena... will be close."
Quatre nodded, then brightened, "I'll make some calls. I know Auda went out that way and a couple of my sisters are seeing after Winner construction on the MCP."
Heero returned one of his small, thankful smiles overshadowed by the intense gratitude in blue eyes.
Wufei was left to raise an eyebrow at the exchange. It was true that Heero had wandered after the war, then shadowed Relena Dorlain after the rebellion and come out of both a bit worse for wear. The Japanese man had been, if not outrightly reckless, perhaps a touch indifferent toward his own person. A trait they had all shared during the war, which the rest of them had managed to self regulate afterward. Mostly. Only once Duo had been officially attached to the Former Queen of the World as her Preventer Escort had Heero joined the organization and allowed himself to be cycled into more active duty. As Duo's partner. Yet, to think for a second that Heero Yuy, ex-pilot of Wing and Wing Zero, was not self sufficient enough to be away for fourteen months was laughable. The memory of a hidden wound brushed his thoughts. Perhaps those two had kept more important things in check than each other's tempers.
"I leave in two weeks for the staging," Heero pragmatically moved onward.
"We can combine your going away party with Wufei's," Quatre beamed, stiffly avoiding the other side of the table.
Which was probably a wise decision since this was the first the Chinese man was hearing of any such celebration. But before his surprise could solidify into a scowl, deep blue eyes were fixed on him, "Sally is prepared to take Duo as her permanent partner. Conditional on personal request."
Sally would partner with Duo if he asked her. That scowl finally won out as his suspicions deepened, "I'll see to it."
Deep blue eyes kept up their stare and cool onyx easily held it.
"I'll go order some tea," Quatre offered. Peripherally, Wufei saw the blond briefly pat Heero's shoulder, though whether to promise his return or to show some sort of support, he couldn't say.
Heero opened with the obvious, "I'm not running away."
"I didn't think you were." Heero had never been one to run from his problems. No, if his Japanese friend was moving, it was perpetually towards something and not away. The trick was pinning down the target. "The Vice Foreign Minister?"
"Seemed pleased with the substitution."
Delighted was probably more accurate. Relena had never downplayed her affections, though she had shown an admirable amount of restraint once acting upon them proved fruitless. The man had saved her life frequently enough to deserve it. She would smile her slightly tragic smile and be a steadfast friend, if that was what he wanted. If he knew what he wanted.
The silence only coaxed a slight frown from Heero, "I... need to think. I need..."
Sitting there watching his friend not fidget and not speak, Wufei understood. And accepted that this was at least partially his fault, as well. Heero was going soul searching. Or at least he was finding distance in which to evaluate himself. Going back to square one, in a way. His Japanese friend's stillness meant he was unsure, but the clarity in his deep blue eyes meant that it felt right. And Wufei needed no other reason to respect the decision. His small, tired smirk was enough to smooth Heero's brow, "We will likewise be fine for fourteen months. I'll speak with Winner."
His friend nodded, tension seeming to instantly evaporate.
"Precisely how much of this was Po?" Wufei felt his smirk shift every so slightly toward amused as he indicated the coffeehouse at large.
The answering territorial glare couldn't hide the flash of recognition. Apparently, she had at least suggested parts.
He grunted a short laugh. Recognizing the woman's hallmark wasn't difficult when you had partnered her for three years. That her touch was as subtle as a brick helped.
Quatre came back, tucking away his phone in an inner breast pocket and smiling through exacerbation. The blond placed a travel cup in front of Heero before sitting, "Black coffee. Une would like a word about the chain of command and having your phone on."
Wufei raised an eyebrow, but his Japanese friend simply took a sip of his beverage and nodded his appreciation, keeping the blond under a close scrutiny.
To the Chinese man's surprise, Quatre responded by sighing and turning a smile awkwardly on him, "Our tea should be out in a minute. I hope that's alright."
"Yes, of course," he bit out evenly, blinking at the man across the table.
Heero looked between them, then stood, taking his drink in one hand and spinning his empty chair to an equally empty table with the other. He exchanged farewell nods with Wufei while laying a reassuring hand on Quatre's arm and receiving an appreciative smile. Heading for the door, he didn't even spare a look back, "Play nice."
They were left staring after him, one scowling, the other smiling sheepishly. When onyx finally shifted once more to the table's other occupant, light blue was peering back. For a long moment they sat sizing each other up, to put it indelicately. Quatre was a slender man, fair and smooth in every aspect. Even the blond's few visible scars were small and light, easily overlooked on lithe, manicured hands or beside large, expressive eyes. Poised, he concluded. The word for Quatre Winner was poised. Erudite and indefinite. Always on the cusp of action, perpetually schooled in bearing. Wufei couldn't help wondering what those sky blue eyes were attributing to him.
The blond cleared his throat, "I apologize. About the party. I know you don't like surprises, but some people simply cannot be swayed."
The statement was so loaded that the Chinese man couldn't stop the small, taunting smirk from brushing his lips. Of course this ambush now and the party to come were not Quatre's fault. The Arab man had even managed a couth warning at the first available opportunity. Wufei was aware humor dried his voice, but found nothing for it, "I am confident it will be fine."
The blond smiled, which was roughly equivalent to a hum from Heero or a nod from Trowa. That is to say, stock and rather noncommittal for an agreement.
"How is Barton?"
"Glad to be out of the hospital. Impatient to be out of bed," Quatre chortled fondly. Trowa had been discharged the prior week, mostly because he was healing quickly and all he really needed was rest. Though it was also partially due to the fact that Une knew damn well the limits of the green eyed ex-pilot's patience and paranoia. Trowa would be spending the rest of his convalescents at home, with his lover.
Wufei snorted, "Undoubtedly pleased enough to simply be with you again."
The blond's grimace masquerading as a smile vaguely made his skin crawl. The Chinese man was bolstering for an all out frontal assault when a waitress whisked toward their table. She set a small, slender glass in front of them both. It appeared to be green tea with a slight head on it, but wafted of sweet, fresh mint. The waitress was older than them and was quick to fix a matronly smile on Quatre after the merest glance over the table.
"Please enjoy."
His blond friend smiled back gently, "I'm sure we will, Amira."
"If you need anything at all," the woman cheered.
"We will be sure to let you know. Thank you very much." Quatre was level, yet grateful and the server left. She would likely be checking on them every five minutes. Wufei found himself suddenly envious of Quatre's easy rapport with just about everyone. Everyone excluding apparently him. It was novel. He had caught himself envying Duo's social camouflage, Heero's technical perfection, Trowa's mental practicality, and even Quatre's tactical intuition. Yet, the blond's simple communicative confidence had escaped him. Perhaps because it never showed toward him. The darker man found himself wondering if one could covet and curse something at the same time and reasoning that if Shakespeare proved anything, then most certainly yes. Though it generally made you a villain.
Under an internally focused onyx gaze, Quatre was making a show of enjoying his drink. Wufei attempted to follow suit. It was definitely green tea with mint, brewed strong and sugar sweet. It reminded Wufei of a brief stay in North Africa, after Lake Victoria. The early war. Before he had met any of the others. When he had been all mournful vengeance and righteous indignation.
He must have looked surprised because his lighter companion explained, "It's a Moroccan style. If you don't like it, I could arrange something else."
"This is fine." Wufei peered into the small, ornate glass, wondering if they usually served this, or if that Winner smile had simply charmed a favor from their accommodating server.
"We had a chef, on L4 when I was young, who had been in my mother's personal retinue," the wistful note in the other man's voice made onyx eyes glance up. Quatre, however, was staring off into the shop, glass poised absently by his lips, "He would brew this for me. He claimed it had been her favorite."
"Did your Father like it?"
The blond took a small sip, "He preferred black tea."
Wufei knew silence would not work against Quatre; the man was too cultured for the absence to be unsettling. Doubtless, the Winner heir had been trained to respect and use it to his advantage. Much like Wufei, himself. Conceivably, they could pass the rest of the evening in carefully pleasant silence, like gentlemen of breeding. It was enough to force a scowl back to Wufei's face.
Instead, he offered reciprocation, hoping a shift in focus would help, "My Grandmother used to grow mint in our garden. There was a field of flowers in the hub where I grew up. Vast, arching with the wheel. My mother would take me there to play and once I tired, she would read to me. When I returned from boarding school, I would spend hours there."
"A field of flowers?" Pale blue eyes had finally landed on him, puzzled.
"Hm. For oxygen cycling," the Chinese man explain further, as though it were obvious, right before realizing the blond likely had no concept of such a thing. For all their fierce reputation, which they promoted with near equal ferocity, the clans of L5 were largely agricultural. It was how so few people had managed to make such old colonies habitable without the support of a home nation, which their exile took from them. Most of what they ate or wore, they grew and every L5 child learned the value of plants right along with their clan history.
The horror on Quatre's face was mild, obviously attempting to mask it with concern, but it was there, "Was there something wrong with your oxygen farms?"
"No." Of course, any colonist would jump to that bone chilling question. Oxygen farms were the vast hydroponic facilities every colony had tucked under the living area of the hub. Row upon row, floor upon floor of fast growing, CO2 consuming flora, roots obscenely suspended in only the section of the spectrum they needed to photosynthesize. Food and air with cheapest efficiency. L5 had them, but they also had fields and streams and gardens. The air smelled clean, sweet, and you could almost hear the place growing after a rain. How did one explain something like that?
"Your colony must have been beautiful," Quatre's soft voice gently pulled the other from his reflections.
Wufei hadn't realized how far he'd drifted, clearing his throat, "I have no words to describe it properly. I can only compare it to the wildernesses on Earth, but wanting the apathy of nature toward man."
"The apathy of nature toward man..." The blond parroted under his breathe. For a second, it looked as though he'd add something, but then the blond smiled, "L4 is all buildings."
Wufei grunted acknowledgment. He'd been to other colonies and still couldn't quite reconcile the polluted, urban hubs with what he'd known growing up.
"That's what my family does: build. We create. Colonies, houses, skyscrapers, machines, tools, people, empires, dynasties..." Pale blue eyes were elsewhere again, half lidded, "I was... I have twenty-nine sisters. All of their names I bear in my heart, yet I am unsure how many I would now recognize. They were all test tube born. I was number thirty, engineered to be a widowers heir."
That was no secret, yet the way Quatre had said it made it seem preciously personal. As though the admission were something more. The problems on L4 and their solution were well known. The oblique reference to the Winner patriarch stood out brightly, but pushing the subject hadn't gotten him anywhere before. Perhaps a different approach, "Those soldiers of yours were also test tube born, were they not?"
The look the blond leveled at him was the same he was used to getting from Trowa when he made a particularly unexpected chess move. Open and noncommittal. He wondered if their mutual green eyed friend had actively mimicked his lover, or if the two had simply been together long enough to be unconsciously swapping expressions. "The Maganac Corps. Yes, they are."
"I suppose you know each of their names as well," Wufei huffed easily, leaking a little arrogant disbelief into it. Perhaps Quatre wasn't the family man Trowa credited him.
"Of course," the blond croaked, balling a fine fist in his fine shirt over his heart. "Them, their spouses, their children, their grave sites... We've shed blood with and for each other, how could I not."
Or perhaps he should know better than to second guess Trowa's insights considering his apparent inability to get a grasp on the man before him. He snorted gruffly at himself, trying to make his voice more gentle and likely failing, "Of course."
"Everything alright, sirs?" Amira broke in and solicited of Quatre, stealing accusatory glances at Wufei.
With an easy fluidity, the blond beamed tiredly up at her in what seemed the most natural response imaginable, "Perfect. Though a little more tea certainly wouldn't hurt, if you would be so kind."
The waitress broke into a calm grin, concern vanished, though she did eye Wufei as she freshened his glass. The Chinese man watched critically as they exchanged parting pleasantries, then she was gone and they were alone again.
In the calm that followed, Wufei tried to mentally run down what Trowa had told him. They knew each other based on frame of reference, he'd said. A clan may have positions, heirs and elders and leaders, but every adult member was considered an equal. Clansmen were respected and honored or they would not be clansmen. Family did not necessarily work that way. Maybe their frames of reference weren't as similar as they'd assumed. Not that family history was a topic they frequented around the others, or at all really. They were just the ex-pilots from rooted backgrounds. Certainly, it was more than any of the rest had in common and maybe that was the problem.
Onyx eyes bore into his fairer friend in an attempt to make his declaration as plain as possible, "My parents were warriors, scholars, and farmers. Their marriage was arranged. What memories I have of them, I cherish." He paused, but seeing the blond across the table baldly surprised, continued before the other could derail his thought, "I understand your father was a Pacifist."
Quatre nodded carefully, even though a question had never really been asked. "Farmers?"
"Hydroponic engineers," Wufei clarified, nodding in his turn. This was good, this exchange. Uncomfortable, but good. Yet it was only fill in the blank type information. Basic. He needed to think like Quatre. Emotionally, strategically. To think like... a sonnet. He cleared his throat and would have fidgeted if he hadn't stopped himself, "Deciding to fight must have been... difficult. Going against him."
Large, pale blue eyes only seemed capable of blinking at him. Slowly, the Arabian man guided his glass back to the table top from where it had frozen halfway to his lips. When he spoke, it was low and even, "I could not abide inaction. Doing nothing chafed, worse for the fact that my family seemed so powerful. To have so much influence and not do anything seemed irresponsible. Unconscionable. Cowardly."
Indignation flared in Wufei's chest and he wondered when he'd started identifying with a man whose name he barely knew, not to mention had never met. Probably when his son had associated them. He didn't try to keep the scowl from his features, though he did endeavour to hold the disapproval from his voice, "You thought your father a coward?"
"I was wrong." Quatre replied quickly and, to Wufei's astonishment, with some steel behind it. The blond finally managed to take a drink as pale blue eyes finally and truly met onyx, half lidded and stormy. Tired of drought like thunderheads over desert. "Power without mastery is dangerous. Recklessness is unconscionable. Murder, cowardly. I was very wrong, a fact I proved several times over. New Edwards, Siberia, Zero."
Thunderheads over the desert... The apathy of nature to man... Gazing into pale blue eyes, it seemed so fitting for Quatre to be drawn to Earth's harsher climes. There was something unmistakably primal in those eyes, visceral, yet so strongly guarded, braced. Poised. A man driven by intuition, emotion, raw and harsh, frightened by the very drive of it. The blond was not intimidated by him, as he had feared, but envious of his control. Or perhaps envious of his mastery over his passions? The longer he thought on it, the more it fit, sad conclusion that it was. Formalities grated when they were a forced reminder of your lapses and losses. Disowned only to abdicate for fear of himself. The blond may have mastered the Zero system eventually, but apparently fighting for peace was just as irreconcilable as it sounded. Wufei sighed, "I made mistakes."
"But did you make regrets?" Quatre pushed wearily.
Wufei opened his mouth to growl something terse, but stopped. Did he regret? Not stopping the others at New Edwards, dueling Khushrenada, saving Po, the rest of the war? No. Killing Khushrenada? Maybe. The Mariemaia Rebellion? ...No. As wrong as it had been, it had been equally necessary. Shame, sure. Regret, oddly no. The loss of his colony, his home, went beyond regret. It had been an immolation he still couldn't quite fathom. Left him wondering how, if, his sanity remained intact. Loss of home, of self, of control. It was enough to make a man question himself.
Something about him must have shifted in understanding, because the Arabian man smiled at him. Not one of his nervous, stock smiles, but the first genuine smile he'd received in months. It was a small, sad thing. Unsure of the status this new familiarity would bring, but happy it had been reached nonetheless.
Wufei frowned. Clansmen should be equals and, unfortunately, he could only think of one way to even things out between them. "My clan was destitute. I was forced to sell our jade guardian, Altron, for supplies and munitions. All we had was our reputation, our traditions, and each other. I didn't give a damn about the Earth Sphere, we were barely surviving. I am proud and logical and it has cost... a great deal." The words sounded surprisingly smooth considering how they ground to a halt in his chest. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to the point, "I have regrets and I am not your better."
"Wufei..." It was quiet and trailing, as though the articulation had drifted on the wind. Pale blue under arched golden brows were all questions Quatre knew better than to unleash.
"Before we can forgive one another, we have to understand one another."
"There's nothing to forgive," Quatre vehemently assured, suddenly straight backed.
The Chinese man studied his friend as he sipped from his glass, "I disagree."
They let the silence grow between them again. The ambient chatter of the cafe caught Wufei off guard, making him sweep the room. It was odd, seeing so many snapshots of so many lives. Families and lovers and friends and coworkers. People, together, living. Not one carrying a weapon. It still shocked him how quickly things had changed. Everything had changed. It was a simpler thing to forget the world, forget the changes. To cling to danger and action and anger and pride and reputation and tradition. Simpler than change. But that wasn't living and he had made a promise.
"It's a poor approximation."
Onyx eyes fell on the blond, but the other was eying the crowd.
Quatre continued, thoughtfully, "That you remind me of him. It's more of a feeling. I don't think I can explain it."
"Try."
The blond nodded, "It's obdurate determination when necessary and generally strong warmth that can burn cold. Anger and drive. It's respect and distance and, under everything," he frowned as though nothing sounded right, then pale blue eyes were focusing on the Chinese man as though attempting to read the word, "tragic."
Wufei held the other's gaze. The blond sat poised for a reaction that didn't seem to come. The darker man smelled mint, listened to the cafe and remembered. "Perhaps I am."
"You shouldn't be," there was an odd amount of force to it. The blond seemed caught between being angered and being scared, both apparently toward himself. "You shouldn't have to be, not anymore. Not with us."
"It's not your fault."
The blond raised his glass, poised to contradict or acknowledge. He did neither, "I'm sorry, Wufei."
"So am I, Quatre."
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It was cold. So cold. Metal at his back, leeching heat. Cuffs biting at his wrists and ankles. Heavy, cold, and tight, drawing steaming blood. His breath curled, misty, from his lips. Up. Into darkness. To nothing. He couldn't move. Wanted to panic. To move. To breathe faster. To twitch. Nothing. He panicked anyway. The air thinned, coating bitter frost on his tongue. Slipping lungs. Cold gnawed at his fingers, toes. Paralyzed. Staring. Black void staring back. Not nothing, but space. A human can survive hard vacuum for two minutes. His lungs deflated. Sound stopped. Dead. He swelled as water boiled from his muscles. Cutting pain, blood boiling.
L5 hung in the twinkling distance. Whole. The Gundams drifted between. Mangled. Defeated. And he knew it was Nataku at his back. Leeching. Dying. Useless.
Then came the light of detonation. Anticipated and unwanted, yet he couldn't not watch. The death flare burned. Swallowed, consumed. Killed. Gutted him, forced to watch even the explosion fade. Leaving nothing. Tears froze slowly. Crystals crawling across his vision, stabbing. Blinding. The pain stayed. Cutting, tearing, gnawing. Lungs burned, everything else froze. Feeling his body die, cell by cell. Unable to even struggle against the inevitable. He started to float. Drifting away.
Nothing to do. Freezing. Helpless. Dying. Alone.
Nothing...
A hand wrapped about him. Warm, almost scalding in the cold. Anchored him, drew him back, against something solid and real and just as shockingly warm. Hot breath rushed against his neck, around his ear and air flooded his starved lungs.
"...to keep breathing, 'Fei. In. Out. In. Out. One. Two. Good." The voice was low and gruff and calm in a rhythmic, rambling sense. The world was suddenly warmth and fabric. Something was gently stroking his hair. Trembling, he allowed himself to settle into this odd new turn of events, feeling his body reassuringly obey.
Then, the voice continued, relief clear, "There. That's better. Worst should be over now. Maybe you'll even get some sleep. Just listen to my voice and calm down. Let it go."
Sensation slowly tingled back to his limbs. He wasn't bound, wrists nor ankles. The pillow beneath his head was damp, the smells familiar. His eyes were reluctant to open, but when they did, it was to the morning dark of his own room.
"Wonder why you don't wake up. Not that I'm complaining, since you'd likely kick my ass for this, if you knew. But, man, must be some Hell you're going through."
His mind froze, finally understanding what had just been said. For a long moment, all he could do was focus on controlling his breathing and heart rate. The hand brushing through his hair paused, but only for a moment.
"Don't know if you believed me or not, but we all really do get these. It's nothing you gotta hide. Not that I should talk." The voice kept whispering into his ear, like a mother crooning soft, even nonsense.
Then he realized the voice was Duo's voice. The rough hand on his chest of the arm that was wrapped about his torso was Duo's, holding him against Duo's body.
Then, Duo was talking again, "I've been told I ball up so tight it's like I'm trying to vanish inside myself. Quatre clings. The guy grabs whatever's closest and strangles the crap out of it. Apparently, Trowa cries silently and thrashes when touched. Probably a bad combo there. Heero would go stiff and move like he was fighting, like he was back in a damned cockpit. Also, he'd growl. First few times that surprised me, but I think you're the worst."
He was awake enough now to feel the sheets on top of him, to know that his body would move, if he wanted it to. It didn't want to. And it really did. He knew he should. Probably. Maybe. Listening seemed wrong, but he wasn't sure he trusted himself. Plus, now he was curious.
He didn't get long to argue with himself, "Yeah, you're the worst. Every muscle in your body tenses, then you choke and stop breathing like that. Scared the hell out of me that first time, I tell ya. So, there I am, keeping watch outside your door at two, like usual, and your breathing just stops. Almost gave you mouth to mouth. You don't wake up either. I yelled and pulled the blankets off, shook you. Well, you know how that ended, I guess... Anyway, you've been nightly the last two weeks now. Maybe I'm just making it worse, but then again, you didn't do it when we were captured. I hope they weren't always this bad. You could have told us. Not that you tell us much of anything and, hey, that's your choice. I respect that. Its just, every time you stop breathing, so do I... just for a second. Like the moon, you know. Stupid, right, but... Guess that sticks with you. I expected death to be bloody and painful and a mass of fiery confusion. Or, maybe, a knife to the gut, a bullet to the brain. You know, violent. Never thought about slow, cold panic. Course, death's never cared about my expectations before."
The silence was velvety warm, like everything else. Like the breath bathing his neck, the heat of another body. He swore every lethargic heartbeat would be his last in the surreal half dreaming his body had settled, but they just kept coming, mixing with the pulse behind him, melding. It tingled, the contact, tingled and stimulated and warmed. And just when it became too much, it was gone. Breath stilled, hands disentangled. Fabric rustled, the sheets tugging. When everything was silent again, the weight of another body was still beside him, heat still at his back, barely touching, arching away. A thick braid brushed his shoulder. Back to back.
Duo sighed, sounding far away and slightly muffled, "Things'll be back to normal soon."
Something about the word 'normal' felt ominous. Without thinking, Wufei's hand reached back. Duo's arm jumped under his touch, sliding down to find a hand, raising goosebumps in his wake. Feeling smooth skin and hard scars and rough callouses, he twined their fingers, held fast. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat in his hand, "You could stay."
In the stunned silence, he couldn't even hear the other breathe. He waited. Finally, the hand in his twitched to life. It closed about his and squeezed, but only for a second before falling away. There was a whisper of fabric, a shift in weight, and before he could even turn, his door had clicked closed. Gone. Like a ghost. Like he'd never been there. Wufei stared at his ceiling, breathing the cool night air and listening the the stillness of the world. Serene, familiar, and... wrong.
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Aurora Musis Amica – Thanks for commenting! It's always a treat to hear from familiar readers!
Fairy5706green – Thank you very much. Fortnight started purely as a study in character interaction and forced itself into more, so I like to think it has a bit of gravity. Even when it wanders a bit. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
Saiyanzrepublik – What can I say, musing comments like yours make my week. So, what do you think? Did I lay it out well? The dynamic between Q and 'Fei intrigues me because they interacted so rarely. And, yes, I totally agree Wufei is greatly underrated.
Dimes Wish – Thanks for reading and your kind words! I don't really see any of the boys as victims, whiny, or flat, so I try not to write them that way. As for the line, I like it too. If you use it, all I want is a link.
Darkrevenge – Heh, I often lament that Wufei has a better vocabulary than me. I'm glad you liked drunk Duo, I had quite a good time writing him, much like the revelation scene, though obviously in a different way. As for the proposal and telling Heero, Wufei is flying blind and honesty is kind of his default. At least as I see it. Not the smartest thing maybe, but honourable. If this story has taught me anything, it's that I like writing 'Fei as a tragic figure. Thank you kindly and I hope you enjoy the rest!
Frost in Flanders Field – Name change almost threw me. The idea grew on me slowly. Quatre less irritating? I know Duo isn't any more scrutable just yet. Thanks, again!
Hellcat81 – Wow, thank you for all of your comments. I'm happy I can keep your interest, even it I did go a little out of your usual zone. You're right about the shirt thing, I was going to have Wufei more fastidious and prudish, but it never really came out and now that part does feel odd.
PhoenixMageFire – Thank you kindly. I hope you find the rest equally so.
Thrashing-light – Yes, I promise this fic will be finished. I'm also very happy you enjoy it. Many thanks!