Legal stuff: None of these characters are mine. They belong to Bandai, Sunrise, and Sotsu Agency, among others. For time-wasting purposes only and not for profit, so don't sue, 'kay?
Writer's notes: This fic is written in response to something I've been pondering about for some time--namely, exactly *why* Duo is commonly depicted as a very uncontrollably emotional character. Personally, I read his and Heero's characters a little different, so I thought I'd try to write something in which his response is, well--less tearful. I hope I made it believable--but I'll leave up to the readers to decide! :-) Some violence, shonen-ai, language. No yaoi. Sorry. *grin*
It all started out normally enough.
But then again, missions always do.
It was simply another mission against OZ. A weapons-research facility, heavily guarded with several battalions of mobile suits. They were backed up by gun emplacements and surrounded by heavy surveillance equipment that monitored everything in the area--inside and out. In addition, they had been put on high-security alert since the Gundams' first arrival, like the majority of OZ installations. There was no real information on exactly *what* they were researching. Ultimately, it didn't matter. It was military technology that OZ should not have. Therefore, we were ordered to deprive them of it. Nothing unusual at all--except that all five Gundams were called in for it.
I wasn't aware of this, of course. Probably none of us were. And really, it wasn't unexpected--the scientists likely just decided that the most efficient course of action for this particular mission was to pool their resources. Or maybe they had a side bet going. They didn't see fit to inform the pilots.
I was hiding out, as usual, in plain sight. Yet another rich student at yet another private school. Yet another double dorm with the the same roommate assignment. Their computers were easy to hack into--their security was only there to keep out junior-high hacker-wannabes looking to improve their G.P.A.'s, not military-trained terrorists. Sloppy of them.
Our two Gundams were hidden in an overgrown gravel pit nearby, covered with camouflage netting. Normal procedure. Then we received the mission briefing. Also standard procedure.
"Oi."
". . ."
"Oi!"
". . ."
"OI!!!!!!!!!!"
". . . .what?"
"Are you gonna give me the details on the mission or what? C'mon, man, I'm dying of curiosity here!"
I heaved a purely internal sigh, then turned the laptop over to my irrepressible partner. I watched quietly as he scanned the data, the greenish light from the laptop highlighting his animated face as his violet eyes narrowed in concentration. He brushed a hand absently through a lock of chestnut hair that fell over his eyes as he read. It took only a short time--then his gaze was on me, its usual optimistic twinkle muted by the knowledge we both shared.
"Ick. That's going to be a bitch of a job, isn't it?"
"Aa." Duo's got quite a few faults, not the least of which is he seems to like to talk. Constantly. But he's got an excellent intuitive grasp on the logistics of a mission, even if he doesn't think them through as much as I would prefer.
"High security, underground installation, and the numbers. . .!" Duo frowned at my laptop, poking an accusing finger at the offending statistics. "That's a *lot* of mobile suits. They could push us back through sheer numbers. If we get bogged down in a firefight, there ain't no way we're gonna take out that installation." He flopped backwards on his narrow dorm bed with a sigh, folding his arms behind his head. "And infiltration is right out. Not on *this* kind of short notice."
I looked at him calmly. "It doesn't matter. A mission's a mission."
He huffed in annoyance and bounced upright, braid flying against his back. "I *know* that, baka. It's just. . ." He walked behind me and slipped his arms around my neck, nestling his cheek against the top of my head. I idly grab his braid as it slips forward over his shoulder, fingering the warm intertwined hair with its reassuring scent. "It'll be a close thing, koi. You know it and I know it." I felt his face move as he smiled against my hair. "Difference is, I need to say it. So there."
"Aa."
I reached forward and shut down the laptop, then rose and tugged Duo towards a bed. We don't always sleep together. Teenage hormones notwithstanding, dorm beds are narrow and cramped quarters for one person, much less two, and even Gundam pilots need *some* uninterrupted sleep to function. But tonight, we both needed the reassurance.
Duo was right.
It was a close thing.
The firefight was intense. There were two extra battalions of mobile suits in addition to the ones we had been briefed on, plus some new energy weapons from the fixed gun emplacements. The fruits of the installation's labor, one would suppose. They still couldn't penetrate our gundanium armor, but they played hell with the electrical systems.
"C'mon you bastards, show me what you've got!"
Even with the unexpected but welcome arrival of the other three Gundams, we were all hard-pressed. I used every ounce of Wing's formidable mobility to keep from getting mobbed, and Deathscythe's ECMs (electronic counter-measures) were sowing confusion among the enemy pilots as their readouts refused to match up with their visuals. It was only just barely enough.
"Idiots! You can't reverse-thrust like that on a Leo! Man, you're pathetic. Quatre's sisters could fight better than you guys!"
"Duo!" That mild protest was from Quatre, ignored as always.
"Now I'll admit that my ol' buddy Deathscythe here is impressive, but no need to be shy, ladies! Shinigami's coming for you all!! Bwahahaha!"
There are some times I wish mission tactics didn't require open com links.
The fighting had gotten into close quarters. I was trying to maneuver for a clear shot at the installation's generators; they were our best bet. One shot from Wing's beam cannon should be enough to take out the generators. The energy of the blast would cause a rising feedback among the installation's weapons systems, and accomplish our mission objective. Namely, a smoking crater full of rubble where an OZ installation used to be.
". . .*unh* Oooo, good hit. Unfortunately, not good enough! Eat this!"
"Maxwell, would you be SILENT?!" Wufei has always had a low tolerance level for Duo's battle chatter. Not that him adding to it has ever changed anything.
However, the combat was too close for me to maneuver Wing effectively. I was resorting to the beam sabre just to clear a swathe around me--in my monitors, I noticed Deathscythe and Sandrock in similar situations.
"Quatre, two Aries at 3 o'clock!"
"I see them, Duo. You take out the farther one, I'll take the closer one."
"Gotcha covered, 'Rock-man!"
Trowa's Heavyarms was pounding the regular troops, keeping them off our backs. By my calculations, his ammunition would run out in another three minutes. Wufei's Shenlong was at the rear of the installation. I couldn't get a visual on him, but the continuing explosions from his position likely denoted a similar situation.
Trowa's voice was calm as always.
"Duo. I'm releasing a missile barrage at the troops ahead of you. You should have a clear shot at the generators in approximately one minute."
It's a good adaptation on Trowa's part. He's aware of his ammunition limitations as much as I am, and this allows the mission objective to come back on-line. It's an old saying, but true--'no battle plan survives contact with the enemy'.
"Heero?"
To anyone else it would sound like Duo was asking for reassurance. But I know what he wants--he wanted me to double-check Trowa's calculations. He trusted me; I won't fail that trust. I reviewed the stress equations and energy feedback ratios in my head as I beat off four Leos. Heavyarms' missiles swept a firey path of destruction along the line of mobile suits facing Deathscythe. Predictably, they crumpled. The battle data checked out.
"Do it, Duo!"
In the end, it was my voice that gave him confirmation. Deathscythe's green energy scythe flew straight and sure--there was never any possibility of a miss. It hit the generators dead on, and the beam energies did their work. As calculated, the generators exploded.
And took the nearby civilian housing with them.
The battle seemed to pause for an instant, like an old-fashioned motion picture freeze frame. The generators lit up in a ball of flame, taking the weapons systems with them. And the installation, just as we wanted. Mission accomplished.
But the backlash blast that obliterated the civilian apartment blocks--*that* was never in the numbers.
"Merciful Allah. . ." Quatre's voice was choked with pain. This was most likely hardest for him, with his uchuu no kokoro.
"Nataku. . ." Whatever else Wufei was cut off abruptly. By himself or by com static was unknown. It wasn't his voice I was listening for anyway. *That* one had gone silent. The flames of the burning wreckage flickered over Shinigami's black skin as it stood frozen in a battle stance.
Time resumed. Battles stop for nothing--not even for accidental atrocities.
The remaining OZ troops threw themselves at us with renewed determination. Their numbers had been greatly reduced by the multiple explosions around them. Those that were left were taking insane chances and charging with reckless fury. They were no doubt driven by grief and revenge. Likely many of them had loved ones that had been living in the now-destroyed civilian housing. Family now dead.
Grief is a good motivator, but it's a poor ally on the battlefield. The remaining mobile suits never stood a chance. All the Gundams continued with our methodical butchery. Our orders still stood--no one who sees a Gundam, lives.
I piloted Wing with ingrained efficiency and kept a concerned eye on Deathscythe. The black mobile suit continued to play the grim reaper with Duo's usual flamboyant skill. However, all conversation had stopped, and all I could hear was the occasional grunts and panting breaths of the other pilots. The silence coming from one pilot in particular punctuated the cycle of my thoughts.
Where had the mission gone wrong?
Were my calculations incorrect?
What factors had I failed to consider?
I had no answers.
None for myself. None for the dead civilians. But most importantly, none for Duo.
We had all retreated to a remote Winner safehouse after the mission. It was a security risk to have all five pilots in one place. There was very little alternative, though. All the Gundams needed varying degrees of repairs, and OZ was using the footage of the incident to fan the flames of a witch hunt for the Gundams. The media called us murderers, mad-dog killers, and worse. Our anonymity kept us relatively safe, but the attention level was too high. Gundam secrecy was threatened. There would be no more missions until the public eye was elsewhere.
It was a clever strategy by Khushrenada. The tactician in me recognized this. That did not stop me from wanting to hunt each one of those talking heads down. One bullet for each of them, for each time their words wounded Duo.
"Oi Heero! You seen my other shoe?" Duo was rooting around under the bed. I stopped briefly to appreciate the view.
"Behind the door, under your jacket."
"Thanks man! I can always count on your Perfect Soldier's never-forget-a-thing memory." He hopped briefly on one foot, pulling the shoe on. Then he darted out the door with a wave. "Going out for provisions. Be back in a few!" His compact form bounded out of my sight with its usual energy. Duo was a talented chameleon. You'd never know from looking at him that he was bleeding inside.
I wondered how much the others guessed.
That first night after the battle was the most obvious. We were all bruised and pale. Adrenaline and shock had taken its toll on everyone. Duo had jumped out of the cockpit of Deathscythe with alacrity, but there was no energy in it. His face was grim, and he was unnervingly silent.
Quatre had nearly fallen out of Sandrock. The drying tracks of tears were marked through the dust on his face. He wore them without shame, just as he accepted Trowa's offer of help. He pressed forward after his stumble and touched Duo's shoulder tentatively.
"Duo. . .it wasn't your fault." His eyes were compassionate, with no trace of blame. It didn't help. Duo merely gave him a brave smile that fell short of his eyes.
"I know, 'Rock-man. It's war. Death happens."
Wufei had arrived last. His stride was stiff and jerky as he walked up to our quiet group, and it wasn't from an injury. His righteous indignation lasted only two seconds after he saw the look on Duo's face. He opened his mouth as if to say something. I don't know what it was--the words were never said. Instead Wufei gripped Duo's arm in fierce reassurance. Then his shoulders slumped and he walked away. I think perhaps he understood the best.
After that night, Duo seemed to snap back to normal. He laughed and joked with Quatre. He harassed the Maganacs and staff. He drove Wufei nuts with his monologues. He commandeered the kitchen one night and cooked enough spaghetti to feed a colony. He lost two of his CDs to Trowa at poker, then cheerily challenged him to Go Fish.
I knew better. When we were alone it was different. He trusted me with the truth. He watched the newsreels of the mission with stark intensity. At night, there was nothing but silence between us. I did all I could do to help. I held him--and gave him time.
I guess it was natural for Quatre to seek me out. He's the most empathic of us all, and Duo and I had never hidden the depths of our relationship. We all carried enough secrets about who and what we were. Neither Duo nor I wanted another.
". . . ano. . .Heero?"
"What?" I could see the turmoil in his clear blue gaze as he struggled to find the right words.
"Is. . .Duo alright?" I continued my work and debated whether I should answer the question. Quatre fidgeted slightly as he spoke up again.
"He hasn't said a thing about the. . .accident. He hasn't gotten mad, or cried, or talked about it at all. When I try to talk to him about it, he just avoids the subject." He dropped his eyes consideringly to the floor. "I'm worried."
I gave him the only part of the answer I could.
"Duo doesn't cry."
I stayed awake late that night. There was a thrumming tension between the five of us. A burden of things unsaid that hung invisibly in the air. Duo had fallen asleep watching the newscast, sleeping fitfully. So I left him to his rest, and walked onto the wide porch. The air was crisp and clean in this isolated farmstead. The stars were a silent reminder of what we fought for. My mind refused to let me rest as I analyzed my words to Quatre over in my mind.
"Duo doesn't cry."
It was the best explanation I could give without betraying Duo's confidence.
Duo had a lust for life few could match, it was true. His natural optimism and energy allowed him to adapt to any circumstances. The chance to find joy and fun under the most intense hardships were challenges he embraced. Under the jester's cap, however, was a hardened, wary soul. It was very easy to be Duo's friend. It was extraordinarily difficult to be his lover.
I was sure the others would be surprised if they knew how often I had taken the lead in our developing relationship. After all, Duo was the outgoing one. The lover with a thousand faces, one for any situation. Seductive and playful. It's an easy mistake to make.
My facade was also very good, more than second nature. It would easy for outsiders to equate showing no emotion with feeling none. But it was still a false assumption. In this respect, my upbringing left me much better equipped than Duo's. After all, what good would a Perfect Soldier be if he could not understand his own impulses?
Contrary to what most believe, my emotions were not trained out of me. Instead, they were trained into me. Instinct and emotion can accomplish a soldier's mission when training and logic fail. The mind is simply another mechanism of the body--emotions can be harnessed as well as any mobile suit. Dr. J had been most thorough in his training simulations. There was no feeling, no urge that I could not identify, use, and if need be-control.
How could he have guessed that those emotions would be focused on another pilot? A *male* pilot?
Attraction was easy enough to identify. Duo has a certain physical presence that goes beyond mere beauty. Add that to the inevitable adolescent urges, and the equation was simple. I needed physical release, and was attracted to Duo. After some observation, it became clear the same was true for him. We both took what we needed from each other. Then the equation changed unexpectedly.
Love was much harder to quantify. I believe I was the first to realize it. New factors and impulses kept entering our relationship. Ones that didn't fit my previous analysis. Physical lust does not explain the worry I felt when we were separated by missions. Adolescent hormones did not match the quiet contentment of simply being with him. I was startled at first, and did what I had been trained to. Reevaluate.
It was not an easy conclusion to make. But it was the inevitable one. Love was the only thing that fit all the parameters. I was in love with Duo.
I told it to him quietly one night, as I listened to his heart thump under my cheek. My only answer was a tightening of his arms around me, and a quiet kiss. That was enough for me. I had given him those words freely; I didn't require them in return.
I must have said the words a hundred times before he said them even once to me. The unexpected gift gave me a fierce joy--a sense of the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
Those times were rare, however. One quiet night after a mission, he told me why. He sat in my loose embrace with relaxed trust; we both enjoyed the stolen moment of complete intimacy. I remember his voice was low and weary in the dimness.
"Growing up on the street is hard. Maybe even harder than being a soldier. There aren't any practice drills, or training simulations, or field medics. No one's trained for it, and only a few survive it." His gaze was turned inward to things I couldn't see, hands clasped loosely over mine. "There's only two things that help you live. Strength and luck. No fuckin' Golden Rule there, man. All of us, the orphans, the prostitutes, the bums, the gangs--we all lived by another rule. Survival of the fittest."
I began to rub slow circles on his tense back as I listened.
"You needed food, you took it from someone else. You wanted shelter, you kicked out the bum that had it. No mercy except for your own people--no pity for the poor slob you'd done it to. If ya showed weakness, that meant someone was gonna take what they wanted from *you*. Whether that was food, clothing, or--something else." He leaned his head back on my shoulder and shut his eyes. "That's all there was. Street kids like me learn their lessons fast and hard, or they don't learn them at all. You don't show weakness. You don't cry. You don't acknowledge love, 'cause love gives people openings. Weaknesses they can take advantage of. And even if they don't, the ones you were stupid enough to love in the first place will hurt you by dying anyway. Better not to let things get that deep."
He turned his head on my shoulder. His somber violet gaze watched my face. "It took a long time for me break that rule." A quick flashing grin. "You can take the kid off the street, but ya can't take the street out of a kid." The smile faded into an intensely earnest expression. "But. . .you changed everything. All the rules. Things. . .aren't as simple for me as they are for you. I wish I could see things the way you do--*say* things like you do. I wish. . .."
I interrupted him. "Baka." Pushed ragged bangs out of his suddenly-vulnerable eyes. "I wouldn't have loved you, then."
He smiled crookedly at me, relaxing again. "Aa."
We had spent the rest of that night in a companionable silence. The memory of those moments was one of my treasures, a rare mental snapshot of Duo's trust.
I sighed and rubbed my neck wearily as I paced the veranda. That was then. The 'now' was different. Even trained to patience, it was difficult waiting for the break in the silence. The moment when Duo would share his pain with me. I turned to move back into the house.
I stopped short in the darkened living room. The object of my thoughts was there, dimly visible, rummaging in a cabinet.
"Duo?"
His slim frame wore only boxers. He continued to open cabinet doors without turning around. His voice was a low, distressed mumble.
"Gotta find it. . . .not here. . .where did I put it. . ." Sleepwalking, I realized. Duo rarely did it. Only when he was hurting did he wander at night, searching for something he could never identify. I stepped forward and put my hand on his shoulder.
"Duo."
He turned at the touch, still mostly asleep. "What. . .huh?" I put my other hand on his shoulder and shook him slightly. His eyes blinked fuzzily at me, then his face twisted in a grief he couldn't hide. "Heero. . ."
He sank slowly to the ground and wrapped his arms around himself. I lowered myself with him as he keened. "Oh. . .God. . . .104 dead. . .. Heero. . .I killed 104 people. . . ." His frame shook with dry heaves. He butted his head fiercely against my chest. "Children. . .. women. . .never had a chance. . .just went up in flames. . . just a killer. . ."
I suddenly wished intensely that Duo *would* cry. Something to give him a respite from his pain. But neither tears nor words would help now. I wrapped him in a protective embrace and held his shuddering body tight. His hands clenched fiercely at my back, wrapped around my waist with desperate strength. I knew I would have bruises tomorrow. A small price to pay.
". . .God, Heero. . . .how can we keep doing this. . .?"
Once again, I had no answers for him. Instead, I merely rocked him wordlessly. I had pressed my lips to his hair when a small movement caught my attention.
I met Quatre's startled eyes as he stood uncertainly at the foot of the stairs. Watched quiet understanding fill that too-perceptive gaze as he watched us. He nodded in acknowledgement at me, then left us as silently as he came. I think Quatre also understood when it's best to say nothing.
I wrapped myself around Duo, and gradually felt the slow release of tensed muscles. After a time, his shudders eased. There were no tears, but the storm had broken. Maybe now he would allow himself to heal. Later there would be words, and apologies. Perhaps later we could both find absolution for what we had done. For now I gave him my strength and warmth, and the only words that could help.
"Aishiteru, Duo."
End
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