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"Broken Eggs"Written By: Karen The Huntress Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its
characters Rating: R Warnings: angst, language, closure Pairings: 1x2 2x1 Summary: Duo recalls how he and Heero found their
way to each other. "Broken Eggs " Duo's POV:
Heero spent his youth in the company of an assassin. While I suppose Odin Lowe cared in his own way, Heero had no choice but to be soldier. Later Dr. J. utilized desensitization to manipulate brainwaves, control reactions and exorcise the last sparks of humanity. I was a forsaken child. A gutter rat. First an older boy named Solo honed my survival skills, until I couldn't save him when a plague ravished Colony L2. Next Father Maxwell and Sister Helen sought to better my life, perhaps, save my soul. Dared to believe in a safe haven. Again I failed to stop the Grim Reaper. Fifteen. Callous. Cautious. Stealthy. Take what I want. Trust no one. Stowed away. Got caught. Fate intervened. An eccentric old scientist, Professor G., provided the
ultimate mechanism for retribution, Deathscythe Hell. If ya can't
beat them, join them. I became the God of Death. Shinigami. Punisher
of sinners. Avenger of forsaken gutter rats. Operation Meteor. Earth. First contact with Heero Yuy. I shot him but everyone makes occasional mistakes. First assignment. First impression. Heero was an antisocial, stone cold bastard with a heart of Gundanium and balls of steel. He was also an extraordinary pilot who shared an instinctive bond with Wing that transcended the Zero System. War doesn't allow much time to develop friendships. Partly my fault. Too chatty for the stoic loner. Every time I engaged Heero in conversation, during endless hours repairing our Gundams or waiting for a mission, "Mr. Death Glare" refused to acknowledge my presence much less respond in a receptive manner. Unfortunately ignoring me is the surest form of encouragement. Undeterred I chipped away at Heero's defenses. When the granite facade finally cracked I discovered the wall wasn't constructed to keep people out but to guard his stability. Dr. J's Perfect Soldier couldn't afford to feel or sanity would've crumbled like a sandcastle swamped by relentless tides of death and destruction. Solo used to say, "Can't hide from yourself." Be honest. Duo Maxwell also operated in defense mode. Pilot 02, shameless jester, clowned for rewards of hollow laugher. Emotions locked away, I longed for a compassionate word or touch. Yeah, Heero and I were a disheartened pair. Loneliness motivated us to seek corporeal solace. Sex was a drug. Dull the pain of desperation. Bolster false courage. Cloud the indignity of being expendable pawns. Forget, if only for a few hours, we were fodder for checkmates sacrificed on a whim. Yet, despite the minimal probabilities of survival, the Perfect Soldier and God of Death beat the odds. Carnal desire evolved into love. Allies in battle, we forged friendships. Partners in life, we committed minds and hearts and souls. ****** Post war. San Francisco, California Modest apartment. Kitchen floor clean. Mess dispatched to the trash bin. At the table I savor a mug of creamy coffee. "Hey." I greet Heero, smellin' herbal sexy from his shower, "Coffee's still hot." Heero fills his mug. We sit. Side by side. "Broke two eggs." I admit. Heero shrugs. "Vita sic est." ****** Heero and I are imperfect, might even have minute cracks, but we are not broken. Put us together, mix in unconditional love and we make one hellva an omelet.
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