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"Gomez "Written By: Presser Pairings : 1x2 Disclaimer : Gundam Wing characters aren't mine Rating : NC 17 Warnings : This will involve graphic sex, though
not gratuitous sex. "Gomez" Chapter 5
"They're too silly," I had said. "They're just what we need on days we're taking ourselves too seriously," Duo had replied. And here they are. I hope they make him smile, though I doubt a smile is within reach for him right now. /Give him time./ Yes, time. Time is what we have now, and lots of it. It's on our side; perhaps the only thing going for us.
/Why?/ I walked away from Stivers and Devon, toward the school, hands shoved in pockets. Cars passed, lights changed; houses gave way to academic buildings: McPherson Hall, Buchanan School of Psychology. At Trevak Student Center I stopped to read the marquee in the courtyard outside the imitation Starbucks: Stanley Kubrick's /Why not? I haven't ever seen it, and it's a classic./ I looked at my watch: 7:10. /Hanson Theatre is in the Jordan Music building, and that's just three blocks away./ I decided this was a good way to cool my heels while Duo cooled his.
A middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair raised her hand. "Hi, I'm Marge. You know, as many times as I've seen this film, I'm always struck by -- " I glanced at my watch. /10:30? This was only a three-hour film?/ It felt like six hours. I left Marge and her earnestness behind.
/Fuck you, Duo Maxwell./ I walked the twenty minutes back to the apartment. /Will he be there?/ Lobby, stairs, door, key. Dark. Silent. I stood in the doorway, looking into the front room. /Fuck you, Duo Maxwell. Where the hell are you?/ It's like him to run. "I run and hide, but I never lie. That's me in a nutshell." I remember very clearly the day that Quatre told me he said that.
"Hang a minute -- be right there." Quatre moved easily between the tables at Sambre's, glad-handing classmates, their parents as he worked toward the bar. A nod, and the bartender was at his side, ear bent down toward smiling lips. The man looked up and nodded once curtly. Quatre made his way back across the room to my table. I watched him dazzle girls, impress men used to disdaining subordinates with effortless grace. "I could never do that," I said as he sat. "Do what?" He was breathless, flushed from his run through the crowd. "That," I said, and pointed. He looked over his shoulder and a dozen heads turned, full of smiles. "What?" "Never mind, Quatre." He smiled at the room, turned, shrugged. "Oh. You wanted to know where Duo is." I let my lips tighten. I looked down, back up. "Oh, don't worry, Heero. Duo's like that. I'd have thought you would have discovered this by now. You two have been together for -- " "Since the war." "Right." He paused. When he got no response, he said: "Well, my guess is that he's out back of the kitchen, staring at the moon and smoking." My eyes flared, just barely. Quatre realized his mistake. "Oh, Heero, I'm sorry. I thought you knew." "Apparently there's a lot I don't know about my partner." Quatre's empathy chafed. In the silence, I lowered my head, then looked up at him. "Look, Heero..." "You don't owe me, Quatre. Either he'll decide to share himself with me one day, or he won't." /And like hopeless romantic I am,/ I thought, /I'll wait as long as it takes./ Quatre put his hand on mine, so gently. "During
the war" (his voice was soft), "Duo came with me to the
Maguanac Saharan base. We swung down from I glanced at Quatre, waited. "He said, 'Duo Maxwell's the name. I may run and hide, but I never lie. That's me in a nutshell.' " Unspoken hunches slid imperceptibly into place; a realization was quietly born. I realized Quatre was waiting. "Well, Quatre, I guess there's more than one way to lie, isn't there?" "Heero..." I stood; smiled. "I'll find him. I always do." Bending to his face, I whispered in his ear: "Thanks, Quatre." My lips brushed his cheek as I straightened. Later that night, Trowa told me Quatre had sat with his hand on that kiss for a full two minutes before another graduating classmate found him without company and whisked him into a cheery conversation.
/Damn it all, Duo, let me in. You don't have to carry -- / In the light from the hall a shadow on the table. /He/ did /leave a note./ I saw that he had cleared the dishes. His note was the only thing on the table. I crossed the room in an instant, snapped up the paper, squinted, trying to read it in the dark, then realized I should turn on the light. /Calm down./ Even then I realized that something bigger than I wanted it to be was happening. I returned to the door, closed it and flicked the light switch beside it. I stood there and read: This wasn't your fault. I'm just super stressed right now. I need time to think, so I'm taking a couple of days. Like I said, not your fault, Heero. It's MY problem. When I get back, we'll work on US, put stuff I've caused behind us, move forward. I LOVE YOU I read the note three times without pause. /Stuff/ he's /caused? What's he mean by that?/ And where has he gone? Nothing is more upsetting to me than seeing a problem and knowing there is nothing I can do to help. Nothing. And that's exactly what Duo had given me: a problem, and no way to help. /I guess all I can do is wait for him to come back./ I walked slowly past the table, note in hand, turning off the light in the front room as I entered the bedroom. I took my time undressing, brushing my teeth. I was about to lay down on the bed, when an idea came to me. I went to the closet, and -- yes -- there it was on the floor next to the clothesbasket: the worn, soft-as-down tee shirt he slept in. I picked it up, and smiled as it unfolded in my hand. /Three sizes too big for the both of us together./ I held the neck to my nose, closed my eyes, breathed. /God, Duo, I miss you./ I carried the tee to the bed. I decided against turning down the sheets, but instead lay down on the spread, cuddling the tee against my chest. TBC
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