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"Chasing Wings"Written By: Impish Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are
copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties.
I make no money with this fic. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Graphic violence, strong
language, mild sexual undertones, AU (ish) Notes: Thanks to Startirs for beta-ing. Pairings: 1+2 Summary: Duo teams up with an enigmatic boy who has amnesia and very unusual tattoos. Written for the Moments of Rapture 2010 fic comp
- second place; Duo & Heero long fic section.
Part I
His bleary eyes opened slowly, unsurely. Everything was dark, save for small, flickering lights that snapped in and out like anemic fireflies. His fingers twitched. He was cold, wet, on the bare metal floor, limbs numb. There was the smell of blood -- a great deal of blood -- and burning. It was smoldering metal along with the nasty chemical odor of something that wasn't meant to be burned. The boy shifted, tried to sit up, but his body wasn't responding the way it was supposed to, as though everything were on delay. With great effort, he propped himself up against the base of a large cylindrical tank behind him, broken glass crunching as he moved. Glass creaked ominously behind and above, tinkling like bells as it sporadically showered to the floor. There had been screaming before, but now there was nothing. He lifted his head, slowly. It pounded in an unfamiliar way, and his vision was blurred. His eyesight adjusted gradually until he could see that the dark, shadowy lumps all around him were bodies in white coats, littered with bullet holes, soaked in red. The blood was everywhere, in dark, inky pools and frantic smears. Blast marks were scorched into the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Equipment sputtered sparks that fell like scattered rain. Catching his own gaze in a large panel of shattered glass, the boy noticed with some detachment that his eyes were vacant. He knew he was in the compound laboratory. He didn't know what that signified and he didn't recognize this place, but he knew it. Knew this building was all he knew, somehow. He couldn't remember why. Couldn't remember anything. With empty eyes, he looked down at his chest. There was a knife in it. A knife. In his chest. The boy stared. Such a thing seemed quite abnormal. It was sunk in deep, to the hilt. He wrapped a hand around the grip, slowly drawing it out. As it came loose, he gasped in a lungful of air. Everything was instantly brighter. Shaking, his hand dropped to his side, still clutching the weapon. He collapsed back against the base of the tank, the pool of heavy liquid he sat in swirling with blood. Pickling off electrodes stuck to his skin, he noticed feeling beginning to return to his extremities. He sat up, dropping the knife with a cold clatter. Weakly, queasily, he got to his feet, the floor seeming to twist beneath him as he did. A few, long lungfuls of air were taken before, eventually, he was able to take one step, then another. It took concentration to uncurl his feet and make sure his limbs didn't bend out from beneath him as the muscles jolted. Avoiding the vast pools of blood, he wandered through what was left of the lab. There was nothing but steaming, broken machinery and hanging cables. He was alone. It was then the boy heard a soft chime from one of the computers. It was stained black with smoke, but after a brief study, didn't appear to have taken serious damage. He reached out, touched one of the keys, lighting the screen up in a soft blue. Bracing with his forearms, he sank down in front of it, the broken chair wobbling sharply as he sat. As suddenly as an apparition, the image of an old man filled the screen. It was washed out, the light blurred, as though he, too, had sat here, illuminated only by this screen. The old man had a square, wizened face, odd, prosthetic goggles, and a metal claw where his arm should have been. The claw clicked its prongs together intermittently, involuntarily. "Doctor J," whispered the boy. He didn't know where he'd gotten the name. "Attention, Boy, I've not much time. They're coming." The claw clicked, one, two, three times, as the man bared his teeth in a distorted grin. "They'll think they've killed us all, but they don't know the work we've put into you, now do they?" He chuckled, slow and dark. "You have a destiny, my boy, and now is the time." The boy sat straight and attentive, the muscles in his face remaining lax, as though he hadn't learned to use them yet. "Go -- learn your purpose. If you can find your wings, you will fly. Use the name Heero Yuy, if you have the need, and utilize all the tools I've given you when the time is right. The rest is up to you. Fulfill your destiny." A sudden, terrible rattle of high velocity rounds burst over the speakers. The screen flooded with static, then went dark. The boy looked down at the nearest body. A metal claw was sticking out of its lab coat, twisted and broken. He reached down and pulled the matted curtain of grey hair away from the corpse's still face, the boy's impassive eyes identifying the old man -- Doctor J -- with a cursory glance. Gathering himself, he stood. "Accepted," said the boy. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He stood at the doors to the outside, staring at the security screen. The boy placed his hand over the scanner, and it blinked in authorization. A light tingling sensation washed over him, a brief numbness that left him feeling odd, if only for a moment. "Open doors," ordered the boy. "The system is on Lockdown. Are you sure you want the system deactivated?" asked the automatic voice. "All security measures will be cancelled." "Cancel Lockdown." "Affirmative," confirmed the disembodied voice, and with that, the locks whirred, depressurizing, and the doors clicked open. He crossed the threshold into the dawning light. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was loud. Dirty. Confusing. Wet. Very wet. He'd covered his blood-soaked clothing with a long, dark coat he'd taken off a body in the corridor. The coat only had one or two holes, but wasn't doing well against the rain. The boots he'd taken were just slightly too large. The outside world was a labyrinth of streets and buildings, people and markings. The rain was so heavy it was hard to see. He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, foggy-headed, his mind under a similar deluge. Along with the din of new sights, sounds, and smells, information was flooding into his head: Man, dog, gutter, street, dome, grocer, window, bars, glass, pear, teeth, beard, hat, monocle, ledge, balcony, Alliance, soldier, civilian, woman, child, and on and on and on. The sound of the pounding rain, the water flushing through gutters, early morning bells, and the throngs of people added to the deluge. There was too much information to accurately process. The chaos clouded his mind, overwhelmed him in a buzzing, busy shroud. The boy staggered. He needed it to stop. Instinct guided him away from the busy streets. He retreated into a dark, narrow alleyway and collapsed against a brick wall. He panted, not from exertion, but from the thrumming pressure that had built inside him. His muscles shook from their new use. Something as calm and disembodied as the compound's security system informed him that, owing to the amount of time he'd been out in this weather and how completely soaked through his clothes were, he was in an optimal environment for contracting a cold, or pneumonia. Given this information, he required shelter, warmth, and, because of his progressing weakness, most likely sustenance as well. Using the grimy wall for support, he folded down into a sitting position, knees drawn up, and waited for the crushing din of information to fade into something manageable. His head pulsed, but didn't ache. Focusing there in that center of his mind seemed to help. As the surge of data let up, his breathing evened out. After a while, he heard a noise -- something real and present -- that came from behind a green door painted with a large, blue "X" and set into the curved side of the building in front of where he rested. A friendly voice followed, saying, "Yeah, no problem. Don't worry; I'll be outta here by then." A boy stepped out of the building, backward, grinning at whomever he'd spoken to. Closing the door behind him, he looked up at the artificial sky, still pouring rain, and muttered, "Goddamned sentimental freaks." In the darkest shades of grey and black, he was dressed as a laborer, in cargo-cut pants of a heavy canvas material, tucked into tanker's boots with straps that wrapped around the ankle in place of laces. Slung around his trim waist and hips were layers of wide, handcrafted utility belts of raw, reinforced leather with sewn in pressure gauges. Bulky welder's gloves, the broad cuffs coming halfway up to his elbows, along with a tight-fitting undershirt, sharply emphasized the slender cut of sleekly muscled arms, smeared with soot and grease. Aviation-style goggles hung loosely around his neck, a long, thick rope of hair hanging down his back in a braid. His only shield against the rain was a frayed ball cap that shaded somewhat elfin features. There was something about him in both appearance and attitude that suggested the sort of elusive creature of fable that was always ready to disappear in an instant. "Fuck!" yelped the braided boy, who jumped back a step, hand hovering over heart, muscles tightening reflexively. Fuck, supplied the boy's mind, was a vulgar slang term that, in its most literal context, meant to have intercourse. It had, however, a plethora of meanings depending on context, part of speech, and could replace other words with no similar definition. "Shit, I almost stabbed you in the face. You scared the hell out of me." The other boy's eyes grew wide. "Holy -- are you okay? That's a lot of blood under there. Jesus. You need -- you need some help?" The two boys stared at each other. The other's eyes were an unusual shade of blue, the pigment so intense it seemed almost a different color. The boy only noticed because they were so out of place; they were brighter than the world around him. "You really don't look right, dude." The newcomer sized the boy up. When there was no response, he tried again, "Do. You. Need. Help? Nececitas ayuda? Est-ce que je--?" "Stop talking." The other boy snorted. "You do speak. Don't need to be so rude." He didn't look at all insulted. In fact, he looked intrigued. Or devious. It was difficult to tell. Rain dripped off the brim of his cap as he knelt down, mimicking the boy's position by wrapping his arms around his legs. "Okay, man, what's your name? I'm Duo, Duo Maxwell. You're not planning to camp out here are you? You should know better; this sector gets patrolled." The boy studied the-boy-named-Duo's eyes. They were dizzying. "I don't know." "You don't know where you're camping out?" "I don't know my name." Duo's eyebrows lifted. "Huh." Water was seeping through his dark clothes, suctioning them to his skin, but he didn't seem to mind. "You on something? Your eyes are all blank and scary." "I don't know." Duo wrinkled his nose. "Well, were you in an accident? Get jumped? What happened?" "I don't know." A troubled look he couldn't place flashed over Duo's face like a shooting star before it was gone. Duo rubbed at the back of his neck. "Do you know anything?" asked Duo, edging a bit closer, peering intensely from under his dripping cap. The boy found this question somewhat confusing. He had a profusion of knowledge. He knew the orbital rotation of the Earth, twenty-two different ways to make a remote-detonated explosive, the intricacies of L4's economic system, how to disassemble and reassemble a ray gun in under a minute, and a recipe for gnocchi. He just didn't know his name, which was entirely inconsequential in the face of all that. "Y'know what I know?" said Duo. "A doctor. And you look like you could really use --" "Unnecessary. I'm unhurt." Duo tried to hold back a smirk. "Oh, you got definite damage, man." Heero brushed away a feeling -- irritation, his mind supplied -- and said, "I need to find my wings." "What? Your wings? You mental?" Duo paused, backtracked. "Stupid question... of course you are." "My wings," repeated the boy, clarifying, "Myself, my destiny. My purpose." "O-kay... I don't know about any of that, but I don't think sitting here in the rain's gonna get you any closer to finding... your wings." He looked down the alley toward the street, like he expected something to appear there at any time. "Shit," he muttered, seeming to come to a decision. "Look, whatever. But we can't hang around here too much longer. Patrols, know what I'm saying?" He didn't, but this person seemed to think remaining here was dangerous, and he couldn't afford to be compromised at this early stage. "...Acceptable," decided the boy. Duo reached out and gave the boy a double pat on the head, grinning at him like he'd gotten a new toy. "All right then. C'mon, Mental. You okay to walk?" asked Duo, receiving another blank look in answer. "Well, keep close. Like I been saying, this ain't exactly a friendly patch of colony." The boy didn't respond, but followed Duo out onto the main street. Eventually, the rain began to let up, softening into a drizzle. The information that had been streaming into his brain had lightened to a silent, continuous download, which stored itself away neatly in the appropriate places, instead of flooding every available scrap of consciousness. Now that the view had cleared, the uniqueness of the architecture around them became much more noticeable. The streets were laid with worn cobblestone, the houses and buildings rounded and squat but piled high, like stacks of smooth, creek-bed stones. Curiously haphazard, almost quilted, they were scrapped together from metals that were alternately polished and rusted. Huge, clunky bolts were visible along thickly welded seams. Pipes of copper and brass snaked around them while stunted arch bridges linked upper stories. Elevated railroad tracks spiraled and twisted through the piled-up buildings as steam poured from vents and manholes, rising from hundreds of piped chimneys to disappear into the dark, soot-stained colony dome. "Guess you don't know where you are," said Duo, taking notice of the way the boy studied their surroundings. "We're in the L1 cluster, if that means anything to you, it's --" "One of the V6000s," interrupted the boy. "Often termed 'steam colonies,' due to their heavy reliance on steam power, which is fueled by heat from external solar panels and furnaces in the colony core. It is largely thought that the people who settle on steam colonies have a strong sense of nostalgia for their roots on Earth, thus incorporating methods of energy production as well as design aesthetic from Pre-colony periods into most aspects of colony life." "Yeah, it's fuckin' weird, isn't it? Kinda cool, but weird. I mean, most people who live in space like the ultra-modern technology-dependent thing, but these guys go out of their way to make everything --" Duo blinked. "Wait, how the hell did you know all that?" Heero shrugged. "You don't know your name, but you know all about steam colonies? Dude, someone fucked your shit up big time." Something dark flashed over Duo's face at the thought, but only for a moment before a cheerful smile took its place. Rubbing absently at the back of his neck, he continued on, mostly to himself, "That reminds me; you need a name. I like Mental. It's a good nickname. Catchy, y'know?" "Call me Heero Yuy," said the boy as they passed beneath a bridge that appeared to be made from the still-working, overlarge gears of a timepiece. "Heero Yuy? Like the dead guy Heero Yuy? Wow, okay. Creepy." Duo paused. "I thought you didn't know your name?" "I don't." "Right. Of course. Anyway, I can't call you that. It's like, bad hoodoo or something." "I'm supposed to use Heero Yuy." "Supposed to --?" wondered Duo, but was cut off when a man bumped between them. "Where d'you think you're going?" snapped the man, who was short, round, and pale in his dapper velvet coat, like an angry little powder-puff quaking with indignation. "To find my wings," replied Heero to the man, who stepped in close, eyes narrowed. "You giving me cheek, boy?" said the man, voice cold with hostility. "Whoa, ease off," cut in Duo, shoving himself in between them with an elbow, lightning-fast, and grabbing Heero's arm to pull him away. "Wanker!" grumbled the man before stalking off, directly in the path of a young woman in a high-necked, tight-waisted jacket with full gigot sleeves. She stumbled to the curb, but the man took no notice, hurrying away into the roving crowd. "Hey, you okay? Duo asked, helping her to her feet as she hissed Russian curses. Duo took in the shaggy, chin-length hair, the dusty makeup, and gave her a wink. "Careful, Lolita-girl, patrol's coming 'round soon." She straightened her striped stockings over her skinny, bruised knees. "Whatever." "Here," said Duo, slipping her the money clip he'd lifted off the man who'd knocked her down. "He owes you." Dragging Heero on, he left the girl staring at the offering with incredulity. "What the hell was that?" demanded Duo, glaring at Heero. "No more talking to strangers." -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Duo frowned briefly, holding a hand over Heero's chest in a silent command to stay back, because the door to the doctor's home -- a door that should have been shut, should have been locked, bolted and barred -- was ajar. Duo pushed it open with the back of his hand, his other hovering at the small of his back, presumably prepared to retrieve a weapon hidden there. The creak of the door opening cut through the otherwise silent room as they entered. There had been a struggle there. A chair was overturned, spilt coffee and the remains of someone's breakfast were strewn across the floor. While Heero stood indifferently in the middle, Duo strode around the space, eyes shifting from point to point, sucking up every detail. He didn't touch anything, finally coming to stand next to Heero when he'd examined every corner. Crossing his arms behind his head, Duo cocked a hip out, studying the scene from the middle. "Chu," was all he said, like a small creature huffing. "That you in there, young Maxwell?" called a growling, weathered voice from the doorway, where an old couple appeared. There was something about the way they stood, shoulders slumped with age, hands clasped together, along with their tapered, stubborn chins and wide-set, dark eyes that made them resemble a pair of upright otters. "Who's this?" the old woman asked, spotting Heero. "Something wrong with the lad? Something's spilled on his shirt, and he's got as much life in 'im as a dressmaker's dummy." Duo chuckled, relaxed. "Him? Don't worry about him. He's harmless. Thinks he's Heero Yuy." The old man peered up at Heero through small, round glasses. "Harmless? Not the word I would use. A bit unsound, at the moment, but not harmless. Are you, lad?" There was something knowing in his eyes. Heero looked back at him without interest. "You should get out of them clothes," fussed the old woman, poking at Heero's coat arm with a bony finger. "There's enough to catch your death from without gabbling about in the wet like a loon." "Where's Doc? What happened?" asked Duo, voice indicating he already knew the answer. "Same thing happens to anyone who's ever tried t'do any good 'round here, a' course," grumbled the old woman, her small, gathered hands patting and smoothing down her faded blue apron. "Soldiers hauled him off couple hours ago." "Is he on the schedule?" asked Duo. "Don't know. If he's not, he will be soon. You know how they work; pretend to've had a trial and shoot 'em out back before the kin know they're missing," rasped the old man. "Yeah, I know," said Duo, and for a moment, an almost visible darkness seemed to hover around him, but then he was smiling at the elderly couple. "You two lock yourselves down, all right? I'll take care of Doc." "Don't tell us what to do, boy. We know how to lay low, which is more than I can say for yourself. I'd tell ya not to do anything stupid, but stupid seems to work for you, don't it?" "Well, you're obviously confusing 'stupid' with 'hardcore,' but I'll chock that up to age," said Duo blithely as he went past them to go outside. Heero moved to follow, but the old man caught his arm, his gnarled hand a sudden vice. His ancient stare was unrelenting. "Duo will help you, Heero," said the old man. "Help you find what you're looking for," insisted the old woman, grabbing the hem of his stained shirt, pressing close to whisper, "You can only keep your heart if you unlock time." "You must lose your heart to save it," added the old man. "Oy, Mental!" called Duo's voice from the outside. "Heero! Get out here, we're burning daylight." Heero looked up at the sound of his voice. When he did, he felt the hands slip away, but, upon looking back, found the couple had gone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Again, Duo led Heero through the cobbled streets, this time with an impatient hand wrapped around his wrist. "Not that I can tell if you're wondering," said Duo as he dragged Heero behind him, "But we're going to my place, where you're just going to have to chill until I get Doc sorted." At this, Heero stopped moving, his suddenly-dead weight jerking Duo to a halt. "Hey, what the f--" "No." "You don't --" "I am not like the doctor," informed Heero, flatly. "I am not like you. I have a purpose. My existence has meaning." "Wow, that is so not the way to get --" "I have to find it," insisted Heero, with surprising intensity for someone who had yet to learn to use his facial muscles. "Alright! Alright, already! Purpose, prophecy, whatever. I get it. You need to find your fucking magic destiny wings. But the wings are going to have to wait, because --" "Hello, hello, what have we here?" cut in a new voice from behind Duo, who tensed. "Motherfucking fuck," growled Duo. "I so don't have time to play this game." He turned around, snarling, "Fuck off. I am not in the mood." "Don't be like that, Maxie boy," said the owner of the voice, a lolling, deranged grin on his angular face. A scruffy shock of hair hung over one eye, the other glinting an eerie yellow-gold. Four more brutes stood in his shadow, all of them large and hulking, with huge, hunched shoulders and narrowed hips, all of them chuckling humorlessly under their breaths, eyes wide and manic. "You ain't gonna introduce us to your little friend? He's a pretty fine mess, isn't he. How much for the night, eh?" "How much would you give me if I cut off your dick and held it hostage?" snapped Duo, yanking Heero behind him. Heero, not interested in the exchange, tugged at Duo's arm with impatience. "Aw, he doesn't want to play. You know I'm joshing, don't you, Maxie. Just a little joke." The grin stretched obscenely. "Boys aren't my thing, you know that." "I don't give a blind blow what your 'thing' is, Chim. Now screw off; I've business to see to." "Y'know," continued Chim, "Kal's a bit ticked with you. Something of his got nicked. Seems to think you've something to do with it. But I told him, 'Surely not! My old friend Maxie would never do such a thing.'" He placed an affronted hand over his heart, looking back at the others. "Di'n I, my boys?" They tittered louder, unevenly, edging forward. One obliged, "That's what he said, he did." A second joined in, "Never do such a thing," and then hiccupped another laugh. "So then I says, 'Y'know what, Kal? How 'bout I look up old Maxie for ya and straighten the whole bit out?' What a good friend I am." "Yeah, you're a real peach," drawled Duo, eyes narrowed. "So what I want to know is..." Chim's teeth dragged over his lower lip. His boys crept closer, shoulders swinging with each, deliberate step, flanks heaving with panted laughs. "...How'd you nick it, Maxie? "Oh, for Christ's sake," muttered Duo in the heavy voice of one well acquainted with the direction this was headed. Shoving Heero away into a corner by a dumpster, he told him, "Don't move, Mental, I'll be with you in a minute." "I'm real curious, Maxwell, because that piece was supposed to be real difficult to get to. It don't look good, Maxie. No, it don't look good for any of us, do it?" Chim paused, cocking his head. "No? Nothing? Not even a weensy syl?" A sigh, then another pause. "Right then, boys. Why don't you try askin' him." As though they'd been straining against invisible chains now cut, the four powered forward as a pack, hungry for a kill. For misshapen, raw-boned hulks, they were surprisingly fast. The devastating power was not so unexpected. But Duo was quick. Quick and fluid, as he grinned viciously and drew two short, wicked knives from hiding, slicing instinctively into an effortless, brutal attack. His movements were clearly uneducated, obviously developed out of necessity, but strangely effective. Everything was wrong, which made him unpredictable, which made everything work. His limbs moved in and out, from tucked in close to striking with quicksilver speed in an instant. He wielded his knives as though they were too heavy for him, so his arms moved like weighted pendulums, relying on momentum. It gave him an odd sort of timing that was impossible to predict. Add that to the way he switched up his movements, dodging, weaving, blocking with his forearms, striking backwards and swapping out his grip, and he was a nightmare. What hampered this style was that Duo wasn't aiming to kill, only incapacitate, and his opponents didn't have the brains to back off, even when one had his eyelid slashed through. Not only did they outnumber Duo, pressing in on every side, but his blows and slashes -- effectual as they should have been -- seemed only glancing against their dense walls of muscle. Every jab was received with a soft grunt and subsequently paid as much consideration as one would give a slight nudge. And then they hit back, with fists like weighted pistons. Only Duo's speed and off-timing keeping the blows from inflicting too much damage. Narcotics, supplied Heero's mind. They did have a glazed look to their eyes, he thought absently. They were pushing Duo back, slowly, but Heero was less than interested. The skirmish grew closer, but he stared edgily beyond the scene, barely seeming to notice when a stray elbow caught his cheek, snapping his face to the side and sending him stumbling to his knees in broken glass. Expression unaltered, he got slowly back to his feet, shards jutting out from bleeding cuts, making no further move to get out of the way. Duo shoved him away from the brawl again hastily, and returning to it, began throwing in quick, viper-like strikes to vulnerable areas. With a hard jab from the hilt of one of Duo's knives to his solar plexus at just the right angle, one opponent finally fell, giving Duo more space to maneuver and steer the fight away from Heero. Leaping up and back, Duo's hands grasped the edge of the dumpster and he kicked out with both feet, planting them firmly in a second's face. That one joined the first on the ground, landing hard, nose completely crushed and jaw wrecked. Moments later, a third stumbled, the remains of his ruined eye dripping from its socket. The leader stepped in. "Enough," said Chim, drawing a pressurized pistol. There was a flurry as the pack scrambled disjointedly to get out of range, leaving Duo panting alone in front of Chim, a thin line of blood trickling from his mouth. "Aw," breathed Duo, unafraid, voice daring Chim to pull the trigger and just see what would happen. "Now who doesn't wanna play?" "How'd you do it?" repeated Chim, taking off the safety with a warning click. The sound echoed in Heero's head like a gunshot in a canyon, and his mind was suddenly in vertigo. For the smallest, longest of moments, everything inverted, and he wasn't sure if he was breathing out or in. It was as if he could feel a star's birth and death in the same instant, while everything he knew and didn't know skittered around his head like marbles on a hardwood floor. Then, just as suddenly, it all clicked into place, locked down, and set something new free. Duo had been fast; Heero was the mere suggestion of a blur as he moved. Chim howled, and no one could see what had happened, but suddenly, Chim's hand dangled from the arm, both bones snapped through. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing. Unaffected, Heero ejected the gun's clip and crushed the remaining metal into a lump, tossing it aside. In the next instant, the man nearest Chim got the hard, outside edge of Heero's hand to his windpipe, before going down with a sickly wheezing noise. Another, still reeling from Duo's attack, had his knee shattered, ribs collapsed, and jaw displaced in three devastating blows. The whole thing was systematic, efficient. With what seemed like a whoosh and a few grunts, there was no one left standing but the two boys. Duo was frozen in place, stunned, blood trailing down and dribbling from his chin. He stared at the five disposed bodies, all moaning feebly. Then he looked at Heero, who still stood, his every fiber tense and primed, eyes obscured in shadow. "Holy fuck."
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