Duo picked his way through the grimy rubble until he reached the edge of the rooftop. Resting his palms on the rickety railing, he peered down at the sprawling expanse of run-down buildings and smokestacks. Just another safehouse, in just another city. His hands opened and closed on the rusty bar convulsively.

He didn't know how much longer he could go on like this.

It was a long way to the ground, to the dark alleyways and cracked pavements below. He tilted his head sideways, braid slipping off his shoulder to slither over the bar as he peered over the edge. Duo was by no means afraid of heights, but he did have a healthy respect for landings.

A long way down. No one could survive a fall from this height.

He ought to be used to this view by now, he thought. It was sort of like looking down on the world from the hatch of a Gundam, except with no safety harness, no drop rope. Duo leaned out a little further and the rail creaked in protest as it tried to take his weight.

Escape seemed so tempting. Escape from the pain of this miserable, out-of-control existence.

Duo held himself there for a moment, suspended, caught between the twin possibilities of life and oblivion. And then he straightened, feeling the ache as too-tense muscles grated. Weak, he was so weak. Too weak to end it, too weak to deal with it. He forced his fingers to uncurl from the railing, brushing at the small rusted flakes sticking to his palms.

Happiness. For a little while, he'd had happiness in his hands. He'd had joy, and a belief that everything was going to be wonderful. Had it been only weeks ago that he'd been so naïve, since that godforsaken mission...

Duo roused slowly. Aches and pains which had been comfortably distant through the haze of sleep crept closer, and he was reluctant to wake fully and be forced to acknowledge them.

He felt as though he'd been kicked by a Gundam. There didn't seem to be enough air in his lungs, and he hitched a breath, gasping as that sent a fresh wave of pain through his chest.

"Duo?" He felt movement at his side, and his hand was suddenly enfolded in warmth.

Slowly Duo cracked his eyes open, blinking at the brightness. Heero's serious face hovered at his shoulder.

"Ehhh, Heero," Duo rasped, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Duo..." There was a sudden catch in Heero's voice, before it roughened to its normal timbre. "Status report?"

Duo's lips twitched into a half smile. Typical of Heero, to turn a simple question into an interrogation. Not possible for the Perfect Soldier to show anything that might be misinterpreted for concern. Wistfully, Duo wondered whether Heero would ever let anyone see past his steely facade. How long had he been hoping Heero would let him in, how often had his efforts been rebuffed?

"I'm fine." He didn't feel fine; his head pounded, his chest hurt like the blazes and he felt as though his skin had been scraped raw in a dozen different places - but he was alive, and safe, and with Heero, which meant he was doing pretty well in the grand scheme of things.

He glanced up again to face Heero's scowl, and grinned. "Although, if I'd known I was going to wake up feeling like total and utter crap, I would've had something decent to drink before we went out and made this headache damn well worth it."

He heard Heero's short exhalation, and wondered at the strange look he caught in the deep cobalt eyes before Heero lowered his head and they were hidden beneath the unruly fringe. Was that relief? Had Heero actually been concerned... for him? A small flutter of hope stirred, but he clamped it down quickly. Foolish to get his hopes up, when they'd just be dashed again.

"You have two broken ribs, concussion, multiple burns, lacerations and contusions, unconfirmed internal injuries." Heero's voice held no expression as he listed the damage.

"Well, that's what you get for trying to warm your butt on an explosion, I guess. And I didn't even have any marshmallows on me!"

Duo attempted to grin again, but was forced to close his eyes as the pain in his head suddenly reached a crescendo. After a few moments, it abated a little and he carefully opened them again, wary of the brightness of the fluorescent light on the white sheets.

Heero's hand was outlined in relief against the bleached cotton, more tanned than the pale hand nestled within it. Shock suddenly froze his mind. Within Heero's...? Heero was holding his hand? Suddenly, his brain was flooded with a million different thoughts at once, none of them coherent.

Heero must have followed his startled gaze, for a heartbeat later, his fingers suddenly sprang open.

Duo grabbed the hand just as Heero began to jerk it back. Damnit, Heero wasn't getting away that easily! For a moment neither spoke; both motionless, but acutely aware of the other through the connection of their palms.

Duo tightened his grip. His breathing was ragged, but the ache in his chest wasn't solely due to broken ribs. Please, Duo thought, please don't let go. He kept his eyes fixed on their joined hands, unwilling to meet Heero's eyes for fear of what he might see there.

Rejection? Anger? Or possibly the worst of all: cold indifference. He didn't think he could stand it if he looked up and found Heero's face an icy blank. And then he saw his hand blur, even as he felt Heero's hand trembling within his grasp.

Heero was shaking.

Duo's eyes flew up to Heero's face, where the emotion was finally seeping through the cracks in his mask. Beneath the coolness, he could see the fear, the concern. And something else...

"Heero..." Duo breathed. Did this mean...? Was it possible that Heero...? Duo didn't even dare to finish the thought.

Abruptly, Heero drew down his brows and scowled at Duo fiercely. "When the mission is complete, you retreat, do you understand?" Without giving Duo a chance to reply, he went on, "I won't tolerate your self-sacrificing heroics. We have our orders, and we follow them: get in, get it done, get out!"

Duo looked at him, astonished. The angry words stung his ears, but beneath them he saw the vulnerability in Heero's eyes, in the defensive hunch of his shoulders. Heero's hand was still shaking, clutching at his own as though he were drowning. Heero had been afraid... for Duo. That meant... that had to mean... he cared. Didn't it?

Duo remained silent. He didn't want to break the moment, didn't want Heero to stand up and pull away. The contact was so tenuous, so fragile... he felt as if he might break it simply by breathing. But he needed to dispel that terrified look in Heero's eyes, and he had no tools, save his words.

"Ehh, Heero, it worked out alright, didn't it? I saved the civilians and made it out in time." There was none of the usual bantering tone in Duo's voice, only a soothing gentleness.

"It was foolish. If Wufei hadn't been there..." Heero's voice was less sharp now, and Duo could pick out the note of concern, hidden deep within the recrimination.

"But he was, and he brought me back, safe and sound in Shenlong's claws. That's why we're a team, Heero, we watch each others' backs." Duo smiled, a soft, reassuring smile this time.

Heero made no reply, but Duo didn't expect one. It was enough that Heero was still beside him, expression sombre, but presence warm and tangible. The pain continued to bite at him, and he closed his eyes again, trying to put it aside, to focus past it. Please, stay with me, Heero, Duo begged silently, unwilling to speak the words aloud.

He was startled by a roughness sweeping across the back of his hand. For a moment his head swam, trying to make sense of the sensation, and then he realised it was Heero's calluosed thumb, stroking his hand with an awkward tenderness. The small gesture of comfort meant more to him than any words, and he finally let himself relax, knowing he was safe and cared for, for this little while, at least.

Act according to your emotions. Heero was pretty sure that this wasn't what Dr J had had in mind when he'd indoctrinated Heero with that particular phrase.

He hadn't intended to take Duo's hand.

But the exhaustion and worry, kept contained for too long beneath the forced external calm, finally took its toll, and when Duo had cried out, he'd automatically reached for him. Both to reassure Duo, and himself.

He'd intended to let go, as soon as he'd done it. But then Duo's eyes had fluttered open, and he'd been ensnared in that indigo gaze. All thoughts had vanished, save for the overwhelming need to make sure Duo was well.

He wasn't supposed to care. He was the perfect soldier: he needed no one, wanted no one. He was expendable, all of the pilots were. There was no reason for him to worry over Duo as if he were a newborn kitten. Either Duo would live, and keep fighting, or he would die, and they would make do without him. Logically, he knew it. But logic seemed to be increasingly difficult to grasp, when Duo had anything to do with it.

And then Duo's gaze had focussed on the evidence of his weakness, and Heero had seen the startled realisation in Duo's face, and panicked. But Duo wouldn't let him go. And that was worse, because he was helpless, at Duo's mercy, and his own lack of control dismayed him. He knew he could pull his hand from Duo's with little physical effort -- but the tremulous, needy grip held him more securely than any bindings.

Heero hadn't meant to speak so harshly. Fatigue and concern made him short, and he cursed himself even as he spoke, waiting for the hurt he knew would follow in Duo's face, the defensive sarcasm that Duo retreated behind when attacked. But it didn't come. Duo simply stared at him, and then smiled, as if he understood.

How could Duo understand? Was Heero a glass pane, to be so easily seen through? And then Duo spoke gentle words, as if to comfort him, as if Duo wasn't the one who was hurt, bleeding through his bandages.

Duo closed his eyes again. Heero watched with concern as Duo's face drained of even more colour, the paleness highlighting the dark smudges beneath his eyes. Heero knew Duo had been close to death, closer than Duo himself probably realised. If Oz had have captured him, Heero doubted he would have lived through a single night.

But Wufei had brought Duo home, a broken, tattered bundle of hurts. Heero had tended him, through the first night, and then the second. Duo hadn't stirred, but Heero had refused to leave his bedside, despite the urgings of the other pilots. And then Duo had woken, lucid, with wits and sense of humour intact. Heero's relief at Duo's feeble jokes had nearly undone him. He would admit it to no one, but he couldn't imagine his life now, without them.

Stay with me, Duo, Heero ordered silently.

Tentatively, he rubbed his thumb across the back of Duo's hand. Was it his imagination, or did the lines of pain in Duo's face ease just a little? He did it again, and Duo smiled, a faint but genuine smile, and the tension in him seemed to lessen a little more, until his face smoothed out into the peacefulness of untroubled sleep.

For a little while, Heero simply watched Duo sleep. Then he blinked, dragging his wrist across his face, trying to rub the gritty feeling from his eyes. He knew he should leave, but somehow he couldn't summon the energy to will himself to move from Duo's bedside. The black cloud of fear that he'd refused to acknowledge for the past few days had dissipated, to be replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

The sound of squeaking hinges startled him into motion, and he jerked his hand free from Duo's, standing and spinning to face the door. An anxious mop of golden hair peeked around the doorframe. Quatre.

Heero tried to control the thudding in his chest. Had Quatre seen his weakness, his lack of restraint? He stared coldly at the smallest of the pilots, but Quatre simply smiled at him sweetly, and handed him a mug of something warm. Heero took it without speaking.

"Is he awake yet?" If Quatre had observed Heero's gesture, he'd wisely decided to make no mention of it, Heero thought. The panic slowly ebbed, though Heero's anger at himself remained.

"He woke, briefly, but now he is sleeping again. I believe he will recover fully."

The relief was immediately evident on Quatre's face, Heero catching the shine of unshed tears before Quatre turned quickly away, as if to check Duo over. Heero said nothing, allowing Quatre the same privacy that he had granted Heero. A few moments later, having regained his control, Quatre turned back to him.

"Let me watch him for a while? You should eat, and rest. You won't be much good to us like this if we get called out in a hurry, and we're already one pilot down."

Heero grunted, but couldn't deny the truth to Quatre's words. There was no need, no longer an excuse for him to stay. So, with a brief nod, he agreed.

Then, resisting the urge to take one last look at Duo's sleeping form, he turned and strode from the room.

Two joined hands - a symbol of faith, or of symbol of devotion. Quatre peered down at his own small hands. Fragile hands. They'd sneered that he was too weak to pilot a Gundam, but he'd proven them wrong. Small hands, but great strength of will.

He traced his lifeline with one fingertip, smiling softly at the small tickle and the memory of what he had seen.

If it had been Duo, clutching Heero's hand, Quatre wouldn't have been so surprised - Duo was even more demonstrative than he himself was. But it had been Heero, holding Duo's hand even as he slept, that had astonished him. Heero being the one to offer comfort, safehaven.

When Heero had begun his vigil at Duo's bedside, his face had been set with such grim determination that Quatre and the other pilots hadn't dared argue. It was obvious that Heero felt responsible - he'd been the one who had gathered the information and chosen their target. Too late, he'd realised that they'd been fed by Oz. He'd called the retreat immediately, but Duo had insisted on shepherding the civilians that had been caught in the cross-fire to safety.

Quatre had brought Heero most of his meals since then, each time offering to relieve Heero, to be met with stony refusal. Sitting death-watch wasn't new to any of the pilots, though all of them but Heero conceded the need to sleep eventually. When Quatre had gently reminded him of this, Heero had fixed him with a penetrating blue gaze, and said simply, "I was unconscious for a month, and Trowa took care of me. This is the least I can do."

Quatre had nodded gravely, and left Heero alone with his charge. The next time he'd returned, he'd seen the gesture that was more of an explanation than anything Heero could possibly say. It had set his heart alight to know that Heero had been there when Duo needed him the most.

Quatre's smile blossomed. He couldn't help wishing that the entire world could share the happiness he had found with Trowa. Trowa called him a romantic, but Quatre believed that he and the tall, silent pilot were soul-mates that had been destined to find each other. He'd wondered... hoped... that perhaps Duo was meant to be the one who would break through to the fierce pilot of Wing Gundam.

It was obvious how Duo felt about Heero; obvious, it seemed, to everyone but Heero himself. Quatre had tried to draw Duo out on the subject of his feelings, but somehow every time the topic seemed to slip out of his grasp. Quatre couldn't help but be amused at Duo's patently innocent expression as he manipulated the conversation. So Quatre had tried his best to be tacitly encouraging, hoping that Duo would eventually make the first move.

But now it seemed the first move had been taken - and by Heero, which was even more unexpected. Tomorrow would be most interesting, Quatre thought, wondering what the new day would bring. But for now, he could do nothing but wait, and watch, so he settled himself into the chair at Duo's bedside, and rested his chin in one palm, a dreamy smile upon his cherubic face.