I'll probably be dating myself a bit here, but while I was writing this the song "The Promise" by Tracy Chapman came up on my playlist and whlie that song totally has the power to make me cry in nearly any circumstance, especially when paired with Heero in this fic I found it especially heart wrenching. I'm not sure anything I ever wrote could do that song justice, but I do think this is as close as I'd ever get. Anyway – thank you for reading! 3


137 Days Since Last Communication

Heero always figured that he would die in this desert. It was inevitable. There was nothing – no one coming for him – his team of well armored soldiers dead or missing, blown to smithereens, and he was just a very well compensated IT contractor. Fuck, if they couldn't make it, with their gear and their guns and their training... then how the hell was he supposed to?

Fuck.

But he wasn't one to give up easily and anyway, he had somewhere he had to be, right? Someone was looking for him or he was looking for someone or there was something he had to do and he could just get up right now if only he could feel his toes...

He squinted up at the sun blazing down on him and realized that something wasn't right. There wasn't enough pain. His leg was mauled in the unexpected bombing, the pain was unbelievable, and then the infection, after, was... How long had he been out here if it no longer hurt anymore? Realistically, you could only survive so many days without water so it didn't make sense that he could've been out here much more than...

Fuck.

This wasn't that desert. Heero glanced around through bleary eyes, disoriented. There were no shredded humvees, no bodies, no craters left by explosions. There was too much grass or... whatever it was and the vista was all wrong. He rolled over onto his stomach and coughed, dry air expelled from his lungs, lips cracked and he felt weak, so weak, and he still couldn't feel his toes.

Carefully, he hiked his knee up and felt with his hand where it ended into plastic cup and his whole arm shook as he realized it was gone – his leg was gone and replaced by something hard and fake and...

Fuck.

How could he forget? The HC-130 combat search and rescue flight, the sterile operating room, the calm voice telling him they were forced to amputate before putting him under. This wasn't that desert. That all happened a long time ago now. He worked for the NSA now. He worked for the...

But then what was he doing out here? His eyes swept the landscape for any indication of what he was doing out here and then he saw it – the minivan left in the middle of the road, the lifted, open top Jeep he'd been traveling in flipped on its side in the dirt, the contents of his supplies strewn all across the ground and then he remembered what happened. Then it all came back to him and his heart started pounding all over again as he realized just how close he'd come to death.

He'd found the Jeep in Albuquerque and felt pretty damn good as he'd not had much luck with vehicles and the days spent walking were starting to wear on him and he knew there wouldn't be much opportunity to get another vehicle through Arizona. And his walking speed had been greatly diminished by lack of proper nutrition, need for frequent rest, and the anxiety that grew with each passing day.

But the Jeep was a great find. It had a full tank of gas, the keys left in the ignition, and enough room for a ton of supplies and he figured he could at least make it to Flagstaff, maybe get lucky enough to be able to hotwire another car and get to LA in only a couple more days.

Honestly, it had been so long now and he'd lost track of the days when he had a spell with dehydration that left him delirious and confused and he wondered if Duo even still believed he would come. His hand reached into his pocket to finger the little velvet box, worn down by his constant attention, and he felt like crying as he realized he was going to have to walk and it could be another month or two before he would see Duo's face again.

There was no way he was going to be able to un-flip the Jeep. If only he had been paying more attention but exhaustion and stupid, cocky arrogance had him flying down the road without thought for the fact that there might be another car. It was nearly too late, impact imminent when he turned his eyes back to the road and saw the silver minivan and swerved to avoid collision, running himself off the road, flipping the Jeep and ejecting him from the vehicle. Now he probably had a fucking concussion and no car and fuck if he knew how long it would take to walk it now. He didn't even make Flagstaff.

Heero laid his head on the ground and fought back nausea. He wasn't sure if it was brought on by a concussion or if he was just so disgusted with himself by this point that the very thought of his failure made him want to vomit. What use was he even going to be to Duo by this point? Even if Duo did wait for him – which by this point he figured had to be pretty fucking unlikely – he was malnourished, weak, making dumb fucking mistakes and he had nothing to offer. Duo would just be taking care of him and that was nothing he wanted. He didn't want to be a burden to anybody, least of all the only person he loved.

But then he figured he had always been a burden to Duo. Duo was so wonderful and lively and full of fun and big ideas and Heero was always holding him back, afraid, trying to protect him, trying to keep him safe when what he really needed was someone to support him and help him achieve his goals – not hold his hand down and fuss over him. Fuck but he was so misguided. He thought he was helping, he thought he was providing them with a future but no – he had given them both nothing but a fucking disaster and so maybe it was better this way. Maybe he was always meant to have died in that desert outside Al Anbar but somehow fate intervened and he made it out save for his leg – who the fuck knows why, maybe so that he could save Duo's life, repay his debt, offer someone who truly deserved it a shot on this new frontier – and now this was just fate's way of saying his time was up. It wasn't Iraq but it was still a desert and he could die here as easily as he could die there and really his life would still have meant just as little.

Even as his head circulated defeatist thoughts, his analytical mind worked through the problem, staring at the minivan as if there was just something about it he couldn't understand. Why was it there? What was it doing and who would've driven it out to the middle of nowhere and abandoned it?

And before he even realized it or what he was doing he was sitting up unsteadily, staring at the vehicle now, knowing the only answer that made any sense. The only person who would've driven it out to the middle of nowhere and abandoned it was someone on their way to Flagstaff – just as he was.

Humans are hardwired for self-preservation. It was what made drinking his own piss in the desert where he'd ultimately sacrificed his leg bearable. It was what drove him through the gruelling therapy required to learn how to walk again. It was what gave him the stupid hope that one day someone might love him and that, against all the odds, that someone might be Duo and it was what gave him the courage to turn his failure around and ask him out to dinner that night all those years ago. And it was what found him smashing in the window of the minivan with a rock, reeling back from the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh.

He gagged but kept it together as he unlocked the doors, opening the driver's side and staring at the decaying flesh melting off the bones in the seat. It – "he" at one point, Heero supposed – had to go, but it was also so disgusting he didn't want to use his bare hands. His eyes cast around for something to aid him and he remembered the Jeep. It had big, thick, custom made, south-western style woven rug seat covers and if he was lucky, they were still there.

Heero wandered out to the crash site, finding his ejected bag and digging out bottled water, downing it more out of necessity than thirst. Wrangling the seat covers off a Jeep on its side was easier said than done but he managed and lugged the heavy things back with him to the minivan.

There was a moment where he stared at the dead body and felt like he should apologize for what he was about to do. It was ridiculous in a certain way but then it was also the final resting site of this man and he was about to disturb that and it felt wrong. He had never had to move a dead body like this before. But then he was still alive and he needed this vehicle more and so he threw one of the seat covers over the body and grimaced as he slid the mess out onto the pavement.

He threw the other cover over the seat where human slime was left and vowed that he would stop in Flagstaff and get a decent change of clothes. The gas gauge displayed a little over a quarter tank and he just hoped the battery wasn't dead. He chose not to think about the likelihood of that scenario as he put his hand on the key and took a deep breath through his mouth so he wouldn't have to smell what he was sitting in before turning over the ignition.

It labored and Heero growled and punched the steering wheel.

"Come on!" he shouted but his voice sounded strange even to him, more like a harsh croak than anything close to the words he'd intended. But he didn't really want to dwell on how long it had been since he'd used his voice. It was the same reason he avoided looking into mirrors.

He gave it a second before trying again, pressing the key hard to the right as if the harder he pressed the more likely the engine would be to turn over. But he had to stop again and take another frustrated breath. So fucking close.

On the third try all the lights on the dash lit up, the air condition started blasting and Elvis began a loud croon from the radio. He almost laughed as his hand smacked the panel hurriedly to turn off everything before trying again.

He took one more deep breath and let it go with something that resembled a prayer and turned the key in the ignition once more. It labored again but after a few tense moments the engine hummed to life and an uncontrollable smile split Heero's face. He felt blood drip down his chin from his cracked lips but he just wiped it on the back of his hand, uncaring, as he pressed his foot into the gas, charging the battery for a minute.

His hand found its way into his pocket again, making sure he had the ring with him before leaving this sorry, depressing stop on his way home. Because even if Duo had moved on, even if he wasn't there waiting, Heero kept his promises and he promised Duo he would find him and he sure as shit wasn't about to break that promise now. Not after everything he'd gone through to get this far.

As his hands gripped the steering wheel and he started forward to Flagstaff, he reiterated the promise in a whisper through teeth grit with determination.

"I will find you."