Fear
by Gwendolyn
song by Sarah McLachlan
warnings: shounin-ai, violence, sexual innuendo, PG . . . 10? ^_^;;
oh, I own none of this. sniff. I want Duo for Christmas, mommy!!!!! waaaaaaahhhhh.
[blah] song lyrics
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Part One
[morning smiles like the face of a newborn child]
[innocent unknowing]
The Gundams swept the plain, bowling down OZ soldiers like puppets, slow and clumsy. Heero's distinctive laugh filled the com with static as he blew the enemy to hell and gone. Duo simply grinned, as always, scythe swinging through the OZ ranks in a swath of destruction.
Heero's suit shuddered, crashing to the earth, plowing on its side into several other suits. Duo cursed, but could do nothing to help his partner. Heero struggled up on his own, his beam saber crashing through and blowing up several more suits in his bid for breathing space.
Duo wiped out the last few suits, only to see rank upon rank of reinforcements sweeping down from the sky. Heero killed another OZ soldier, taking the time to laugh maniacly. He hadn't seen the other suits.
[winter's end, promises of a long-lost friend]
[speaks to me of comfort]
Heero sat beside Duo's hospital bed, clutching his friend's hand in his own, cursing the impulse that caused the Deathscythe pilot to shield him with his own suit. Thanks to the bold action, Wing Zero was undamaged. But Deathscythe looked as though it had self-detonated. So did Duo.
[but I fear]
[I have nothing to give]
The other pilots were on different sides of the globe. Only Quatre was close enough to come, but it had been expressly forbidden by Dr. G. Bad enough two pilots were indisposed, in the open, he reasoned. Never three. Heero sat by his friend for three days, not moving, not sleeping, not eating. And not talking. He couldn't bear to voice the turmoil inside him, even though the hospital doctors told him the talking would help his friend.
He was supposed to be perfect; these feelings were unexpected. He could still see the flaming wreckage of the Deathscythe whenever he closed his eyes; Duo's pale, blood-streaked face haunted his waking hours, superimposed over the sleeping boy before him.
[I have so much to lose here in this lonely place]
Heero shifted hands, shaking out the numbed flesh he should've been impervious to; another failing. He rested his forehead atop his hand, feeling weak and much less than perfect. Had he not been preoccupied with trivial matters instead of his surroundings, Duo would never have *had* to protect him. Heero berated himself, feeling the unaccustomed welling of tears; his fingers tightened convulsively around the hand held in his, and he pressed his cheek to that flesh, unconsciously seeking comfort, like a child.
Duo woke slowly, the ceiling doing a slow turn above his head; his hand ached, of all places, held tightly in Heero's grasp. He tried to tug it free, but stopped; he held so still he hesitated to breathe, watching the perfect soldier's head resting so near his own. He felt giddy, and wondered if it was the hospital . . . or Heero. He smiled weakly to himself, slowly bringing up his other hand to lightly stroke that tousled brown hair. Heero started up, peering at Duo with frightening intensity; then his blue eyes shuttered, hiding the feeling that was beginning to leak out. Duo's grin faded, but he forcefully brightened it. Heero let go of his hand (reluctantly?) and stood to summon the nurse. After he'd pulled the cord, he turned back to Duo, leaned to whisper in his ear, and said "I'm glad you're better."
[tangled up in your embrace]
[there's nothing I'd like better than to fall]
Heero was back to his old self again . . . to all outward appearances. Yet he suffered inwardly, consumed by an inner temptation, a stirring of feelings he wasn't supposed to have. The strain began to show: though he fought his craving with every cell in his perfect-soldier body, he couldn't bear to let Duo out of his sight. Duo even caught a tender expression on his face, when the Japanese boy thought the American asleep.
[but I fear I have nothing to give]
"Ne, Heero, whatcha doin?" Duo draped himself over Heero's shoulder, pressing into the heat of that nearly-bare skin, poking his nose into Heero's cheek. A month ago, Heero would've batted him across the room for that; now he just grunted, fingers busy on the keyboard. Duo sighed, wrapping one arm around Heero's neck; he was fairly certain he knew what had been plaguing Heero since he woke up in the hospital, and he was fairly sure he wanted the perfect soldier to decide what he wanted. And is that was the same thing Duo wanted...well, then. Duo smiled secretively, leaning into Heero's back and nuzzling his neck.
[wind in time rapes the flower trembling on the vine]
[and nothing yeilds to shelter it]
Heero told himself that he didn't shove Duo out of deference to his wounds. He needed the braided baka fully operational for the next mission, that was all. Somehow, even he didn't buy it. The touch of Duo's flesh against his was doing strange, intoxicating things to his head, things that caused his fingers to stumble over the keys. His head was filled with Dr. J, a horrid visage that denied his right to comfort, or love, or emotion. His dreams were filled with tortures that most men couldn't imagine, tortures that had made him strong, impervious. Or so he'd thought.
arrghh, it won't all fit. well, screw it