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"Warheads"Written By: ExecutiveShrimp Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, it belongs
to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. Written for pleasure not
profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Post War, angst, fluff, psychological
issues, lemon Pairings: 2x1 Summary: Duo and Heero try to become more than
comrades in their attempt to be normal young men. They settle down
but find that peacetime is difficult to adjust to and with only each
other to rely on, it is a struggle, especially for Heero. " Warheads "
Part XIII - An Elephant Can Die From A Broken Heart Three days and three pleading emails later, I sat behind my laptop in the shared office, my fingers above the keyboard but they had not typed anything yet. I stared with tired, sore eyes at the blinking cursor at the top of the large, blank email, waiting for my fingers to speak words my mouth couldn't say, but my fingers were as silent as the rest of me. My eyes darted towards the bar at the left hand of the screen, in fat print were the names of the senders and the subjects of the particular emails already received in the inbox. There were four emails. The first, dating back a while, was sent by Aiden with subject: SHUN THE LEZ! I didn't keep it on purpose, I had just forgotten all about this school email service, until I had curiously accessed it that morning. I had been expecting responses from a teacher for whose class I had handed in papers and reports that week, but instead there were three meek emails from one source: ID6003886tampahigh. I had opened them in chronological order. Each was short and if they had been spoken words, I imagine they would have been soft and breathless. From: ID6003886tampahigh (sshaw) To: ID6004443tampahigh (dmaxwell) Subject: I miss u Duo, I miss you. Please know that this - whatever this is - will not get in the way of our friendship. XXX, Sooks Then the next, sent later that same day: From: ID6003886tampahigh (sshaw) To: ID6004443tampahigh (dmaxwell) Subject: Miss U I don't understand what's going on. Please, I'm sorry. Say something? Sooks And finally, at an hour late last night: From: ID6003886tampahigh (sshaw) To: ID6004443tampahigh (dmaxwell) Subject: - Please. The cursor kept blinking, my fingers remained motionless. I tried to lie, but I couldn't. I tried to joke it all away, but it didn't work. We needed to talk, I knew that, but I dreaded, with a sickening coil of my stomach, the possibility that she would come over unannounced again. I didn't want this to be the end of our friendship, but I was as confused as she was. I didn't know how much she knew and whatever the amount of information she had gathered, I wasn't sure with how much more information to supplement what she already knew. I threw my hands up in frustration and let them land on my head with a hard slap, like I was trying to beat some sense into myself. I tangled my fingers into my bangs and dragged my hands back over my head, painfully tugging at my hair. With a blur of motion my hands were above the keyboard, stilled with brief hesitation and then typed in the blank space. From: ID6004443tampahigh (dmaxwell) To: ID6003886tampahigh (sshaw) Subject: I need to tell you something I don't want to scare you but... I was a Gundam Pilot With determination I pressed my index finger down on the "DELETE" button at the top right of my keyboard. My words disappeared, swallowed back into the tangled mess of my thoughts and the cursor resumed it's monotonous rhythm of blinking at the top of the newly blank page. Just when I needed words most, they failed me. Like many constants in my life abruptly failed me right when I was in desperate need of their assistance. The repetitive irony of my life brought an ill smirk to my face, in contrast with the deep, displeased frown I had been sporting ever since Saturday. Long and obvious enough for even Heero, normally selectively blind to facial expressions, to notice and match my frown with equal intensity. Me being confused, added to his confusion and frightened him. At least one of us, at the helm of our "normal life" had to know which way to turn the rudder and steer the vessel. At my own increasingly philosophical outlook I pushed my chair back from my desk and headed for the kitchen with lumbering steps. I got a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator and snapped the metal cap off using the edge of the kitchen counter, a sweeper's-habit that was hard to break. Even after only the few beers I had had, the counter started to chip where I used it for this particular application. I sat back behind my desk, the half-drained - or for the annoyingly positive: half-full - bottle beside my laptop as I began another daring attempt to explain myself without hurting anymore feelings, mine or hers. From: ID6004443tampahigh (dmaxwell) To: ID6003886tampahigh (sshaw) Subject: The cursor blinked in the "Subject" box. I slammed my fist down on "TAB" and a pop up screen appeared to verify if I really didn't want to give this email a subject. I grumbled: "Computers infuriate me." I pressed enter and the cursor shifted towards the empty email. The cursor became almost like a character to me, the obnoxious clown at a primary school fair that wouldn't leave you alone even though you obviously didn't appreciate his jokes, or the salesperson who relentlessly tried to convince you that you could not possible continue your life without the certain product he was selling you, with comments which were easily interpretable as personal and insulting. Like them the cursor didn't leave me alone. I scolded myself for being so taken by a damn cursor. It shouldn't be this hard to be friends with someone, I thought. Indecisive I finally typed: I'll see you at school next week. Without granting it any more thought I maneuvered the mouse and clicked when I landed on "SEND". "Oh come on!" I yelled as a familiar screen popped up. Are you sure you wish to send this email without a subject? "No," I replied sarcastically to the software, "The average life expectancy of a man is 82.4 years, what else would I do with that time other than reconsider my subject?" With a final, frustrated, almost angry "ENTER" the email was gone. "There." I nodded to myself, to pretend I didn't notice the regret I instantly felt. Questions came to me that normally would not bother me, but living as a teenager had started to affect my thought process and I was thinking things like: "what if she thinks I'm just brushing her off?", "what if she thinks I'm angry with her?", "what if she doesn't understand and comes over anyway?" I silenced them by finishing my beer with an exaggerated, refreshed "Ahhh.". "Hello." I must have jumped two feet or more out of my seat, flailing ridiculously with my arms, barely being able to bite back a girlish squeak as the identity of the voice registered. Once gravity had guided me back into my desk chair I turned around, wide eyed and told Heero: "You scared me." He was standing in the doorway of the office, his arms tense by his sides, his face indifferent. With mechanical politeness he said: "Sorry." "'s Alright. Just didn't hear you come in." "I was being quiet." he explained matter-of-factly. I chuckled breathlessly, my heart rate was still a little sped up. "You always are." A frown appeared on his face that I had grown to find cute but also awakened the near-irresistible urge to kiss it away. Flatly, he spoke: "Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?" I chuckled again. With my feet planted on the ground I dragged the chair over to him as I remained seated. Most of the wheels didn't roll fluently and I felt my thighs burn by the time I had reached him - we needed to work out again soon. I placed my toes over his, through my soft socks I could feel the smooth leather of his shoes. I placed my hands on his hips, hooking my thumbs through the belt loops, pulling his hips forward. I diverted my eyes to his belt buckle, away from my direct line of sight, briefly I enjoyed the feel of hard hipbone under my thumbs, through his shirt and hard muscles of his thighs and ass under my fingertips, through the tentatively thin fabric of his expertly tailored slacks. I trailed my gaze up his body, jumping from button to button exposed by his undone tie. I studied the tendons of his long neck and the nervous motions of his Adam's apple before finally looking him straight in the eye and whispering with a teasing wink: "I like it when your vocal." He didn't understand. He gave me a pathetic look, seeking guidance. "Never mind." I smiled up at him and then tipped my head forward, leaning my forehead against his taut abdomen, my nose touched the cold metal of his belt buckle. I warmed it with the heat that raged through my body, even through the tip of my nose. Heero grew uncomfortable with the unorthodox embrace. With a sigh I let him go as he started to shy away from me. He distanced himself from me, taking three steps back before he finally settled. "You're home early." I usually withheld myself from stating the obvious, but it was an interesting phenomenon. It was only four thirty in the afternoon and I never expect Heero home before seven - and even with those expectations I'd get disappointed on frequent occasions. Heero shrugged, looking around himself. "The job was done." "Cool." What else was I supposed to say? After all this time, I still had no idea what "the job" was precisely. "Hacker" was a very vague, indiscriminate and consequently dissatisfactory job description but it was all I was ever offered. He kept standing in the middle of the room, in open space, aimlessly looking around himself, waiting for my order, it seemed. "Well, it's too early for dinner." I looked at my watch. When I looked back up at him I noticed his gaze had caught the sight of the empty bottle of beer and lingered. "Happy hour." I joked. Heero was not amused, but when was he ever? "We could go to the gym." Basketball, though an activity I preferred, was not an option as sheets of rain poured down the windows. Heavy drops disrupted the quiet as the wind threw them violently against the windows and the outer walls of the apartment and gravity audibly dragged them down to deep puddles and soaked concrete and tarmac. "Okay." With this new purpose he pivoted on his heels and marched away to retrieve his prepared duffel bag from the bottom of his side of the closet. We used to have duffel bags prepared with military rations, bulletproof vests, hand-grenades, ammo and a spare rifle. The contents have grown more innocent over time: a change of clothes, a towel, a granola bar, tennis shoes, our membership passes and small bottles of liquid soap and shampoo. I pretended not to be painfully aware of Heero's second duffel bag - with familiar content-, amateurishly hidden under his bed in the shadow that our small nightstand cast on the carpet. Old habits die hard, I supposed. I followed my friend - my boyfriend - into our bedroom, walking in on him changing into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Neither of us was embarrassed. I watched him, enjoying it shamelessly. With concern I noticed a sharp, black bruise on his defined chest, just off the breastbone. "What happened?" I tried to sound neutral, not like the mothering hen I could sometimes turn into. He followed my stare down to look at his own chest and touched the bruise, the black center no bigger than the tip of his fingers, the surrounding circles of blue and yellow fanned out wide. He looked at it like he saw it for the first time. "I don't know." He said softly, reaching for the sweater he had spread out over his neatly made bed. "Did you fall on top of something?" With only a disinterested shrug Heero wasn't being very cooperative. "It's nothing." "I looks painful." "It's not." I dropped the subject, detecting irritation in his voice. Maybe I was unwittingly being the mother hen again. I needed to remind myself to leave him his freedom and independence even though I wished to be allowed to smother him, hold his hand and never leave his side. I dragged my bag out of the closet and slammed the doors shut, waiting for him as he finished zipping and buttoning up his jeans and pulling the black sweater over his head, leaving his hair adorably tousled, more so than usual. With a smile I dropped my bag to the floor and approached him. Heero eyed me, but not warily, a calm had taken over him as he had grown to trust my touches. I kissed him, softly and as I did I ran my fingers through his hair, smoothing wayward strands. His hair was soft and smelled like shampoo, the scent still fresh and strong like he had just showered. I breathed it in, the combination of vanilla shampoo and a scent that was characteristically Heero's; sultry danger - if Heero ever launched a perfume line, that's what it would be aptly called, I mused. I parted from his lips reluctantly and guided him out of the bedroom towards the front door, where I snatched a large dark blue umbrella as it leaned, unused for weeks, against the wall. In a half-jog we descended the staircase. In the lobby I apprehensively looked outside through the wide open door. The rain poured like a monsoon in the tropical forests. Through the density of the drops I could barely make out the buildings across the abandoned street. "Wow." I appreciated. We didn't have rain like this on L2, with it's busted up rain simulator, the distribution system defect, in most areas there was only a slight trickle, but in localized places the water fell down from the ceiling in a thick stream, like when you turned open the faucet. In Florida that particular day, water fell down from the heavens like thick streams everywhere. I snapped open the umbrella, the wind tugged at it but it wasn't strong enough to pull it out of my grip or turn the umbrella inside out. I took the first step outside and Heero followed me, staying close by me, under the protection of the umbrella. The rain hammered down on the canvas and fell down around us in a sheet of water that fully surrounded us and made it even harder for me to see. With the beating wind the legs of our pants got soaked in spite of our best efforts. By the time we reached the gym, my shoes made a slushy sound with every step I took, my feet were wrapped in wet socks in a quarter inch of water that had gathered in my shoes. Luckily there was a dry set of sneakers in my, fortunately waterproof, duffel bag. The receptionist looked at us bemused. "Awful weather, isn't it?" Her hair was damp, like she had recently made her own way through the rain as well. I nodded and we moved past her to the men's locker-room. In the large, tiled area, flanked with rows of lockers and at the far side seven shower stalls, we threw our bags down on the benches that ran through the center of the room, in between the pale blue lockers. "Oh man." I whined and groaned with each audible step I took. Two other men at the far end of the bench looked at me with slight frowns. When they caught my gaze they quickly looked away and resumed getting dressed. I heavily sat down on the metal bench, toeing off my shoes and pulling off my socks. I picked them up and barefoot walked over to an empty shower stall where I turned the shoes upside down and drained the water out of them, and wringed my socks 'til the last drop. When I got back Heero was already half dressed. His leather boots had held out better in the weather than my fashionable sneakers. We stuffed our belongings into a single locker, though I left my shoes out to dry, confident no one would steal them, then we headed out towards the work-out area. It was busier than we were used to. The Tuesday late afternoon was apparently quite popular. Of most of the equipment, there was only one, or none, left free, so we were forced to split up and go through our work-out alone. The sparring ring was taken by a pair of bulky men, their muscles purely for show as they jabbed at each other like grandmothers. Oblivious to their poor techniques was the small crowd that had gathered around the ring to watch them dance around each other. Women mostly. Heero claimed the last available treadmill and I hurried over to the weight-section. before everything there would be spoken for. In between men twice my age and twice my size, I felt uncomfortable. Scrunching up my nose as I smelled their sweat. The gym was too crowded for my liking. I glanced through the sweaty, muscled bodies at Heero, he seemed comfortable enough jogging at a high speed, sandwiched by two young women with bouncing ponytails, stealing peaks at him as they jogged at a pace pitiful compared to Heero's. The former Gundam pilot easily tuned them out and didn't even seem to notice the special attention they were giving him. I pumped weights for a little while but eagerly joined Heero on the treadmills as the girl on his left bailed, exhausted by her futile attempt to impress him. "Hi." I said, turning up the speed-dial. He looked at me and nodded his greeting. We jogged in step with each other, I did not want to admit I had trouble keeping up the pace. The broad rubber band passed beneath my feet in quick circles and the motor hummed loudly to the background vocals of the other machinery. "Sookie emailed me." I started. Heero didn't respond but by the minute changes to his face I could tell he was listening. "She wants to talk. She still wants to be friends." It was hard to talk through the exertion, in between words my lungs greedily sucked in oxygen. "I don't think she knows the whole truth yet, but she'll want to." I looked at him with questioning eyes, but he didn't look back. "What do you think I should tell her?" Heero's brain worked to process my question but after a while he had to admit that he didn't know. "It's not safe to tell her. She might tell others, on purpose or not." I stopped talking for a while, thinking to myself, but I had been thinking about it for days with no success. I needed fresh insight. Unfortunately my only remaining friend wasn't very insightful in the social dimension of life. I stressed the importance of the issue by later adding: "I don't want to lose her. She's been a good friend. I need her, you know? To figure stuff out. She's important." Heero just nodded stiffly. He kept his gaze focused up ahead, through the window, staring at the falling rain as nothing else was to be seen. I looked around myself, to make sure our conversation had remained private. There was no one close enough to have heard over the hum of the tirelessly worked equipment. During my swivel I noted the inflated men with undoubtedly inflated ego's had vacated the sparring ring. Excited to have a break from the monotonous rhythm of the treadmill and the thump of my footfalls I reached out a hand and poked Heero in his upper arm. He turned his head to glare at me. "The ring is free. Wanna push each other around a little?" He looked back, his long neck straining, to confirm the ring was unoccupied. Without saying anything his slim fingers took gentle hold of the speed-dial and he slowly turned it back, decreasing the speed to nothing more than a fast walking pace. I copied his actions and after a few minutes of cooling down we both turned the dial back as far as it would go. My treadmill sputtered, giving a final cough and shake before it would halt. We walked to the other side of the gym, where the crowd was dissipating as the fight was over. Heero used the provided, protective tape to wrap our fingers and palms, I took his cue, smirking at the dissolving crowd, mentally broadcasting: if you want to see a real fight, you should stick around. "Kicking?" Heero asked. "Sure." My ego was speaking, I was hoping to catch as much attention as the men before us. It was a pitiful, superficial desire, but I felt it nonetheless. "No shoes though." Heero nodded, bending down to untie his shoes and take them off along with his socks. I stared at his behind for a moment before I snapped myself out of it and took my own shoes and socks off. We simultaneously entered the ring, from opposite sides. The bulked up men were watching us from far away, expecting us "skinny kids" to make fools out of ourselves. The God of Death lurking within me grinned devilishly at their naive disposition. Don't judge a book by it's cover, nor by it's braid, I often had to remind the sweeper's crew. I turned back to Heero and shared my mischief with him through twinkling eyes. "Let's give everybody a good show." We came together at the center and knocked fists to signal the beginning of our fight. I darted backwards as at the contact of our friendly right fists his left came flying towards me. He punched the thin air in front of my chest. "Sneaky little-" His right foot made me swallow my words as it powerfully connected with the hollow of my knee and nearly made my leg buckle. I had momentarily forgotten we had agreed kicks were allowed. Leave it to Heero to kindly remind me... The tendons at the back of my legs ached from the low kick they had suffered. I ducked as his fist seared towards me. I seized the moment and punched his exposed abdomen, but halfheartedly, not putting all my strength into is as I was aware of the healing bruise from our basketball game, hidden under his shirt. But my care was not rewarded in kind, his hands came down with lightening speed and gripped my wrist. I feared the powerful vice formed by his hands would snap the bones of my wrist as he maneuvered my arm up and awkwardly over his shoulder, leaving me immobilized as I had to take care not to force my own bones to break. Suddenly, he flung me over his shoulder by the arm he held, pushing his back up to help get my weight across. He let go and for a brief moment, I was flying. Then I crashed back down on the padded floor of the ring. I groaned. It hurt like hell. I scrambled to my feet and brought up my fists to protect my face and chest. At the sound of my body slamming into the floor, people had gathered around us but I didn't pay them any heed. "What the fuck?" I demanded. Heero had murder in his eyes. I swore his next words were a sneer. "Am I doing it wrong?" "Well, you're doing alright," I answered with frustrated sarcasm, "if you were trying to kill me!" I didn't understand why he would be mad at me. What could I have done wrong? Nothing to deserve this foul throw! My back burned all over from the impact. Letting my fighters-instinct override my concern for his feelings I charged forward and slammed my body into him. Together we crashed down onto the mat, with me on top. Instantly, I felt his arms circling me, but I managed to pry my hands out from in between our bodies and started punching him in the sides, upon which I got myself a painful knee in the family jewels, making me cringe and roll away. I realized this wasn't an innocent spar for the sake of a complete work-out when he didn't allow me time to recover. Staring up at the ceiling, gasping for air, his face appeared before me. He straddled my body. He had one hand over my throat but didn't apply any pressure, he pulled his other back in a balled fist, like a snake preparing for a strike. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. One Mississippi, I counted. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. I dared to open my eyes. Heero had lowered his fist back down, the hardness in his face was gone, his shoulders were sagged down, he seemed deflated. He refused to meet my eyes. I heard the people around us talking. With confusion I watched Heero rise and walk away. A trainer fought through the crowd and kneeled by my dazed figure, a tanned face came into view. "Are you okay?" She looked around, at the faces of the people in the crowd. "Where did that other guy go?" She asked them. "To the locker-room." Someone answered. "It's fine." I said before she would send someone in after him. "It's fine, I know him. We were just goofing around. It was a friendly fight." I sat up. "Didn't look friendly." The trainer muttered beside me. I left the ring and headed for the locker-room. My entire body hurt. What the fuck just happened? I asked myself. I stormed through the doors, angry with him but when I saw him at the far end of the room, my anger was gone and of my entire aching body, the thing that hurt the most was my heart, bleeding with concern. I slowly approached him. Heero was sitting on the bench, roughly pulling the protective tape off his hands. Breathlessly I asked him: "What was that all about?" Heero shrugged meekly, looking away. I sat down next to him and decided not to say anything. We sat side by side in silence, we didn't even move. We were alone in the locker-room but outside I heard the commotion we had caused among the other patrons, they used the term "weird boys" a lot. I didn't consider it much of an insult, just yet another harsh truth we had to deal with. "You should talk to Sookie." He said out of the blue. His voice was soft and wavered. He was trying to remain big and strong, to remain the soldier, but emotions were seeping through the barriers and he couldn't protect himself from them, nor keep them hidden. Nothing on earth, that included Heero, was safe from emotions or unaffected by the pain they inadvertently caused. "You should make it right." He added, cringing next to me, leaning forward further and further and turning his head away from me as far as he could. Sympathetically I asked, my heart clenching as a pained twin to his: "Why? What's bothering you?" "I'm not a good friend." He blurted to the wall on the other side of him, but I was sure he was still talking to me. "Not a good friend?" The back of his head nodded at me. "I can't help you with your "stuff". I never know what to do or what to say. What is right and what is normal..." He abruptly turned back to face me, his face was hard and angry, but the anger wasn't directed at me, rather, at himself. "I'm no good as a friend. I only know how to fight." The confrontation with his frailty left me speechless. "You don't need me. You need a good friend." His eyes were challenging me, expecting me to agree with him; that he was no good, that I needed someone better than him. He was wrong. "I do need you." I told him with serious tone, hoping it would register. "You are my best friend and my boyfriend." I smiled through the tears I had unknowingly started to cry. "I love you." His face momentarily contorted into the expression of someone who was on the verge of tears but he controlled himself and the heartbroken expression was replaced by a dishearteningly indifferent one. We both looked away at the same time. We stared ahead for a while, preoccupied with our own thoughts. Heero was the one to initiate eye-contact and break the silence. "I'm sorry I kicked you." I smiled. "It was nothing." "And threw you." "I'm fine." "And kneed you." "Okay that one-" I paused, my smile brightened and I just said: "...Apology accepted." I leaned in and placed a light peck on his cheek and tasted salt, from either his sweat or tears he had inconspicuously wiped away. I would never know.
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