Resentment by Maaya
Standard disclaimers apply

Duo POV

---

There are always days when you just wish you had stayed in your cozy little bed in your cozy little bedroom I your cozy little apartment, I’m sure you all agree with that. And absolutely always when you feel like that (I swear, it’s Murphy’s Law!), you have to stay late at work.

“Hey, Maxwell – planning to just stand there all day? I’m not surprised you always end up staying late here.”

Well, there was the reason for my bad mood making itself heard. Smith Andersen; the whole world’s pawn from hell. He hates me, is a complete asshole, loves to pick on me *and* he seem to have some kind of affection for Heero. Furthermore, he’s also my superior.

“Sorry sir.” I muttered under my breath and wondered just what the hell I had done to piss him off. He hated me from the day he first laid his eyes upon me, I swear. I could just see how they kind of narrowed and moved up and down my body with expression promising disgust.

At first, I thought he hated gundam pilots, or held a grudge against Deathscythe, but since he practically loves the rest of the guys, that possibility was spoiled. Thankfully, he is not very liked himself; my only triumph is that the rest of the Preventers hate him as much as he hates me. He’s like that teacher slash officer in the ‘Police Academy’ that everyone hates (whose name escapes me at the moment), and I am Mahoney.

Never heard of the ‘Police Academy’? Just forget it, and don’t feel bad. I’m probably the only man standing on this earth or on the colonies remembering those old movies. What can I say? I *do* enjoy antiques, despite popular belief.

“Hey, Yuy. Are you free tonight?” It was tormentor’s voice.

“Hn.”

Great answer, Heero. I definitely *don’t* want Andersen to ruin our evenings as he ruins at least *my* days. Now, if only he can take that as a no . . .

“Is that a yes?”

Nooooooooo!

“Hn.”

Now, do you want to hear something very damn pathetic? I was eavesdropping this conversation, standing behind a fancy Chinese divider someone had bought for the office. My silhouette was probably visible through it, but I pretended to be busy collection some papers from a nearby desk. Like I said, I am pathetic. Don’t rub it into my face.

“Oh, well - I might come by later if I can, but --” He stopped and lowered his voice. I could imagine him glancing around in the room to see if anyone was listening, but didn’t seem to notice me anyway. But maybe he wanted me hear? “You’re sharing the apartment with *Maxwell*, aren’t you?”

He said my name like a five year old boy saying the s-word and I accidentally ripped a paper in two. I held my breath, but Anderson didn’t seem to notice the small sound. Heero though, I don’t know.

“How can you stand it? He’s kinda . . . messy, isn’t he?”

I hate him.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s also rather loud, right? Likes to talk much and stupidly.”

Come on Heero, defend your lover here!

“Hn.”

Wow - thank you Heero. It's so nice to know I'll always have you to back me up in when people decides to be angry at me behind my back. I'm grateful. Really.

I'm going to kill you.

Right after I have killed Smith Anderson.

Suddenly I heard Heero speak again. It was surprising, because he rarely speak much if he’s not spoken to, at least not in public. When we’re home, it’s completely different. He can be so darn sweet when we’re alone – sweet enough to make me just want to sink into him and stay with him forever.

“I’m going home.” Was what he said, and it was followed by rustling from a jacket and the melody from the computer when he turned it off. It at least *used* to be a melody, until I got tired of the three nasal tones that is automatically installed and decided to change it. Now you hear a guy sounding suspiciously like me, saying ‘love you too, baby’ right before his computer turns off. And for some reason or another, he hasn’t changed that back yet.

I like to think that it is because he likes to hear those words from the me-sound-alike, but it probably is because he doesn’t care enough to use his valuable working time to change such an irrelevant thing.

Heero left without bothering to find me and tell me he was going home. Fine, just leave me alone together with Andersen. Just what I have always dreamed of.

I returned to my desk when I heard the door close behind Heero and I ignored the look Andersen gave me by turning my full attention towards the computer screen, staring at it intensely.

Now maybe you wonder why I haven’t killed the guy and hid his body in a closet. There is one mere reason as to why I haven’t even told him off much even though my blood boils in my veins when I hear those things said about me.

He is needed for the Preventers. Depressing, but true. I’ve already told you he is my superior and all that jazz, but maybe you didn’t understand quite *how* big he is in the organization. I could frickin’ loose my job if I don’t behave, like Wufei so nicely pointed out to me only yesterday so, yeah, I’ll keep quiet and endure his remarks about me. Though I can’t even begin to tell you how many ways I’ve killed him in my imagination.

“Maxwell?”

I snapped out of my thoughts and began type, though I didn’t even have the word-program open. “Yeah?” I wondered and tried to sound as busy as possible. Maybe I could make him shut up and just go away.

“You and Heero are a couple now, right?”

I raised one eyebrow and diverted my gaze from the screen. “So he’s Heero now, huh?” My tone was cold. How did Heero stand this guy anyway?

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that it might not work out for you two.”

I tried to do a cool thing I saw in a movie once, to lower one of the eyebrows and raise the other one. Well, it looked cool in the movie, but in reality, it only caused Andersen to look at me like he had seen an elephant fly past the window. “Because you are in the picture, huh?” I asked sarcastically.

“That’s right.” He gave me a cheesy grin that managed to show all of his perfectly white teeth.

I sighed and returned to the report. But he didn’t give up.

“You grew up on L2 huh?”

“So what?”

“Is it true what people say? Those things about street-rats from L2 survive by whoring themselves?”

I could just feel how all the warmth escaped my body and left me sitting there in front of the computer stiffly. “ . . . shut up.”

He leaned back and looked nonchalant, eyes closed and hands folded behind his head. “Hey, I was just wondering if you’d done tha . . . ”

“Shut up!” I repeated, a little louder that time and stood up. He opened one eye and peeked at me, looking almost amused.

“You have, haven’t you? Have you told Heero about it?”

As a matter of fact, I had never done such thing as whoring myself. I’ve seen it happen, naturally, but I’ve never done that. I couldn’t force those words past my lips in my anger though, so I just stood up, grabbed my jacket and walked out of the office.

It was raining outside and Heero had taken the car.

Damn him.

***

I got home that evening, feeling strangely cold, hurt and also – because of Heero, betrayed. I remember just dumping the bag onto the floor, stripping the jacket off my body and I think I threw it on the floor. The thought of that I maybe did, pleased me however, because Heero is a cleaning-freak. He jumps through the roof when he sees something untidy. No surprise there, but those untidy things always belongs to me.

I am a proud non-cleaning freak. It’s a talent. And as you’ve already guessed, it is a problem sometimes (more like all the time actually) to live with Heero. I swear, we have about as much alike as an Indian elephant and a nightingale. Three guesses on which one I would be. It’s depressing, really.

Well, as already stated, I dumped the bag on the floor and slammed the door closed with as much power I could manage to bring up right then. There were some dandy satisfying croaks from it that promised that I would have to raid my bank accounts for a new door and doorframe in the nearest couple of days, but I didn’t really care at the time.

“Duo?” Heero’s voice came from the kitchen but I ignored the undertone of worry in his voice. I pondered for a second about why he was in the kitchen, until it dawned upon me that it was his day of cooking. Well, that was at least something to be happy about. Usually when I have a bad day, I end up cooking, doing the dishes and breaking half of the china in the apartment. I don’t have ‘bad days’ very often, but when I have, I have them nasty.

“No, it’s Noventa’s ghost coming to get revenge!” I shouted back ironically, before stopping and smacking myself. Had I really said that? I tend to get sarcastic when in bad mood, sarcastic in a way that hurt people in my surroundings, but that was a little too far, wasn’t it? Of course, it was a rather childish and silly thing to say, but knowing Heero, he’d probably take it badly.

What was I doing? I was angry at Heero here, not sympathizing with him.

“Duo?” Heero emerged from the kitchen, a potholder in his hand (The orange one I won on a raffle, mind you. I just *had* to win a potholder, didn’t I? Not the super, ultra cool camera I really wanted.) and looking rather startled. He took in my very wet appearance, everything from my dripping bangs to the soaked clothes clinging to my body. “What’s wrong?”

I reached the remote control to the TV and turned it on, flopping down in the sofa at the same time, not caring about my wet state that would probably ruin the carpet and the sofa. I refused to look at him. “Watching television, what else?”

Unfortunately, I happened to turn the National Geography channel on, where a woman was talking enthusiastically about marmots’ fascinating mating seasons. Go Duo.

Still, I glared at the two marmots through my soaked bangs, refusing to even glance in Heero’s direction. I heard how the leather in the sofa creaked a little over the weight when he sat down and I felt how he settled beside me. Heck, I even felt how his eyes burned a question mark into my very cold cheek!

I wondered if he was going to kick my ass because of the Noventa-comment, but he didn’t say a word, just sat there beside me and quietly watched the program with what I guessed (since I didn’t want to see them) was emotionless eyes. It took a while before he said something.

“Bad day?”

I really wanted to throttle him, or give him the prize for the best understatement of the year. But I am mature enough to resist those urges. I stuck out my tongue at him instead.

He wasn’t very impressed. “What happened?”

I moved the tongue into my mouth again and snapped at him. “Why do you care?”

A droplet of water fell from my nose down onto the remote-control.

He had the nerve to look confused, eyebrows wrinkled in a way that would have been damn funny if I hadn’t been so angry at him. “What do you mean?”

“I wondered.” I made a show of drawing out on the sentence. I know I am bratty when I’m angry but I can honestly not help it. “Why in the flaming hell do you care about what makes me angry?”

“Isn’t that what friends are for?”

Damn. Damn damn damn damn damn damn DAMN! Heero is the only one in the world that can make me feel this damn guilty. He’s so lost on those relationship-kinda things that it makes me want to cry sometimes. I swear, he, in heart and soul, is probably more innocent than Quatre. I told him long ago that friends care for each other and that their problems are your problem.

I got up from the sofa and would have made a fast escape to the bedroom if it hadn’t been for the hand Heero had fixed around my left wrist. His flesh felt hot against my rain-soaked skin. He didn’t hold me very hard, but when I began to struggle and shout “Let go!”, it tightened. You’ve all seen how Heero can bend steel, right? Owie.

I think, well – I know, that I freaked out partly because it was my *left* wrist he grabbed. The tumult in the living slash TV room wouldn’t have gotten quite *that* big if he had grabbed my right wrist. But I am left-handed and can honestly not function well with my right hand – that’s what freaked me out.

Prof. G really tried to teach me use my right hand in emergency situations, but it didn’t turn out very well. And since I am trained on the streets and with G to become stronger and able to get out of situations, it freaked me that my hand was out of action.

Somewhere in the middle of Heero’s and mine wrestling match (that I, surprise, surprise, was loosing,) he seemed to understand part of my distress and shifted his grip to the other hand.

Jeez, thank you Heero. You couldn’t have let me go completely now, could you?

After that, I decided that it wouldn’t do any good to wrestle with Mr. Iron Muscles and stilled, taking a deep breath. “Okay, what do you want?”

“What do you not want?” He countered.

It got what I assume was the hoped effect. I stopped and thought about it. What was so dangerous about Heero grabbing my wrist when I tried to run off to the bedroom? What could he possibly do that hurt me?

Well, he already *had* hurt me. Unconsciously, but hurt me none the less. He hurt me with words, or rather, lack of them. I may love the guy and all but . . . damn how it had hurt. Everything Andersen said hurt, because I didn’t understand why he hated me that much.

He waited for a couple of seconds for a reply, but when it became obvious that none was to expect, he tightened the grip he had almost let go off. “What’s the matter with you?”

It was spoken in his normal tone when he’s angry or annoyed, a tone that for others’ ears sounded completely normal, only a bit too calm, if you get what I mean. Calm, and repressed somehow. But that wasn’t what was going through my mind right then – the only thing I realized was that he was angry.

Good. When he was angry, I could be angry back at him. Well, if you ignored the fact that it was I who made him angry in the first place. Details, details.

Something inside burst at his irritated words, and I suddenly let out everything that was on my mind. In high volume. “What’s wrong with me!? What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you wait for me? Why did you leave me to walk home alone in the rain? How little do I really mean to you when you don’t even defend me? Why do you even care about living with me? I’m so fucking tired of him! Why can’t he just leave me alone – what have I done to him?”

It was really damn embarrassing to lose control on myself like that. I acted like . . . a female on PMS. Argh!

Somewhere in the middle of my rant, I realized that Heero had let go of my wrist and was staring at me, something calculating in his Prussian eyes. I pondered on if I should take the opportunity and escape somewhere but decided against it. Having Heero . . . look at you that intensely is rare, how angry I might be at him. Besides, I think I wanted him to know how frustrated I was right then. I’m pretty sure it was obvious in my face, narrowed eyes, flushed cheeks, wet hair and clothes and all that.

When he spoke again, it suddenly became clear to me that I had stared at him and hastily diverted my eyes.

“It didn’t rain when I left and, from what you told me, you’d stay for a long time.” He paused and looked almost embarrassed. “And I wanted to get away from Andersen.”

“And you didn’t even think about defending me?” I asked, feeling miserable after my embarrassing outburst. “So you didn’t think far enough to leave the car to me.”

I was tired and cold and wanted to get away from here. I wanted to go to my uncomplicated bed and just stay there for what, twelve hours or so? I didn’t have energy to even stay angry at him. “I don’t get why he hates me so much.”

“Duo – why do you care? Everyone else likes, no – loves you. Why should you care about one person who dislikes you?”

“That’s not the point.” I muttered dully and went to take a shower. Yeah, showers are good. You’re alone, in the empty little bathroom, showering alone in the empty shower stall with no one to bother you. Like I said, a shower would be a good idea. No Heero to bother . . .

“It *is* the point.” He was all no-nonsense and against contradictions. I had never heard quite that tone in Heero’s voice before, and it made me stop thinking about running away. I looked up at him. “It’s useless to care about anyone who’s going against the crowd like that. You are liked by everyone but him. Isn’t that enough?”

My mouth opened and closed itself all on it own, without my lucidity in the matter. Was that bitterness I could make out in his voice? Could Heero Yuy be *jealous?* Of me? Because I was popular among the Preventers?

Impossible, right? I swallowed and took a deep breath. “I heard him talk to you today.” He raised an eyebrow but I continued, unfazed. “Why didn’t you say something, Heero?”

We stared at each other in silence, eye meeting eye, as I waited for Heero to response. But I waited in vain because no answer ever came. Instead, he began a new subject.

“Did something else happen?”

I clenched my free fist. “You bet something happened! Your stupid little ass-licker makes me crazy! But you two seems to get along just dandy, don’t you. So never mind me and my little problems.”

It was hard to say for some reason – it was like outright saying I was jealous. What an ugly word – jealous. It’s a petty, childish word that a soldier shouldn’t use or be. And still, I’m pathetic enough to be and use it. Realizing I had said that, I suddenly found Heero’s feet very interesting. Did you know that he ties his shoes with special knots that won’t come undone very easily? Or that he wears Nike Air?

Then I suddenly felt a tug at my soaked braid. “Baka.” The words were strangely affectionate.

“What?” I asked disbelieving and a little annoyed, not liking the amusement in his tone. It was then I suddenly realized that he still held my wrist in a firm grip. He realized it at the same time, and used that as a leach to draw me towards him.

“You’re just jealous.”

I tried to stay upright and defend myself, but when I felt his lips on my forehead, I decided that I could blow the remaining pieces of dignity to hell if I could only stay in those arms for just a little longer and gave up to fall against his chest. “So what? He’s an asshole anyway.”

He held me in his arms, wet clothes and all, and began to stroke my back carefully with one hand. It’s a strange . . . sensation knowing that I am held in arms strong enough to bend iron. It’s hard to believe when his arms are tender and careful.

“He is.” Heero surprised me by agreeing. “But you shouldn’t mind him too much. You’ll find people like that wherever you go.”

“But *you* seem to like him well enough.” I couldn’t help to point out, just to be an asshole.

“Do I?”

“Yes, I mean --” I stopped and searched after the right words to explain what I meant, only to realize seen I didn’t know what I meant. Andersen might like Heero well enough, but when had I ever seen Heero enjoy the company? Hell, when I thought about it, I couldn’t even remember him saying anything more that ‘hn’ when the two were together.

Heero’s right – I’m such an idiot.

Since I couldn’t come up with a continuation, I settled with leaning against his chest, examine the wrist that was finally free from Heero’s wrath, and trying to find those hell-blown pieces of dignity anyway.

He stroke by bangs away from my eyes with a tender hand. “People don’t listen to those kinds of guys, Duo. No one cares about what they say.”

I snorted. “I can live with that, I guess – but --” I paused once again to find the right words. “Why didn’t you say anything when he said those things about me?”

He wasn’t fazed at all, and I guess it rather annoyed me. I calmed down only when he began to slowly stroke a hand up and down my arm, as if to question it if he had hurt it earlier. “Like I said.” He ventured at length. “No one listens to him.”

I leaned towards the touch like a cat or dog – half expecting a purr to come from my throat. “He’s such an asshole.” I muttered instead.

“Yes, he is.”

“And so are you.”

The stroking stopped for a while and I knew I had surprised him. “What?”

“You make it so hard for me to be angry at you.”

I could almost hear the smile curling his lips upwards just a little and he kissed my forehead above the left eyebrow. He loves to kiss me there for no reason at all, and he can reach it so well because he is taller than me. It’s rather unfair that he got to grow more than me. I‘ve given up all hope on ever becoming tall. Heero’s done well in that department though. I’m destined to remain a shrimp.

The program on the National Geography channel had ended, and a new one about Egypt started behind Heero’s back. Only then, I became aware of that Heero was still holding the potholder in one hand and felt an unpleasant smell reach my nostrils. I snickered. “Heero, weren’t you making dinner? I think you’d better stop before the fire-alarm goes off.”

“Shit!”

*******

The End

*******

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