Impossible

A Gundam Wing Fan Fiction

Rambled Off by The Manwell

Book Three: PARTNERS

. . .

~ Duo Maxwell ~

Une had used the term “false memory construction” but I’ve always called a spade a spade and as far as I’m concerned, brainwashing is still brainwashing.

Shit.

I can’t begin to imagine how those assholes had managed to pull it off. And I’m pretty sure Heero would like to know the answer to that question as well. But he’s not in any condition to discuss it at the moment.

Damn. I’ve never seen him like this before. I mean, I’ve seen him angry, focused, grim, amused, resigned, and expressing a plethora of other emotional states... but I’ve never seen him so... lost.

And I can’t help feeling somewhat responsible. Hadn’t I just recently wished for a chance to see what this man is made of? Hadn’t I been morbidly fascinated by his mortal struggle? Hadn’t I wanted to know what Heero’s limits were? And now here I am, wrapping a blanket around him as best I can as he’s huddling in the corner of my second-hand couch.

How had the wish I’d formed from pure, morbid fascination managed to come true when every other appeal I’d ever sent out into the void had been blithely ignored?

Perhaps there really is something about me that draws the attention of malevolent spirits to the people I care about.

Wait...

Had I really just used the “C” word in reference to Heero Yuy?

Shit, I guess I had.

And, what’s more. I guess it’s true. I do care about the guy. But, then, why wouldn’t I? Especially after the last two weeks plus we’ve been through together? Still, it seems weird to come right out and admit it. But then, the whole damn situation seems weird. Still, Twilight Zone or no, he needs me right now and my standing here looming over him is not exactly helping.

Following instincts I don’t normally acquiesce to, I crouch down next to him on the edge of the couch and gently curl my arms around his shoulders. I almost expect him to resist the embrace, but he doesn’t. He settles his weight against me and sighs.

What is it about the warm weight of another person leaning into you? Why does the trust that single action implies cut you open every time? I almost wish he’d cry; then I’d feel uncomfortable and awkward instead of... raw and open.

God, had I just sat down and pulled him into my arms? Jesus Christ. I had. I must be completely insane. This is Heero Yuy for fuck’s sake. He doesn’t need me. He has never needed me. I’ve been useful, handy, convenient, efficient, a means to an end... but he’s never, ever needed anything from me.

But then, why is he curling closer to me, resting his cheek on my shoulder, sitting with his thigh pressed against the outside of one of mine?

This young man hurting so silently in my arms can’t possibly be the Heero Yuy I know. I must have eaten some of those funny mushrooms for breakfast or something... You know what they say about space shuttle food, right?

But here we are. I’m sitting on my beat-up, lumpy couch with Heero practically in my lap. And I wonder what’s going to happen when he comes to his senses and realizes where he is right now.

Three weeks ago, I would have expected... Actually, I don’t know what I would have expected. And even now I’m drawing a blank. It’s so easy for me to recall that complete lack of expression he’d gifted me with right before he’d slugged me in the gut on X18999 and I keep deferring to that moment... keep wondering if I’ll see that look again... and I wonder if I’ll be able to take it a second time.

But when I stop and think about it, that concern – let’s not call it fear, all right? – doesn’t really make any sense. I mean, Heero hasn’t said a mean word to me since... since... Damn. I can barely remember a time or two during the first war. And the only time he’d ever hit me had been during that Mariemaia mess. Even the indifference he’d shown me during the first war and the Eve Battle has been completely absent since he’d joined the Preventers. So why am I entertaining these lingering expectations?

I don’t really know. If I sit here long enough and force myself to think about it, I’ll probably figure it out. But let’s be serious. I’m a world-class procrastinator when it comes to emotional stuff and introspection and crap like that. Besides, I’d rather just lean back against Heero and marvel at the evidence that the friendship we’d tentatively started building during Heero’s convalescence has survived the trip to Earth.

So that’s exactly what I do.

And when Heero falls asleep in my arms, I just continue sitting here, holding him. I suppose I ought to lay him down. It would be better for his still-healing body. But I don’t want to let go quite yet.

I almost smile as I realize here is yet another issue I don’t want to think about.

Later, I tell myself. I’ll think later. For now, I just want to be warm and needed for a change.

. . .

~ Heero Yuy ~

I’ve never woken up in someone’s arms before.

In fact, I’ve never come awake so slowly it felt more like I was drifting into one of those beautiful but transient dreams I always forget the details of upon my moment of waking.

But as my eyelids gradually drift open, I know that I’m not dreaming. I know that the wrinkled Preventer uniform I have my cheek pressed against and the shoulder it conceals is Duo’s. That realization in and of itself is more than enough to soothe me back into sleep.

I shift closer to him and feel myself drift on the lazy ebb and flow of consciousness. I’m not sure exactly how long I linger like this. But I know that when the synapses in my brain do actually start firing, I’ve managed to get myself into a rather precarious situation.

I’d just slept the entire day away in Duo’s arms. Perhaps I’d even drooled on his shirt. I ought to be mortified. Once again, I’m leaning on him without regard for his preferences in the matter. But if this is my first, last, and only opportunity to experience the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my cheek, then I’m going to take my sweet time and relish it, damn it.

Of course, I’d never anticipated him already being awake...

“It’s about time you came around,” Duo hums in a soft but amused whisper.

Oh, Christ. I sit up quickly, forcing down the blush I know is trying to creep up my neck. I make a show of rubbing the crust from the corners of my eyes and the circulation back into my stubbly cheeks.

“First order of business,” Duo begins, shifting next to me and consequently hissing in a sharp breath, “is coaxing the circulation back into my arm.”

I glance at him apologetically from beneath my bangs.

He replies with a gentle smile which I find myself returning.

“And the second order of business?” I hear myself ask.

He huffs out a brief sigh and states baldly, “Isolating your point of memory fuckage, my man.”

Just that quickly, the warmth I’d borrowed from Duo deserts me. “I...” And my throat closes before I can finish my reflexive denial.

But, Duo understands. He leans closer to me and settles his hands on my shoulders. I tell myself my body is still weak – that I’m still exhausted – from everything that’s happened to me and that’s why I lean into his touch.

“Heero...” he tells me on a whisper of sound. “You can’t let this overtake you. We both know – if you ignore it – the damage...”

I close my eyes and nod. I know the risks. The battle to undo the manipulation of my mind will be a hard, up-hill battle as it is what with weeks having passed since the event had occurred. Yes, I know the risks. But I don’t know if I can do what has to be done.

But I have to try. After all, Duo will be reporting for duty next month. And I intend to be standing next to him when that happens.

Still... can I open myself to him so completely? I flinch a little at the idea of allowing anyone unrestricted access to my mind. But I trust him. And I trust him to not only act in my best interests but to make what has to be done as easy for me as possible. His unwavering presence in my therapy sessions had shown that truth to me.

“We’ll have to take precautions,” I hear myself whisper. “I was conditioned to resist psychological manipulation...” I don’t have to tell Duo that many of the methods of resistance I’d been trained to perform are lethal.

His fingers tighten on my shoulders and even though I’m not meeting his eyes or even looking at his face I can feel his smile like a soothing balm on my prickly skin.

“Yeah...” he agrees. “That’s what I figured.”

And that’s also why it’s so imperative that we understand exactly how the doctors on the reformed Lunar Base had managed to plant the suggestion that I’d already contacted Duo. Why had my training failed? And if it had happened in this case, could it happen again? Could I fail my mission or – God forbid – Duo in the future because my abilities had become unpredictable?

The very thought of something happening to Duo because my training had failed us firms my resolve to uncover exactly what had happened in outer space. In fact, that horrifying possibility erases all lingering traces of hesitance. This has to be done. My own life and questionable mental stability is one thing, but I cannot allow myself to endanger Duo.

Drawing a deep breath, I finally look up and meet his empathizing gaze with a hard look of my own. Before the slight stirring beneath my breastbone can manifest into something more than the faintest of tingles, I hear myself demand, “When do we start?”

. . .

~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.

. . .

~Heero Yuy~

I’ve never met anyone as charismatic as Duo Maxwell. That is an unavoidable fact. He is a master manipulator of not only his own behavior but of others’ as well. It’s only his temper that gets him into trouble on occasion... and those occasions tend to be rare.

So when he’d started with the jokes and the half-hugs and hair-ruffling, I’d let myself be carried away by it. I’d wanted a diversion from the whole damnable mess and Duo had offered me one.

And a damned enjoyable diversion at that.

I sigh soundlessly and sink even further back against his side. I can feel his arm resting across my shoulders and his hand moving over my upper arm in a light massage. His other hand moves against the inside of my wrist which is resting on my thigh. I am bracketed by his arms and, thus, his warmth. I feel centered and safe.

“There now,’ he whispers, pressing his cheek against my hair. I turn toward his neck and feel a smile pushing at my lips. “I’ve got your back, Heero. You’re my partner and I always look after my partner.”

I lean even closer, warming at the assurance. I don’t think too much about how much these words mean to me. I don’t think about much at all. I trust him so I simply let him take care of me. My comfort is so complete that I don’t even wonder at my uncharacteristic dependence on him. In this moment, everything simply makes sense.

“So, it’s your turn to talk to me, Heero.”

“Hm?” I ask, vaguely wondering what he wants me to tell him.

“Well, how many stories have I told you tonight?”

I grin. Lots. I hadn’t known he’d had such an amazing repertoire of anecdotes. “Don’t know any good stories,” I mumble into his neck.

“Well... then tell me about Rupert Takahashi’s latest adventure.”

And I do. I hear his questions but I don’t really concentrate on them. As soon as they’re asked, I answer then forget about them. I don’t know how long I talk to him and I don’t really care. Sometime during my mutterings and his softly-asked questions, I find myself being maneuvered away from the back of the couch and Duo begins to rub my back in soothing, rhythmic sweeps of his palm. I don’t really feel it in my skin, but I can sense the pressure against my muscles. In response, I rub my thumb back and forth over his hand. When I’d grasped it in my fingers I don’t clearly recall, but I’m pleased to have it in my possession.

I’m not sure when I fall asleep but I know I must have. Because when I blink open my eyes, I’m sprawled on top of Duo and both of us are still on his lumpy, ugly couch. But this time, he’s asleep.

At first I think he must be faking his slumber because his arms are still snug around me. Disbelieving, I wait for a good solid fifteen minutes but his breathing never changes. That is, until his eyes start to shift beneath the pale lids. His lips part on a sigh and he pulls me closer. A slight smile touches his mouth and I’m glad I’ve at least given him a pleasant dream in payment for all he’s done for me today. And then I realize that Duo has done far more for me that I’d thought.

He’d interrogated me.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

I almost laugh.

Here I’d been worried he’d try to force the information out of me and I would stop trusting him or clam up on him or go into some training-induced defense maneuver and hurt him. But none of that had happened because Duo hadn’t had to force me to talk about anything. He’d gotten me to relax in his presence and had asked me to talk to him.

I can vaguely recall his questions; they’d all related to my last assignment in some way, shape, or form. But never once did I come out of the warm lethargy I’d been under.

Those few, niggling doubts I’d entertained regarding Duo’s ability to extract information now crumble to dust, completely obliterated.

And I feel a line of heat sizzle alarmingly through my body as I consider how efficient he had been. How easily I had allowed myself to be lead through his questions. How frightening this would be if I hadn’t already trusted him with total abandon.

It’s not a little scary to realize I’d allowed myself to be manipulated.

And it’s not a little disconcerting to realize Duo has that kind of power over me.

I watch him dream in silence for a moment more, wondering what I’d said, wondering if he’d managed to isolate the moment of memory contamination. I almost want to wake him up and quiz him about it... but I know I can’t. I’ve entrusted my mind to him and until Duo decides he’s collected all the information there is to be gotten from me, I can’t interfere.

So I lay my cheek back down against his chest and close my eyes.

. . .

~Duo Maxwell~

HQ, we have a problem.

Getting Heero to talk about the details of his assignment including the people he’d met, the conversations he’d had, the things he’d done and thought and felt had been way too easy.

Creepily easy, in fact.

I’d always been wary of easy battles... and this is most definitely not an exception.

Ensconced in my workroom, I stab half-heartedly at the somewhat-disassembled carcass of a rusty, antique food processor someone had left out on the curb for the garbage collectors last month and sigh. I’d taken up trying to repair and modify the thing during Heero’s mission but I’m pretty sure it’s a lost cause. Too much damage. But playing with the thing gives me an alibi. With Heero mucking about in my kitchen trying to make a semi-palatable meal from my extensive collection of non-perishables and me desperately needing some quiet time to study the information I’d gleaned from my partner last night, this had been the only place for me to go. I know I look engrossed in my task, which is the important thing. I don’t want Heero to wonder what I’m thinking about. It’s imperative that I appear to have everything under control.

But I don’t.

And while that’s bad, the possibilities that have arisen since last night are worse.

So, I sit at my worktable which is cluttered with all variety of mechanical bits and pieces and pretend to give a damn about the gizmo in my hands while replaying the story I’d carefully prodded out of Heero about twenty hours ago.

He’d told me everything I’d asked to know. Without hesitation and in as much detail as I’d wanted. But if he’d really been brainwashed by someone who’d known what they were doing, that shouldn’t have happened. There should have been some resistance as I’d probed his memories. Something unaccountably and inexplicably vague. Evidence of significant time loss. A toneless quality in his voice.

And what had I found? Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Fuck.

And because it pertains to this situation, I’ll think it again: Fuck!

So, one possibility is that the guys who’d planted the false memory about Heero contacting me aren’t just good at brainwashing, they’re fucking geniuses. Not a comforting thought, that. But I’d rather deal with this option than the second I’d reluctantly acknowledged this morning.

Damn the Devil’s advocate half of my brain, anyway.

So here I am, glaring at the grimy remains of a twenty-year-old food processor trying to figure out what to do next while I’m praying to God I can keep my developing suspicions from coming across to Heero.

I’m still glaring when my cell phone rings and I absently scoop it up. I know it’s not Une. She’d already called and ordered me to haul Heero in so she could “council” him on his options as soon as possible. I’d told her to push off – in the nicest possible way, of course – and I’d very reluctantly offered to see what I could do... maybe. To say that Une isn’t my favorite person right now would be a hilariously bad understatement.

I glance at the caller ID display and arc a brow at the phone number.

“Yo, man. Whaddya want?” I sing into the phone as I peer into the guts of the former appliance.

Wufei sighs. “I’ll forgo the obvious inquiry as to which illegal stimulants you’ve used to sound so infuriatingly cheerful and just get to the point, shall I?”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” I quip even as I feel a smidgeon bit of sympathy for the exhaustion and anxiety in his voice. Only Wufei, God, and Une know exactly how much time he’s putting in at the moment what with the situation being what it is. And, if you ask me, God’s damn lucky Une keeps in the loop at all. I guess she figures having an omniscient being on our side might come in handy some day. You’d think she’d be happy with three former Gundam pilots on the payroll... but whatever.

Wufei manages a bit of humor to address my funless-bastard accusation: “Regardless, you were ready to marry me for my cooking a month ago.”

I bark out a laugh at that. “Oh, how quickly doth I forget,” I dramatize.

His immediate reply is a dismissive grunt and I know we’re moving on to the actual topic of his call. “Where’s Heero right now?”

“Trying to make something edible for dinner. I’m gonna give him another ten minutes before I call for delivery again.”

“Good,” he says curtly and I know he’s talking about the fact that I’m alone. He doesn’t give a good God damn what Heero’s doing or how much junk food I’ve eaten in the last forty-eight hours. “I’ve been examining the virus that’s been attacking the systems at the Lunar Base and I think you need to take a look at this before I submit my report to Une.”

“Uh... okey-dokey, I’ll swing by tomorrow morning. Gonna be bringing Heero with me, though.”

“Fine, get him in to see Une while I give you the disc and my notes. Hopefully that’ll keep her from stomping around the building for ten minutes so I can brief you on how the case is coming so far.”

Wufei’s admitted rationale doesn’t fool me. He’s not really going to brief me in person; the case is still open and the information too sensitive to risk like that. No, he’ll put everything he needs to tell me on the disc. Besides, even with Une breathing down his neck, he would have figured out a way to bring me up to speed if he’d really wanted to. The truth is that Wuffers doesn’t want Heero to know he’s giving me the data on that virus or the latest news and events concerning the Lunar Base. Interesting. And disquieting.

“I’ll call you when I get there, ‘k?”

“Fine. Good night, Maxwell.” And with that exhaustion-infected grouch, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone for a moment and start to contemplate all of the possible variations of bad news Wufei could deliver but the screech of the kitchen-confined microwave forces me to put it out of my mind. I tuck the phone away and deliberately rearrange my thoughts and body language. Whatever Wufei had uncovered, I can’t let my speculations ruin all the progress I’ve made with Heero. I think I strain a critical mental muscle group in the process, but I manage it.

“So, when are we calling out for Chinese food?” I holler in the direction of the kitchen.

There’s a telling pause. I imagine Heero giving his concoction a tentative taste. And then: “As soon as you tell me which speed dial number it is!”

I laugh. We may be former Gundam pilots, once-feared fighters for justice and peace and colonial independence, but even we can’t work miracles.

I try not to let that last thought bother me as I shout back the correct number and my order.

. . .

~Heero Yuy~

I regard the number keys on Duo’s handset with no small amount of appreciation. He has quite the system worked out with the speed-dial: Preventer HQ emergency response, shuttleport reservations center, and no less than four different kinds of local, ready-prepared food delivery businesses to name a few. I briefly consider calling up all of the programmed numbers, but I know I’d only be checking to see how far down the list my contact information is. And I don’t want to sour the evening like that. It’s been a good day.

So, with our Chinese delivery order on its way, I wander in the direction of Duo’s spare bedroom, wondering what he’s up to. Leaning in the open doorway and crossing my arms over my chest, I end up watching him mutter at the inelegant remains of something that might have once been a very outdated food processor in his hands.

“I don’t think you’re winning,” I inform him with a tiny smile tugging at my lips.

He grunts. “It’s hardly the first losing battle I’ve fought.”

Too true. “Still, that thing is beyond help.”

Duo chuckles softly and glances up at me. “Nothing’s beyond help” is his quiet and knowing reply. And those few words are the catalyst for some warm and chaotic event inside of me. When the churning warmth settles down a bit, I relax back into the conversation. “That’s just your ego talking,” I hear myself tease him.

He releases a genuine laugh at that.

“Probably. I am one arrogant sonuvabitch,” he admits.

I drawl, “Then aren’t you and Chang a pair.”

“Oh, ho! And look at you: the only modest one of the three of us.”

And then it’s my turn to laugh. When I wind down, I find my gaze trapped in his. For a long moment, we simply stare at each other. But then, in a soft voice that doesn’t disturb the warm connection we’ve fumbled into, he invites, “Well, come on in and take a look at all the victims of my little hobby like I know you’re dying to.”

My smile widens. “Ulterior motives exposed yet again. Drat,” I monotone.

He snorts and returns to his latest “victim” and, after a slight hesitation, I sidle into the room and start poking through the various gadgets he’s repaired and foisted improvements of dubious practicality upon.

Several minutes leak past us before I hear myself mumble, “It’s too bad you’re an adrenalin junkie. You’d be a brilliant addition to the Tech department at HQ.”

“Yeah, too bad I don’t like chatting it up with balding geeks about improving microprocessor efficiency.”

I briefly glance at him over my shoulder and grin. “That’s just the repression talking.” And I gain another chuckle for my witty rejoinder.

“Uh huh. And just what would Une do to me after I’d told her I was transferring out from under her watchful eye?”

“Hm,” I ponder briefly, “she’d probably assign me to tail you twenty-four-seven.” And I’m not a little startled to realize that tailing Duo Maxwell might very well be the best damn assignment I could ever hope for. And in an instant, I experience a near-blinding moment of clarity and truth: I really would follow Duo Maxwell anywhere. Getting paid for doing it would only be an unanticipated bonus.

“Not unless you jump through her hoops to get reinstated first,” he cautions with sudden gravity.

The bolt of panic I experience surprises me. The very thought of Duo going back to work without me there to watch his back and fix his coffee and make sure he remembers to eat lunch scares me more than I’m prepared to deal with. “I suppose I should speak to Une about the steps we’re taking to make sure I’m... stable,” I acknowledge somberly.

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the courtesy, Heero,” Duo tells me, looking up from his once-was-useful appliance. I can feel his gaze on my back, through the fabric of my shirt. “But you know you don’t have to...”

“No,” I quickly assure him. “I want to. It’s important. I want to go back to work...” With you.

“Okay.” His reply is easy and light and I feel his gaze slide away from my tense back and return to the hopeless bit of almost-rubbish. “I’ll drive you to HQ first thing in the morning, then?”

I let out a long, hot breath in relief. “Yeah. Thanks.”

This time when I risk a glance over my shoulder at him, I get tangled up in his warm gaze. “Sure thing, man. Partners.”

And with those few words, I feel luckier than I ever have in my short, misspent life. Lucky to know him at all. Lucky to have lived through the war. Lucky to have been born in the first place.

The intensity of that conviction rocks me. Almost literally. In moments like this one, I tend to experience an epiphany... In the breathless instant after my usual defenses have been surprised away, a wave of understanding often overcomes me. Sometimes it almost feels like I’m drowning.

And tonight I’m pulled under so quickly I don’t have time to offer up even a token struggle.

Suddenly, I flash back to the war, to the time immediately following Quatre’s having succumbed to the Zero System. Trowa’s fate had been unknown and Quatre and I had been captured by Oz. The docs hadn’t wasted any time in hooking Winner up to various instruments and starting their analysis of why their perfect system had failed. Nor had they wasted any time in filling us in on events from their perspectives. I had listened in silence – hearing the words, processing the information – but consumed with something else entirely.

I hadn’t heard a single thing about Duo. Had he managed to escape despite his injuries? Or was he still in Oz custody? But even as the questions had burned through me, I hadn’t asked. The words had been hot and overlarge in my throat. Impossible to utter.

And then my mentor had told us that both Maxwell and Chang had made it out with their partially completed mobile suits. The relief I’d felt I’d always understood. No, what I’ve occasionally wondered about since then is why I hadn’t been able to ask in the first place.

But tonight, the answer to that comes to me:

I hadn’t asked because asking would have implied a willingness to accept any possible answer. And I’d only been interested in one outcome. And shocked as I am in the wake of that realization, I quickly deduce what the underlying sentiment implies.

Christ.

“Hey, Heero. You all right, man?”

The sound of his voice cuts through the buzzing white noise of my thoughts. “Fine,” I reply automatically. I frantically sift through my brain and latch onto the first semi-convincing lie that comes to me: something I’m relatively sure he’ll buy because he wants to hear it. “I was just envisioning myself taking names and kicking ass again...”

Duo chuckles. “And here I was going to accuse you of spacing out on me.”

“Would I do that in your divine presence?”

“Well... you always did have something of a deathwish,” he returns with a grin and a teasing tone.

“As if you’re one to talk,” I reply with a snort.

He hums mildly in agreement and we lapse back into comfortable silence. I find myself staring at the infamous toaster Duo had modified to talk. I’m tempted to turn it on and fetch a slice of bread to toast just so I can listen to Duo’s voice announcing the browning process. My favorite line is the “Here’s your hockey puck, sweetie!” that sounds after the machine has finished toasting on the darkest setting.

I smirk at the toaster and allow myself to get lost in the memory of this appliance’s unveiling. God, Wufei’s reaction had been positively precious...

Deep down, I know I’m putting off the inevitable. I know I’ll have to face that moment of self-discovery I’d just been dragged through by my subconscious. But not right now. Please God, not right now. I’ll deal with it... and everything else... tomorrow.

Notes

:: Heero’s flashback is from episode 26.

. . .

~Duo Maxwell~

I flop down without ceremony in the chair opposite Wufei’s desk and meet my friend’s scowl with a carefully constructed carefree grin. “So, whatcha got for me, Wuf-man?”

“And after that deplorable address, you expect me to give it to you?” he replies with a condescending expression and snide tone. The man must be absolutely exhausted to take a little light-hearted teasing this badly.

“Well, I didn’t work my magic to get Heero to suggest coming down here and talking to Une voluntarily – against my better judgment, I might add – to come away with empty pockets, now did I?”

The mention of Heero seems to spark something a little more... humane in Wufei. “How is he?” is the softly asked follow-up.

I shrug. “Confused. In denial.” And I hesitate before I add, “Vulnerable.” It goes without saying that I really wish he hadn’t fallen for my ploy and agreed to see Une this morning. Neither of us is quite ready for that.

A black eyebrow arcs again but the expression is speculative rather than condescending this time. “A truly alarming combination,” he agrees.

“Unprecedented,” I agree.

“Well, then. Let’s not dither about further.” And with that less-than graceful opening, Wufei hands over the highly anticipated disc. I pocket it smoothly and maintain my silence, sensing an introduction to the issue on the horizon.

I’m not disappointed.

“It’s obvious who wrote that virus. It’s got his signature all over it.”

“But?” I can’t stop myself from asking.

“But the information it contains is... highly unusual. It could help you pinpoint the source of the... damage.”

I don’t overlook the careful wording. Wufei hadn’t used a more definitive term than “unusual” for security reasons, but I have the distinct impression that the replacement of “brainwashing” for “damage” had been for an entirely different reason altogether. I can’t stop the wince as this subtle inference supports that aforementioned unfavorable second scenario I’d conceived after interrogating Heero. I don’t have to be told to keep this disc a secret from Heero until Wufei and I have some concrete possibilities for him.

“Roger that. Thanks, man.”

I watch as Wufei leans back on a drawn-out sigh of relief. That easily, I’ve assured him that I’m aware of the layered meaning he’d just tried to impress upon me and that I will be cautious with how I proceed.

“Well, seein’ as how you’re ass-deep in alligators here, I’ll just take myself back up to Une’s office.”

“Yes,” Wufei rallies, the moment of exhaustion quickly concealed. “I would appreciate it if you would restrain yourself from bothering me while you’re unoccupied.”

“Nooo problem,” I whirr cheerfully. “Later, dude.”

Back in the hall, I keep my smile on as I intermittently pass my fellow agents. I carefully box up my speculations and dread regarding the information in my pocket until it’s been stowed in a small and dusty – but air-tight – cabinet in my mind. The last thing I need is Heero wondering if I’d been wandering around conspiring behind his back while he’d been enduring Une’s pep talk.

With a charming grin at Une’s secretary, I slide into a visitor’s chair and settle into benevolent listlessness. It’s not two minutes later when Heero emerges. I deliberately squash the spike of alarm at how close I’d cut it. If Heero had walked out of Une’s office and not seen me... Well, I would have had to lie to him about what I’d been doing... And he would have become suspicious anyway. But it appears I’m quite the lucky bastard today.

“Well, I don’t see any open wounds,” I tell him as I stand up.

He steers us toward the elevators and replies dryly. “That doesn’t mean it was painless.”

“No. No, it doesn’t,” I admit easily.

As we approach the elevator bank, I recall the last time I’d stood here with Heero. Had it only been two days ago? Hell. A shitload has certainly happened since then. I’m still daydreaming about it when the doors slide open... and that’s my excuse for being completely floored at the sound of Relena Dorlain’s voice calling Heero’s name in obvious delight and surprise. Beside me, Heero seems equally startled.

“Relena,” he rasps out. “What are you doing here?”

She laughs. “It’s good to see you, too,” she scolds with good humor. She smoothly turns to me and we exchange automatic pleasantries before she shines a brilliant grin back on Heero again.

“I’m here to see Une about a budget meeting,” she says, finally answering Heero’s question. “But more importantly, what are you doing here? Consulting?”

I can feel myself frowning with confusion. Before I can wonder if she’d somehow found out about Heero’s precarious employment future with the Preventers, he replies.

“Um, no. It’s just... ah... Duo...”

“Ah, catching up?” she guesses with a grin.

Heero manages a nod.

“Well, don’t let anyone talk you into a uniform,” she warns him. “We both know you love your work too much to give it up for this thankless job. Even if you would be brilliant at it.” Her expression softens with genuine happiness. “But I am glad you followed your dream to do something that doesn’t involve violence.”

I hear him grunt in automatic agreement.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Give me a call if you’re free for lunch before I leave Saturday morning, all right?”

“Sure,” he tells her and then both of us watch her stride purposefully down the hall. After a long moment, Heero turns back around and pushes the button to recall the elevator we’d missed in Relena’s wake. I occupy myself with staring at Heero.

“Dude...” I begin slowly, feeling my way through this sudden weird-as-hell situation. “You haven’t told her you joined the Preventers.” I’d intended for it to be a question... but it hadn’t come out that way.

“Obviously,” he replies dryly in that lifeless droning tone of his that I usually hate. Now is no exception.

Briefly I wonder if he’d deliberately omitted this information just to keep Relena happy and off his back, but something else nags at me. Something else that kind of clicks together inside my head...

“Your dream of doing something that doesn’t involve violence?” I parrot.

“Unnecessary violence,” he tries to amend.

But I don’t buy it.

I take a moment to study him – really study him – and I’m startled at the subtle disquiet I sense beneath his passive expression and squared shoulders. Suddenly, I’m remembering his oddly absent enthusiasm when I’d asked him during one of his physical therapy sessions if he had been looking forward to returning to work. And I’m also remembering the forced levity last night when he’d explained his spacing episode. Suddenly, it all makes absolute, perfect sense.

“You don’t really like this job, do you?” I blurt, almost breathless from the shock of it.

“No, I... it’s...”

I don’t wait for him to scrape together a complete sentence... or an excuse. I’m immediately angry with him for hiding this so well... and with myself for not having clued into it sooner. “You didn’t have to become an agent,” I continue in a frustrated tone, recalling his ringing endorsement last night of my techie skills. “You could have gone into Intel or –”

“What’s the difference?” he snaps in a surprising show of temper. “Either way I’m supporting actions that have the potential to hurt people. At least this way I can control how much.”

With that, the elevator doors slide open in front of us, revealing an empty car. We step in and Heero punches the button for the employee parking garage. It seems to me he hits the control panel with a bit more force than necessary. But I’m too busy trying to figure out why he’d bother lying to me about this to really take that warning for what it is.

Tongue on autopilot – as usual – I hear myself accuse, “That’s bullshit and you know it. Whether or not we hurt people isn’t up to us. It’s up to the suspect and how desperate he is.”

“Why do you care why I work here?” he challenges back and I know I’m close to the truth; he can’t think of a more convincing excuse to throw at me.

“Oh, gee. I don’t know,” I snark. “Because you’re my partner maybe? Because I give a damn? Do you think I want to trust my life to a guy who doesn’t really have his heart in it? I mean, what the fuck, Heero? I thought...”

“What?!” he almost shouts, rounding on me. “What did you think, Duo? That I enjoy reliving the most painful moments of my life on a regular basis? That I like being reminded of the fact that I’m a trained weapon?”

“Then why are you putting yourself through this?” I shout back. “You’ve got an ironclad excuse to get out of this place and get that perfect job you’ve been lying to Relena about –”

“There’s no such thing as a perfect fucking job, Duo!”

“Like you’ve ever tried to figure that out for yourself! If you didn’t want this job, you shouldn’t have taken it!”

He growls at me. “My reasons are my own business and I’ll thank you to–”

“Butt the hell out, right? Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing ever changes does it? You don’t give a good God damn about anything but your fucking righteous battles, do you? Not even your own wants as a fucking person take priority over that shit!”

He crowds my space and I feel the moist warmth of his breath on my face as he spits out, “Do not presume to know why I do what I do! You don’t know shit about it!”

“Oh yeah?” I challenge like a rabid wolverine, pushing back into his space. “Well, there’s one thing I know, Heero Yuy. I know I sure as hell don’t want to work with someone who’s here out of survivor guilt or some such shit-priority!”

And before the last syllable has cleared my throat, I’ve been slammed up against the elevator wall and pinned there. I stare into Heero’s enraged face, stunned by the show of strength I’d forgotten he possesses.

Gazes locked, he fairly roars, “My only priority is you, you stubborn ass!”

Oh. My. God.

My entire body freezes.

I think I even stop breathing.

I can feel my mind struggling to wrap itself around Heero’s admission and all it necessarily implies as we stand nose to nose, sharing each other’s heated breaths, bodies pressed together... intimately. In a Preventer’s HQ elevator.

It shouldn’t have surprised me when the doors suddenly whisper open – we are in a public elevator, after all – but I flinch nonetheless. And that involuntary movement seems to be the catalyst which releases Heero from the moment we’d become frozen within.

With startling speed, Heero’s body heat abandons me and the only thing that prevents me from sliding to the floor is my own deathgrip on the waist-high elevator railing. One minute our bodies had almost been fused together in hot emotions and the next Heero has escaped the elevator entirely.

I should have gone after him.

But I hadn’t. Couldn’t. Had been utterly incapable of lunging forward to catch the door before it had closed. But as soon as the gears lurch into motion, I fall on the control panel and punch the button for the floor above the parking garage. The single flight seems to take forever and all I can think about is finding Heero. I don’t know what I’ll say... what I’ll do... what I can do... But that doesn’t seem to be very important to my adrenalin-charged mind.

I’m almost vibrating before the car stops and I’m out the door before it’s finished opening. I clamber down the emergency stairwell to the parking garage in hot pursuit. I don’t bother with stealth. Heero has a fifteen second head-start: it’s all down to speed now.

But when I tumble out into the garage, my footsteps are the only ones I hear. I strain to locate evidence of his presence but there is none. And, somehow, I know he’s not here. Not anymore.

I swear loudly and violently and glare at my unmolested and still-present car.

Holy fuck has this day gone downhill.

And in record time, too.

But really, what else can I expect from Heero Yuy? Things have the odd tendency of ending up broken in his wake. Olympic records and sound barriers not withstanding.

. . .

~Heero Yuy~

It should have felt odd to take a page from Duo’s book and run like hell.

But it hadn’t.

I suppose I could blame that last mission and my struggle to adopt as many Duoisms as I possibly could...

But I don’t.

My flight had been fueled by pure fear. And I might be miles away from the site of my abrupt confession, but the information hasn’t changed. Oddly enough, I’m surprised by this. As if traversing a significant amount of distance has the power to erase a moment in time. But it doesn’t. And it doesn’t make my confession any less honest.

The truth is still the truth, after all. I don’t have to like it to recognize it as such.

I sink down onto the arm of my couch, my eyes riveted to the small, solitary figure of the only plant I own: the cactus Duo had given me. I try not to notice the fact that my couch isn’t nearly as comfortable as his is. I try not to dwell on the tiny, shriveled corpses of the small, pale flowers that had blossomed in my absence.

This is the perfect, clichéd scenario for the ever-popular self-recrimination: “Dear God, what have I done?”

But I don’t ask myself this question because quite honestly – and unfortunately – I know exactly what I’ve done.

I’ve confessed the depths of my devotion to the one person who I’d follow to Hell and back. And it doesn’t help that the recipient of my devotion is an honorary schizophrenic with a phobia of deep, emotional introspections, a case of chronic near-violent emoting, a talent for Machiavellian manipulations, and borderline obsessive tendencies towards technology.

At least I’m not looking at him through damned rose-colored glasses.

I snort at the thought.

But God, for all that Duo Maxwell is a seriously fucked up mess, he is a genius.

Duo Maxwell can and does manipulate me as easily as he handles a loaded gun, and believe me, I know of what I speak.

Last night’s conversation hadn’t been coincidence. I’d figured that out as soon as I’d realized Une’s little lecture about my future had been too thorough and concise to be spontaneous. She’d no doubt asked Duo to bring me in. And I’d let Duo maneuver me into thinking the whole thing had been my idea to begin with.

He is underhanded and evasive and ruthless in the pursuit of his goals, no matter what those goals are.

And he is the one person I would choose to have by my side through anything.

I pause at that silent declaration and find that I have to amend it.

Duo Maxwell isn’t just the person I would choose. He’s the person I have chosen.

My eyes had finally been opened to this truth the night before when I’d realized the strength of my attachment to him. I wouldn’t just follow him into the proverbial Hell. I actually had followed him into Hell. Into my Hell. Into a life where my greatest fear hovers constantly over me like a great, invisible thundercloud, waiting for a moment in which I’m unguarded to strike.

Two years ago, the world had been on the verge of a second war and I’d answered the threat as I always had: as a trained killer. But I hadn’t anticipated the effects that intervening year of peace had had on me. On my psyche. I hadn’t realized I’d been changed by it. But I had. I’d poured everything I had into the role I’d had to play... but it hadn’t been enough. Even now, many events are fuzzy.

Why had I asked Duo to hit me only to have a fair chance to return the favor?

What had transpired in the Earth’s atmosphere when I’d fought Wufei?

How had I gotten into Dekim’s underground fortress?

These events and so many others are vague and blurred. My rationale for these decisions and my actions during these events elude me. I had only been a Gundam pilot again for twenty-four hours, and it had almost destroyed me. And I had almost killed needlessly.

What if my gun hadn’t been empty?

What if I hadn’t murmured my deepest desire before I’d collapsed?

What if Relena hadn’t been there to hear it?

In the aftermath of the most traumatic battle I’d ever experienced, my subconscious had offered up something precious. Something I needed. Something to cling to. I had heard myself almost whisper in something akin to awe that I would never have to hurt anyone ever again.

And I’d meant it.

And yet, as much as I’d needed that, I’d needed Duo more.

I still do.

So I wander through an existence that – most days – doesn’t seem so bad really, following the one person I’d somehow tied myself to before I’d even been aware of having done so.

And now that he knows how I feel? Now that he knows I what I would give up for him... just to be near him... Now have I finally lost him?

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if there’s anything that I can do. As soon as the words had left my mouth, I’d lost all control of the situation. And one thing is certain: I can no more influence Duo’s reactions than I can go back to being that impersonal weapon. Many people believe I haven’t changed – including Une – but I know. And I think both Duo and Wufei know, too.

And I have to trust in that. And I have to trust in the friendship I’d started to cultivate between myself and Duo. And I have to trust in the fact that I’d willingly placed my mind in Duo’s care. I have to trust that Duo will not disregard my actions these last few weeks. I have to trust that he will take them as proof of my sincerity.

There are only two downsides:

One: I’ve never been very good at blind trust.

And two: if Duo actually does consider my actions as proof of my feelings for him, it will be a first.

I sigh and stare at my cactus. Duo’s cactus. The me that Duo sees.

. . .

~Duo Maxwell~

The best part about being a master of redirection is that I can – and do – easily apply those fantastic abilities to myself whenever needed.

It goes without saying, I think, that now is one of those needful times.

I very deliberately don’t think about what had just been said in that elevator and plop myself down onto the couch and turn on my laptop with a push of a button. I stare at the flickering screen as I wait for the programs to load and slowly twirl the disc Wufei had given me between my fingers.

I’d been in the process of violently yanking my car keys from my pocket in that too empty parking garage when I’d realized that I was currently carrying the perfect means for my own distraction.

I’m not proud of the fact that I’d jumped at the opportunity to wade through some other – any other – situation than the one I’d just had shoved into my face this morning. But I’d nevertheless tuned my thoughts toward that disc and forced myself to start speculating about its contents just so I wouldn’t think about... well, you know.

Although I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to find when I open Wufei’s present, I know I’d better take all the precautions I normally would when viewing sensitive information on a unsecured line. I methodically go about the task of checking and double-checking that my laptop is completely unhackable and all of my important information has been backed up on a separate hard drive. I can’t afford to have this virus Wufei wants me to take a look at getting frisky with my techie wet dreams, now can I?

I guess, for all my denial, Heero was right last night when he’d claimed my protests against enjoying a good technical discussion over microprocessor efficiency were the result of repression.

It’s really quite amazing, actually, that Heero’s developed this weird ability to see people. Really see them. Hell, I trust his judgment of character almost as much as I trust my own. I might be unpredictable and – let’s be honest, shall we? – downright difficult to live with, but my instincts are never wrong.

Which is why Heero’s angry declaration had been such a shock. Wait. Is such a shock. I mean, why would he feel...? And about me of all...?

Wait a minute. Hadn’t I just decided I wasn’t going to think about this?

Yeah. That’s what I figured.

I shove the disc into the carrier slot on my laptop and loom over the machine humming on my coffee table as I wait for the file list to pop up. When it does, I don’t hesitate to choose the first of only two files: the virus.

The code scrolls across the screen and I find myself taking in the data as easily as most people scan the movie summaries on the backs of rental discs. I take note of the various components, feeling a grin tug at the corner of my mouth at the command that will send a subtle invitation to my personal email address. Of course Heero would write in a secret back door for me. He knows what desk duty does to me, after all.

I shake my head and continue reading. The entire document is fairly complicated and a few details actually raise my eyebrows a bit. Either Heero’d had way too much time on his hands or his sense of humor is way more morbid than I’d been led to believe.

The true intent of the virus is camouflaged by sprinklers that activate and deactivate randomly and bidets in the men’s bathrooms squirting anyone who passes by... This last bit I see is dependant upon security motion detectors in the restrooms. The existence of those devices doesn’t raise any suspicions. Motion and heat detectors are standard issue in all space building designs.

There’s also evidence of microwaves in the private apartments being programmed to beep two hours after the lights go out in the place... and continue beeping until someone opens the appliance’s door.

And of course the temperatures on the hot and cold water reservoirs have been reversed.

Christ, Heero must have been positively bored out of his tree on that mission to think up all these innovations and meticulously program them.

And I can’t help but chuckle as I go through the list.

Metal ceiling panels in the hallways that seemingly spontaneously magnetize.

I chortle as I imagine paperclips and staples being pulled upward and out of the grasp of a startled scientist making his rounds.

Shoe-shining receptacles that use the wrong color polish and dab smiley faces into the leather.

Driers that operate at 300%... broiling the clothes dry... and undoubtedly smaller in the process.

Locking mechanisms in the data storage room that don’t respond to the first five tries... even with the correct code...

Wait a minute.

I reread that line with a dark frown.

The data storage room had been where I’d found Heero... where the solar panels are located... where Heero had been trapped and... crispened.

I scan further down until I locate the very last malfunction Heero had programmed.

And when I find it my fingertips freeze right where they are, suspended over the keyboard.

It’s impossible.

But it makes so much sense.

I back up and reread the virus. I reexamine the malfunctions. I tell myself not to panic. Yet.

I force myself to read Wufei’s report, but unfortunately, he’s arrived at the same conclusion I have. And having had access to Heero’s laptop after it had been collected and sent to HQ, he’s got even more evidence to support his conclusion. The conclusion I had suspected last night. The conclusion I hadn’t wanted to be right about.

God damn it all to hell.

I take only enough time to activate the sleep mode on my laptop, slam the lid shut, and tuck it under my arm. I barely remember to grab my car keys and cell phone and stuff my feet into a pair of shoes. I’m panicking, I know. But I don’t care.

Because if I’m right – and I think I am – Heero’s life could be in danger.

Right. Now.

. . .

~Heero Yuy~

Follow your emotions.

Of all the instructions and advice I’ve ever received in my life, that’s the one piece that I have always carried with me. And it’s the only piece I’d ever offered to another soul. I’m not too sure how practical it is... but my mentor had used his last breath to deliver it.

I suppose that leaves an impression.

It’s odd that for all the people I’ve killed, I’ve only actually been physically present at the side of a handful of them when they’d died. And Odin Lowe’s death had been the first I’d witnessed... up close and personal, you could say.

So perhaps the advice isn’t so much wise as it is... etched into me.

I sigh and caress the smooth metal in my hands. It’s times like this – when I’m overwhelmed by the absolute emotional clusterfuck I’ve managed to create in my life – that I miss that lonely assassin who’d taken me in and taught me how to survive, how to kill, and – in short – how to grow up.

And while I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Odin hadn’t been infallible, I somehow persist in believing that he would be able to untangle these moments I get lost in and show me the path again.

I sigh and let my hands move as they will. Autopilot really is a soothing place to be after you’ve run so hard and so far that the only place you’d wound up had been a brick wall.

“Heero?”

My hands tighten at the sound of that familiar voice invading the heavy peace I’d finally found in the sanctuary of my bedroom.

“I know you’re here, man,” Duo continues and I can hear him closing the front door behind him. “I tried to call but your phone’s off the hook.”

I frown and glance at the appliance sitting on my nightstand. I don’t recall leaving the channel open, but I apparently had... because the vid phone lies muted and spitting static across the screen beside me. How had I not noticed this?

“Talk to me, man.”

I hear the steely note in Duo’s voice. I know that tone. It’s the one he uses when he’s decided not to give up until he’d gotten some answers. And if Duo Maxwell is consistent at anything, it’s being an obnoxiously stubborn cuss when he puts his mind to it.

With a heavy sigh, I admit, “I’m in the bedroom.”

I don’t hear his footsteps, but he pushes the door open only a half a second later. He must have started moving almost as soon as he’d heard me start to sigh. He stands in the doorway, regarding me with those ever-changing eyes of his. For the first time in my life, I find myself staring at a Duo Maxwell who is immovable and completely patient. The volatile energy he exudes is oddly absent and I wonder about that. I have no point of reference with which to refer in judging if this is a good sign or a bad one.

Very softly, he asks me, “Can I come in?”