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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 "
Another morning, waking up before the crack of dawn. The earth's rotation could not keep up with me. My morning ritual progressed as usual. I dressed myself, went out for bagels, made my own with peanut butter, Heero's with cheese and then lengthily gazed out the window with my cup of coffee in one hand and the half eaten bagel in the other. The novelty of domestic life was quickly wearing off, I noted. When we had just moved in, everything was new and even the smallest, stupidest thing was exciting to me; a homely adventure. Figuring out how to operate the coffee machine and which way to turn the faucet to actually get warm water in the shower, which neighbors were friendly, which no so much... Now that I had moved passed all that and nothing was new anymore, just repetitive, I realized I needed to shake things up. I needed to explore more things again, to keep my ever functioning, hyper alert brain occupied and stimulated. The way that was phrased makes me sound like a species of primate that needs to be entertained in the confinements of his zoo exhibit. I guess in a way that description was more accurate than I was willing to admit. Weren't we, the other pilots and myself, caged animals in the sense that we could do so much more than we were allowed to do? It was a Saturday and even though Heero had the day off and seemed to experience no difficulty sleeping, unlike me, he was out of bed by six am and emerged five minutes later dressed in a form fitting pair of faded jeans and a white V-neck sweater with the sleeves casually rolled up. Everything Heero wore had been picked out by me. I was shocked when he came back from my order to shop for some clothing with three identical pairs of poorly fitting - but comfortable, he argued - jeans, three pairs of spandex biker shorts - really, what could he possibly need those for? - five black tank tops and three sweaters in an ugly shade of green - "Throw-up color" I had explained to him. Before he had managed to unpack the bags I threw the clothing away, keeping nothing but one pair of spandex shorts, I don't know why, he claimed they were practical. I called us a cab to a decent sized shopping center, where I dragged him around from store to store, holding sweater after sweater up against his torso, trying to imagine how they would look on him. Heero made no resistance of any form and obediently complied whenever I asked him to try something on. We came back with more clothes than I had set out to buy, but Heero looked good in nearly everything and each time I was about to put something back, I had the feeling I was going to regret it if I didn't get him that one shirt, or that one pair of jeans. Heero's only criteria was that he could move easily in them. When I had asked him what exactly he meant by that, he mentioned rule 4: "Be prepared for anything at any time." It basically meant the clothing should enable him to jump out of airplanes and climb up rocky cliffs, but I figured if Heero could do those things in spandex shorts and still make it look good, he would manage in levi jeans and a tight grey turtleneck, amongst other things. He also rejected any bright shade of color that I pulled from the rack on the bases of rule 2: "Be inconspicuous". With his long legs and shapely muscles, Heero could be a model, I thought, looking at him as he poured himself coffee. I shook that thought out of my head. "Hey Heero," "Hn." He took a large bite from the bagel. "Wanna do something today?" The bagel in his mouth hid an unrepressed grimace. "I have work." He answered me when he had worked his way through most of his breakfast and his dying appetite allowed for a slower consumption rate. "We should really get some furniture." I gestured around. He followed my waving hands, gazing around out living room and kitchen. He looked at the couch, thought about it and then looked at the TV furniture, thought about it and then looked at the dinner table and thought about that. Finally he asked: "Why?" after coming to the pragmatic solution that we didn't need any more furniture. "Well, we could use a dresser and maybe a bookcase and a lounge chair or something... and a coffee table and a rug or something and just some stuff to fill the place." My long list was already confusing him and I added insult to injury when I said we really needed to do some painting around the apartment as well. Again he asked why. I snorted. "Heero, our kitchen is pink! Pink for God's sake!" I exclaimed. "Then you go buy all that stuff. You don't need me." "But I need to know if you like the same things I like." "I'm sure anything you'll pick will be fine." "Fine," I grumbled, insulted by his disinterest, stomping over to the kitchen to ditch my cup and plate in the sink and then I turned to him with an angry expression, holding out my hand, "give me your credit card." Two hours and three trains later Heero and I arrived a vast life-style boulevard, with shops varying from home improvement, to interior accessories. I knew Heero really didn't want to come with me, I could tell from his glowering demeanor, but I wanted him there and sometimes that should be enough, sometimes that should mean something, even though it did mean I would have to stand his scowling all day. I knew the issue of money would be the best way to convince him to come along with me. The thought of me, with his credit card, in a store where expensive things are sold, irked him enough to leave his work for the day. My erratic spending behavior had become apparent on our little clothes-shopping spree. If Heero didn't have his emotions in check as much as he had, he would have reeled back when the cashiers added it all up. Sometimes I wished I could freely spend money and not ask Heero for his credit card every time I wanted to by a carton of milk, but Heero never offered to open a shared account and I didn't want to be so intrusive to ask, after all, it was his money, he worked for it. Contrary to complaining about not having free access to money, I should be grateful that Heero willingly paid rent and food and everything else we needed, for the both us, without ever mentioning it or demanding appraisal or credit. Side by side were stores for every shopper - more importantly, for every budget. I guided Heero to the IKEA (1), a centuries old furniture, lifestyle and interior design store with trendy things at an affordable price. The wide range of colors that decorated the entrance hall of the store must have shocked Heero, but he blankly walked two steps behind me. I looked over my shoulder once in a while, to see how he was doing. I noticed he didn't have much interest in the things surrounding him, he just looked at all the people with apparent distrust. I could see him do threat evaluations on all of them, quietly in his head. I had never put much faith in those "evals", I knew people to be tougher to figure out, especially the ones with bad intentions, but for Heero they served as guidelines in "peace time". I did a quick scan around myself and no one appeared to exceed threat level 2, this put me at ease, because I knew it would put Heero at ease. As far as possible. "C'mon." I said to him with a smile and I grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him along, though the living room section, the kitchen section, the bedroom section, the children's room section and finally the accessories. I talked and Heero listened - or not, you never knew with him, there was no way to tell. When we made it to a doorway that read "exit", about two hours later, I was surprised to find that I was still holding Heero's hand. I looked down my own arm, at our intertwined fingers and then my gaze moved up Heero's arm, to settle on his face. His eyes were turned away from me, he was still focused on the people, their threat level going up because some were paying specific attention to us. But I knew that had nothing to do when them planning devious, terrorist attacks on a shopping district, but because there were these two guys in the middle of the aisle, arms extended out to each other, connected at their hands. I relaxed my fingers and watched Heero's hand slip from mine. Immediately I could feel his eyes on me, but I did not look up at him to meet his gaze. I felt embarrassed and I knew the only reason Heero didn't was because he didn't understand what "holding hands" meant. I scraped my throat and said in my most masculine tone: "C'mon, man, let's go eat." As we turned, to go upstairs to the in-shop cafeteria, I caught the eyes of a father, looking directly at me, his two children dancing around him, tugging at his sleeve for his attention. People were never open books to me, but I could read him as though he was. He was thinking: "Faggot". We had a cheap brunch of crispy chicken- and tuna salad, before our hunt for furniture continued. I hoped Heero wouldn't ask me about what happened at the IKEA store. I really didn't want to answer that particular "I don't understand"-question surrounded by a crowd of possibly hostile people. Luckily for me, he didn't. In fact, he didn't say a single word - "Hn" doesn't count - the entire day, only grunting his agreement or disagreement when I'd point at a table, chair or dresser that appealed to me. Our final stop was a home improvement store for paint. I insisted on doing the kitchen cupboards and all the walls, explaining to Heero that I could not stand all the white. Normally he would have asked me, in that monotone that I have grown to love, "Why?". But he didn't today, subconsciously letting me know something was wrong, but I wasn't in the mindset to comfort him. For the kitchen I picked an interesting shade of blue. I had tested for Heero's approval, but he just shrugged. Paint couldn't be efficient, nor inefficient, therefore he had no opinion on the matter. For the walls in the living room I chose a light shade of aqua that would fit nicely with the sand colored carpet we already had and the dark wooden furniture we - I - had ordered. I guessed I just liked the color blue, further avoiding Heero eyes. The bedroom would be a light brown, neutral and calm and the little office would be a deep shade of red. My choices may not have been the most fashionable, but they suited the kind of feeling I wanted the rooms to evoke. I wondered if they would ever reflect on Heero. At the checking counter Heero stepped forward to swipe his credit card through the machine, his only input. During the quiet train ride back to our apartment, I figured it was a good thing the furniture wouldn't be delivered for another three weeks, that gave us plenty of time to paint all the rooms. "Home sweet home!" I exclaimed cheerfully as we stepped through our own front door. Heero walked by me to place the heavy tins of paint on our dinner table, ignoring me completely, though that was nearly always the case. Still, I felt guilt, I had the idea that I had insulted him, which was never my intention, I just wanted to get the judgmental stares off our backs. "I'm going to work tomorrow." He suddenly announced, arranging the tins of paint neatly next to each other. "Oh." I hadn't expected otherwise. Either he decides himself to work on a Sunday, or he gets called in, or rather: he'd get a pressing email from Une, functioning as his boss, urging him to solve the latest case. I didn't really know what Heero did, just that he was a hacker, he never said anything else about it. To me it seemed like he was misplacing his righteousness, trying to crack every case, solving every problem before people were even aware they had a problem. I couldn't determine whether the job was filling an otherwise empty existence, or eating away at him, one nibble at a time. In front of the paint he laid out all the equipment we had acquired for the chore: sandpaper, several brushes of different sizes, rollers and a paint tray. Because it was only four in the afternoon and I was against lounging around, I changed into an old pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt. By myself I started sanding down the kitchen cabinets, Heero disappeared into the office. I was a little upset that he didn't offer to help, but I should have known Heero better than that. He doesn't offer, only responds when asked or complies when ordered. Moreover, it might have been best to work alone for a while, away from the awkwardness that had sprouted between us that afternoon. I wasn't so much concerned with Heero's thoughts and, in hindsight, was neither that bothered by the plentiful homophobic stares, I was more worried about what it meant for myself, holding his hand like that, without even noticing. Apparently subconsciously I felt quite content and comfortable holding his hand and didn't register it as something abnormal at that moment, but I was having second thoughts about the "normality" of it all. Of course it wasn't normal for two regular guys to hold hands, I knew that, but we weren't regular guys, so I wondered were to draw the line. For normal people these things were clearer, more defined, borders were shaped by society over a long course of time and widely accepted. For us it was different. We have seen each other's naked bodies. We have touched each other's naked bodies. We have tended to each other's wounds. We have held each other for warmth in cold prison cells. I have shot him, twice. He has knocked me unconscious. All of these things were well out of the "normality spectrum" and left me feeling confused. I had only finished the bottom cabinets by six o'clock and deemed it was time for dinner. Not feeling like cooking in a dusty kitchen with appliances, plates and cutlery strewn everywhere, I ordered pizza, one with every pizza topping known to man and one plain. Heero didn't care much for fast food. I knocked on the door of the office but didn't open it, it would save him the trouble of hiding the confidential files he was working on. "Dinner will be here in about twenty minutes." "Okay." Exactly twenty minutes later Heero emerged from the home office, he waited on the couch in front of the TV till the pizza man delivered five minutes later. With our respective pizza boxes in our laps, we sat next to each other on the wide couch and silently watched TV, eating the slices with our hands; another thing Heero didn't like, but he didn't complain. "Let's watch something else." I suggested when the news broadcast we were watching started a report on the aftermath of the eve war. We didn't need to see that. We were breathing examples of the aftermath, twisted and ruined. I never had any difficulty eating an entire pizza, stuffing is a technique best perfected on the streets, when opportunities to eat are scarce. An hour later, Heero had only finished two slices when he threw the rest out. "You weren't hungry, buddy?" Heero shrugged and then went back to work in the seclusion of the office. I was doing it again, I realized, the mothering, the worrying. I just couldn't help but notice how little Heero ate; the breakfast bagel, lunch and dinner, no snacks, unlike me and no stuffing, unlike me. Maybe he's afraid he'll get fat, I thought. It did dawn on me that the end of the war had been the end of a previously vigorous exercise routine for the both of us. I hadn't done a single push up since and neither had Heero, to my knowledge. I worked on sanding the cabinets till I heard Heero exit the office and head for the bathroom for his evening shower. Knowing he would go to bed after that, I decided to stop. I had been so engrossed in the work I didn't even notice time pass. It was eleven PM and usually I'd be beat at this hour, desperately crawling towards my bed, but I felt invigorated and eager to start transforming this empty shell of someone else's home into something that is ours. In a totally normal - no holding hands - kind of way. I dusted myself off a bit and headed for the bedroom, changing in the time it took Heero to shower. Occasionally I glanced at his blurry figure, moving behind the shower curtain, rinsing out his hair, face turned towards the warm spray of water. I was jerked awake by sudden silence. Heero had turned the water off and a bare arm reached past the curtain to the towel rack. I jumped into bed, hoping he hadn't caught me looking at him. No, I berated myself, I stared, totally fixated with the sight of him. Definitely not normal. I wondered what was the matter with me. When I had grabbed his hand that day, I didn't expect it to have as much effect on me later as it had. It had stirred up thoughts that I preferred sunken at the bottom of the heavy, clunky soup that was my mind. After wearing it two nights, my Tampa High shirt made an ungracious stage exit to the hamper and it's stand-in, one of Heero's simple, black T-shirt, took it's place. The underwear was always the same, he owned like thirty identical pairs. Thirty because I had trouble keeping up with the laundry which, for some reason, had become my responsibility as an unspoken agreement. I never made any objection, not because I didn't mind it, but because I didn't trust Heero to separate colors and we would end up with one fucked up wardrobe. "I'm almost done sanding the kitchen." I informed him. "It should be painted by the time you get home tomorrow." This news didn't excite him the least. He didn't care which color our kitchen was, or the walls, or that we hardly had any furniture. Heero wasn't interested in making this apartment a home, Heero was only interested in efficiency, practicality and emergency exits. As long as I didn't obstruct the doorway with a dresser, he could not be bothered. A little peeved, but not deterred in my resolve to make us a normal home for two regular roommates, I wished him a goodnight and then reached out to switch off the light. The furniture was delivered too soon, I hadn't finished all the painting yet, caught up in school projects. I had the delivery man stack all the heavy cardboard boxes on top of each other behind the couch, hit with realization what a daunting task it would be to put all the furniture together. I was certain I would get a barely concealed "I told you so"-look from Heero once he saw all of it. Luckily, he was at work - I never figured I would ever say that - so I had the rest of the Saturday to get as much done as possible. Painting the office and the bedroom would have to wait, those chores did not have priority. I knelt down and opened the first, large, rectangular box. It were the pieces of the dresser for the living room, to be placed against the far wall, parallel to the couch. It was a simple design and the construction plan seemed pretty straightforward, but putting together all of the nine drawers took me longer than I would have preferred. After only one piece of furniture I was already tired and defeated. I wiggled it the last few inches into place against the wall. The bare surface of the dresser mocked me. I grabbed the bolts from by the TV and placed them on the dresser. "Better." I concluded. Next was a bookcase, also for in the living room. More desolate surface space. By the time Heero came home I had finished everything but the new dinner table, on which I was furiously working, but the damn thing stubbornly refused to cooperate. Sitting with my legs folded - painfully sore and stiff - on the floor, my arms numb from keeping the tabletop balanced on only three of it's legs and thoroughly frustrated because the plans didn't make any sense, I was not the ideal person to be coming home to. Heero assessed the situation from the doorway for a second before actually stepping inside. His dread was not uncalled for, my mood was volatile. Though he didn't ask, I promptly informed him of my dilemma, with my one free arm I gestured wildly around myself to punctuate my words. "The plan," with a pointed index finger I pricked the construction plan as if I wanted to stab the life out of it, "clearly says there should be four, three inch, steel pegs. One for each leg! But-" I dramatically raised my finger, "I have only three. One in that leg, one in that leg and one in that leg," I pointed at all the table legs respectively, "which leaves me with how many pegs for this leg, Heero?" I asked with a heavy tone of agitated sarcasm. He didn't answer, even someone with social skills as underdeveloped as his could tell that my question was rhetorical. "None! None! I only have these stupid one inch, wooden pegs! Which are utterly useless. I guess I'll just have to sit here for the rest of my life to hold this damn table up!" I grumbled. "Do the pegs look something like this?" He asked behind me, his voice ever dry. I twisted my head around, with every intention to glare at him because he was probably pointing at the picture of the pegs in the construction guide - he could be dry and thick headed like that. My jaw dropped to my knees as I looked up at him. Pinched between his thumb and index finger was the exact same peg that I had hammered into the other table legs. "W-where did you get that?" I sputtered. "Just under the couch." Baffled I looked at the couch, about two meters away from me. The peg must have jumped out of the plastic bag and rolled over there when I had ripped it open over an hour ago. Sheepishly I looked back at Heero, who handed me the peg. I felt relief wash over me, my problem was solved. "Heero, I love you." He straightened back up, his arms suddenly tense and his jaw clenched. "No, I mean, I'm just really glad I have a roommate that finds little shit like this." I held the peg up to him like I was making a toast. "Thanks, buddy." I turned my face away from him and released a deep breath. I didn't think my little joke would be like launching a torpedo into the waters... Heero stepped past me with stiff movements, a clear sign of his discomfort, and he disappeared into the office. But there was a torpedo in the water, one that I couldn't stop thinking about and couldn't stop worrying about. Heero's fleet - so to speak, since we're being metaphorical - was in no danger, the "I love you"-torpedo would in all probability just sink into the abyss, where it will implode upon impact with the rocky sea bed. Heero was safely out of range, but I was right on top of the explosion, drifting on the sea's surface in a little dingy, violently being rocked back and forth. I occupied myself with the table to push questions from my mind, but with the newly found peg, my work was quickly done. I looked around my self and to my disappointed, the apartment, though fuller, didn't look any more homely than it had before. It still had that abandoned look about it. My thoughts drifted back to Heero and the L-bomb I had dropped. I didn't mean it the way lovers mean it. I didn't mean "in love", or romance. So what did I mean? Did normal "guy-friends" tell each other that they love each other? Is love even something that can be said without disrupting the concept of "friendship"? "Peace time is a pain in the A." I mumbled to myself, cleaning up the mess of plastic bags and cardboard boxes that I had made. During war all you had to worry about was surviving. That was hard, but in a way it was so much easier, after all, we knew what we were doing back then. Now we are completely clueless and though I try to lead Heero along to the best of my abilities, it was the blind leading the blind. Or rather, I thought, remembering an old saying on L2, in the land of the blind, one-eye is king (2), giving myself a little more credit. "I don't love the guy." I continued to mutter, picking things up from the floor. I stopped myself. What I said was not fair, not to Heero and not to myself. Of course I love Heero, I told myself, why else would I be here, doing this with him, if not for love? He was my friend after all, or so I had myself convinced, there was nothing wrong with loving a friend in a friendly manner. As soon as I had the mess cleared I started on a simple dinner of rice, meat and vegetables. I mindlessly stirred the broccoli in the boiling water, in the freshly painted kitchen. It took three days for the smell to disappear, of course by then I had started on the living room, which stank for another four days. For someone not given the tools to build a home, I praised myself for doing an all right job, that's something that just needed to be done from time to time and Heero sure as hell wasn't going to do it for me. It was funny to even imagine him saying something along the lines of "Good job". I nearly choked on my own tongue when Heero had complimented my piloting skills, Heero approving of my paint job would just be way out there. "Heero!" I called. "Dinner's ready!" I scrunched my face up. Homemaker, okay, but housewife? "How was work?" I asked him over dinner. I never could stand the silence for long. He thought about it for a long time, maybe going through his day and evaluating everything. "Good." was his final answer and he looked at me for approval. I smiled. "It's not a pop quiz Heero. Were there more guys at work, or was it just you?" My desperate attempt to keep the conversation going was not in vain as Heero answered after another moment of thorough contemplation: "There were more." "How many?" "Five." His answer was quick, so it was something that he had already thought about. "Do you know them." He gave me as close to a "duh" look as possible without too much facial movement. "Yes." "I don't mean if you know their names, but do you know them, what kind of guys they are?" "No. Just names." I grinned at him and mocked: "Aha, I see a flaw in your battle tactics Captain, isn't it true that you need to know the members of your team, so you know who you can rely on?" I had merely wanted to inspire him to get to know his colleagues a little in the future, but I should have phrased my comment more carefully as I could tell by the look on his face that it had registered as an insult. "We are not a team." I could tell that I had struck a cord as his words were shorter, like stabs. "I know what I'm doing. I don't need to rely on anyone." I didn't apologize, because I realized I had done nothing wrong. He was taking it the wrong way and was reacting far too defensively. I'm talking barbed wire and artillery fire. "I didn't mean it like that. You know I didn't." "You say more things you don't mean?" I could have sworn his tone was vindictive. I stared at him for a while before I realized my torpedo had hit. It had penetrated his steel hull and exploded, now a fire was raging down below. I would be mad at his childish spite if I wasn't so silly-happy about getting a human - dare I say emotional - reaction out of him. "Heero," I said in a hushed tone, leaning over the table as if we were about to discuss a secret, "is this about what I said today? That I love you?" I waited for a reaction, all I got was a weak nod. "Heero, I'm sorry if I offended you. I didn't mean to imply that we are uh... you know... gay." I chuckled sheepishly. "'Cuz of course we're not! I'm not and I know sure as hell you're not either so..." my voice died down. "I understand, Duo. You misspoke, but then you made it very clear." I had a feeling of dread. "Made what clear?" "That I'm the roommate who finds miscellaneous clutter." I smiled at him. "I don't think I put it like that." "I'm paraphrasing." He explained. Things fell silent between us. Heero continued to eat and I just studied the pattern of the wood of the new table as I retraced my steps throughout our conversation. I realized I had missed an important point, the reason of my dread. I cast my glance up at him, his head was bowed forward and his bangs covered most of his face. I imagined a sad expression on his face, but I knew he would never let his emotions show, even though he must be feeling like a beaten puppy. "Heero," He looked up, there was no sad expression, or hope for what I was about to say, he was just himself, perfectly impassive. But I loved him regardless. "You're not just my roommate who finds, er, shit. You're my friend, who just happens to be my roommate who finds shit. And I love you as my friend." He looked into my eyes for a few seconds and time went by without any words spoken. The expression on his face didn't alter the slightest, the blank mask firmly in place, but I knew him well enough to know that I had warmed his heart, if just a little and in turn, he warmed my heart with a curt but endearing: "Okay." "Okay." I agreed. He didn't need to say the words for me to know he loved me too, these little moment - though socially awkward - were enough confirmation. I had always known. We were a dysfunctional little unit that in spite of irreconcilable differences still stuck together. Because we loved each other in our own demented ways. Love grown from a tenderly nourished trust. To take the edge off the situation I blabbered on as normal, running by him the idea to get a gym membership, so we could stay fit and healthy. As far as I could tell from his "Hn" he thought it was a brilliant idea - my turn to paraphrase. At receiving his approval I surfed the web that evening for local gyms and found there was only one within walking distance. At least that narrows it down, I thought and looked around their website. Pleased with the pictures I saw and the reviews I read I clicked on the "online sign up" button and wrestled myself through the un-dignifying experience of having to ask Heero for his credit card again. Night fell quickly and we proceeded with our evening routine consisting of Heero taking his daily shower while I pretended not to notice his every movement. With his hair still damp he got into his bed. I shamelessly watched him, like he sometimes shameless watched me. It didn't seem to bother him. My heartbeat leaped into a thunderous pace when he turned his head and our eyes met, but for some reason neither of us looked away and we ended up staring into each other's eyes. The silence between us was not awkward or uncomfortable, instead it had a serene quality. I felt my heartbeat slow down to it's usual pace and my body relaxed. I smiled at him, he didn't smile back, but I could have sworn I say his eyes light up. "Wanna go check out the gym tomorrow?" "I am going to work." I was a little disappointed. I didn't think that I let it show, but maybe I did, because he surprised me in a positive way with his next statement. "I suppose I could go to work a little later and we could work out first." "I would like that." I admitted. "Okay." I smiled. "Okay."
(1) I love IKEA. And because I love it so much, I decided it would be successful enough to last it all the way to the future in which this storyline takes place :) (2) This is a literal translation from a famous Dutch
saying, by Erasmus. I don't know if it is known internationally, but
if it's not, like Duo said, in the story it is supposedly an L2 saying
;). I think it's pretty straight forward, you don't have to understand
the deeper meaning.
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