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When Duo came back to consciousness, he was laying with his cheek pressed against the cold steel tile of the prison cell. His body throbbed all over with his heartbeat and every breath he took. His head felt like it was full of broken glass. With every breath, he felt a sharp stabbing pain in the right side of his chest under the edge of his ribs. Fuck.
He tried to remember what had happened before he passed out, and when he did he couldn’t help croaking out a rusty laugh. The straw that broke the camel’s back (and Duo’s nose) was him singing “I am Henry the Eighth I Am” over and over again at increasing volume until the back of his head pounded and two of the guards threw open the door of his cell and started working him over in earnest.
Since he was pretty sure one of his ribs was broken and he knew his nose was, he wasn’t sure if the joke had been worth it. But he laughed anyway.
He laughed again, even though it hurt. His eyes were closed.
“Still funny,” he whispered to no one. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, grimacing, and leaned against the back of the prison cell.
“Well this is just great.” He coughed and then couldn’t help letting out a pained cry at the sensation. The prison cell was dark, but his eyes had had several hours to adjust. Further down the hallway beyond the prison cell, he could hear voices talking quietly. He didn’t hear any other prisoners.
No, kid. You’re going to be executed publically, in front of all the colonies. Your death is going to be the glue that cements the peace. The people’s feelings towards the execution will unite the colonies against terrorism. You should be grateful that your miserable life will mean something after all.
Duo’s brow furrowed as he remembered what the OZ commander had said. Public execution. They were going to shoot him in front of everyone.
“My miserable life, huh?” Duo grinned in the shadows. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
He thought about Heero. Heero would have never allowed himself to be taken captive. He already would have killed himself, Duo thought. He’d beat his own brains out on the wall of the cell or hang himself with a bedsheet. He wouldn’t allow himself to be paraded out in front of the masses as a terrorist. A villain.
Heero…
Duo didn’t want to think about the Wing pilot or his terrible death, but he couldn’t help it. That last image of Heero’s life was seared into his brain like so many other awful things that had happened to him over the course of his life, a view he’d never be able to unsee for the short remainder of it. At least the vivid detail of the nightmarish memory allowed him to focus on minute details of Heero’s face. The exact shade of his eyes. The way his muscles shifted under his skin as he lifted the detonator.
Duo felt his eyes sting with tears and he let them come, felt them track down his cheeks without wiping them away. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered now. No amount of tears would keep them from killing him when the time came, so if he felt like he needed to cry over Heero’s death, well he’d just go ahead and do it.
Even though he’d only known him for a short amount of time, he was glad he got to meet the Wing pilot when he did. So much of his life after L2 was lonely, and he carried it around inside him like a void, a black hole that no amount of death or drugs or dancing or danger could fill.
And even though Heero had been short with him when they spent time with each other, Duo knew there was more to him. Something there. His face was so impassive, so closed-off, but something was going on behind those blue eyes.
Doesn’t matter now, Duo thought. He’s dead. And soon I will be too. He wondered where Trowa had buried Heero. Mouldering in some nameless shallow grave somewhere.
Hope it was someplace nice. Hope there are trees and shit there, a nice patch of sun to lay in. Say what you want about the Earth, at least it’s beautiful. He deserved it. Something peaceful.
Duo grunted as he shifted his position to relieve pressure on his busted ribs, wiping the tears from his bloodied face wearily. He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head, closing his eyes. He had a terrible headache, but he felt like he might still be able to sleep through it.
Hell, maybe if I got a bleed on the brain, I can just go to sleep and not wake up. Wouldn’t they just piss themselves? No public execution for you assholes.
Thinking this cheerful thought, Duo fell into a fitful doze.
* * *
When Duo woke up again, for a moment he wasn’t sure where he was. He’d been having a dream about L2, something about a stabbing, and when he opened his eyes streetlight and neon was what he expected to see. His vision was blurry in the darkness at first and he scowled, forcing himself to focus blearily.
There was someone outside the door.
Heero.
Heero was framed in the light from the hallway, somehow wearing a turtleneck sweater and slacks, no sign of the bloodied and charred green tank top to be seen. His face was stoic and perfect and the most beautiful thing Duo thought he had ever seen, framed in fluorescent light that made a halo around his head.
Duo smiled, then laughed. It couldn’t be real, it was just a figment of his brain-damaged mind, DMT wish fulfillment. I’m dead. I’m dead, and he came back for me. Straight from Valhalla, baby.
“What a surprise, hey Heero. You really are superhuman huh?” But as soon as he said it, the effort of speaking out loud brought awareness of his pain back like a throbbing red wave that centered in his head and chest.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.
If he was dead, really dead, then how come it still hurt so fucking much?
Heero just kept looking at him with that carved expression, hard and merciless, and he pulled a pistol out of his waistband. Duo suddenly found himself looking down the barrel of a gun.
Oh.
But if Heero was here to kill him, not escort him to Hell or whatever comes next for teenage terrorists when they kick the bucket, then that meant—
He’s alive.
He’s gonna kill me.
Duo figured he shouldn’t be surprised. He knew Heero’s dedication to Mission took precedence over anything else in his life. Warring relief at seeing Heero alive and disappointment that Heero seemed determined to immediately murder him on sight fought in him. Thought we’d at least..get to talk. One last time.
Sighing, he pulled himself gingerly to his feet, unable to help letting out a torn groan as the movement caused sharp fiery aches in his chest and sprained arm.
It’s not a firing squad at least. It’s better like this. Right? Leave it to Heero to cheat OZ out of their bread and circus.
Duo put a confident grin on his face, satisfied with how real it felt even though he also felt as if he had swallowed a ball of ice the size of a coffee cup as he looked down Heero’s gun.
“Perfect timing. They were about to use me and my Gundam for their propaganda. At least do me a favor and don’t make me die on my knees, huh? You can give me that much at least.”
He pushed his back against the wall—when was it ever not?—and looked Heero in the eyes. Even though the Wing pilot stood before him as still as a statue, there was something in his face...something fighting itself out in his cobalt gaze. Duo locked eyes with him a moment, smiling.
“If I’m gonna die, seems appropriate that you’re the one who does it,” Duo said, his smile widening as he stared Heero down, willing the other pilot to shoot him mid-sentence so he wouldn’t have to anticipate it. “I want it to be you. I’m glad.”
Hell, if Heero is the last thing I get to look at before I eat a bullet, that’s not too shabby. Could have been worse. Hell, all of it could have been worse.
He closed his eyes, thinking of the way the sunlight played on the top of the water where he and Heero swam, surrounded by dolphins. The wide-open expression on Heero’s face as he realized the large animals wouldn’t try to hurt them, his wondering eyes.
Yeah, that’ll be a nice way to go. Nice thing to think on my way out the door. He smiled, trying to hold that memory.
Duo lifted in his chin up and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He smiled still—he couldn’t help it. He would remember Heero like that, that glimpse of what he might have been like before whoever in charge of him got ahold of him and ripped anything out that was soft, human. He didn’t want to see Heero’s eyes now, that guarded cold look, the look that said Heero intended to kill him or die trying.
Make it quick, Heero. Don’t fuckin’ wing me. But he was confident that Heero would. Heero wouldn’t spare his face out of sentimentality. It would be two shots—head and heart.
“Here. Go right ahead and shoot me. Those Ozzie cowards didn’t have the guts, but I know you do.”
Duo clenched his eyes closed, waiting for Heero’s bullet to come crashing between his eyes and into the brain behind it.
Excruciating seconds ticked by.
Goddammit. Heero hurry up. The suspense will kill me before you do.
Duo’s eyes shot open. “Hey you’re really gonna shoot me, aren’t you?”
And still Heero stood there. Not a twitch from the guy to let Duo know either way what he was thinking. The barrel of his gun looked roughly as wide as an L2 subway tunnel.
“If that’s what you want me to do.”
Of course I don’t want you to shoot me, are you an idiot?
Duo heard a soft, frustrated exhalation from him through his nose, loud in the silent prison.
He barely had time to think before the pistol was flying at him end over end. He caught it, silently thankful that he did, as it would look extremely uncool if he hadn’t, and he was still so bowled over by Heero’s impromptu decision to not murder him that he couldn’t exactly trust his reflexes in the current moment.
So he’s not—
Heero was walking closer to him in the cell then, and before Duo could even react, Heero was beside him, lifting up his good arm over Heero’s shoulders, support Duo with his weight. Duo felt his breath catch when Heero tilted his head sideways to look into his eyes, close enough to kiss, and it wasn’t the broken rib that did it.
Fuck. His eyes are so pretty, Duo thought, and wondered maybe whether he was delirious or not to be thinking stupid shit like that at a time like this. And he doesn’t even know. Doesn’t care, doesn’t know.
Heero reached out and touched him. Duo jerked when he felt that hard, warm hand palm his chest beneath his shirt. This time it was because of the broken rib that his breath hitched and he couldn’t help his face screwing up in an agonized grimace. This would be sexy if it didn’t hurt so fucking much.
“Broken,” Heero said.
Yeah, no shit Sherlock, Duo wanted to reply, but it seemed like an awfully ungrateful response to the person who was currently saving your life.
Instead, he grated out, “Don’t,” and grabbed Heero’s wrist, as if he could possibly force Heero to stop touching him if he wanted to. Heero withdrew his hand, though, and held them closer together, supporting Duo more at the waist.
Heero walked him forward out of the cell and the swift movement made Duo’s head swim. He looked at the floor doggedly, forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other.
Do not make him carry you. Do not make him carry you. Do not do it.
When they reached the end of the hallway Duo tried to lift his head again, looking at Heero. Heero’s eyes were darting back and forth down the hallways, and Duo could swear the wheels in Heero’s mind were turning so quick he could almost see smoke pouring out of the Wing pilot’s ears. He had a sudden realization.
He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. This wasn’t the plan.
“Where’s your Gundam?” Duo said instead, watching Heero’s face when he did it.
“I left it on Earth. It’d stick out too much in space. So I’d probably wind up getting caught like you did.”
His words brought back the humiliation of being captured in a warm rush, and Duo felt a dark scowl fall over his face as he remembered reaching for his own pistol to try and kill himself, the laughter of the enemy in his ears.
He thinks I’m weak. Useless. The thought made warm anger rise up in Duo, fueling him, making him feel stronger despite the insistent throbbing in the back of his head and in the socket of his shoulder and his ribs.
“Yeah well pardon me,” Duo growled, feeling hot shame color his cheeks and wanting to stop the blush, but not being able to help it. He took some of his weight off Heero, standing more firmly on his own feet. “Didn’t exactly plan on getting ambushed by a squad of mobile dolls in transit. So how exactly do you plan on getting us out of here anyway?” O fearless leader. If we’d been working together it never would have happened. We would have been unstoppable.
Heero turned to look into his eyes again, and Duo felt an impulse to lean forward and kiss him. His lips were inches away. It felt roughly approximate to the intrusive desire to cross the center line and drive into oncoming traffic.
“I came here to kill you before I killed myself. I didn’t exactly come up with an escape plan.”
Oh. Well that’s not very romantic.
“What if we don’t make it?” Duo asked, already knowing the answer before he did.
“It’s as simple as silencing the two of us.”
Great. Guess we gotta make it then.
* * *
They made it. Against all odds, Duo figured, but he felt like a weight got lifted off of him when he saw the sprawl of space beyond the shuttle as they pulled out. I can’t fucking believe it, an involuntary grin spreading across his face that hurt his broken nose and his split lip and he didn’t care. We’re alive. We made it. That crazy son of a bitch did it.
He looked over at where Heero was adjusting the shuttle controls, setting the autopilot. Now that the mission—as far as Heero saw it, anyway—had been accomplished, the Wing pilot seemed tired. But Duo thought he could feel satisfaction rolling off him in waves. That Mission Accomplished vibe.
He’s glad, Duo thought, feeling a warmth suffuse his chest. He closed his eyes, meaning to fall asleep now that they were safe.
He wasn’t sure how long he was out before he felt Heero’s warm hand covering his on the shuttle arm rest. The contact felt like a low-voltage electric shock, and Duo swallowed, but didn’t open his eyes.
He’s...he’s holding my hand.
“Duo.” Heero’s voice was a low rumble in his ear, making him shiver. Duo kept his eyes closed, memorizing the feel of Heero’s hand over him, feeling Heero squeeze it with gentle urgency.
“Five more minutes. I’m so tired.”
“Duo, wake up. I think you have a concussion, you can’t go to sleep.”
Duo opened his right eye reluctantly to look at where Heero was staring over at him. His left eye was so swollen the entire side of his face felt tight on that side, and he couldn’t see a damned thing.
Oh come on.
Heero was frowning at him, and the Wing pilot pulled his hand back, standing up. “Get up.”
Yuy, you are a pain in the ass.
“Do I have to?”
“Yes.” Heero didn’t wait for Duo’s smartass reply, only turned his back and went into the living quarters of the shuttle. Groaning, Duo pulled himself up out of the copilot’s seat, realizing that after sitting all of his aches and pains had stiffened up. He limped after Heero, trying not to pull a face.
“Take off your shirt and lay on the bed in there.”
“Are you getting fresh with me, Heero Yuy?”
Heero didn’t answer him.
Casting his eyes at the roof of the shuttle behind Heero’s back, Duo shuffled off into the bedroom. He tried unbuttoning his cassock. It was hard with one hand, but his right shoulder where the OZ soldiers had dragged him bodily from Deathscythe’s cockpit was emitting glassy pain in rolling waves that made sweat stand out on Duo’s forehead. He doggedly got the buttons loose, determined to get it done before Heero made it back into the room. If he thinks I can’t pilot...will he still do it? Kill me?
It’s as simple as silencing the both of us. He remembered Heero’s cold, clipped words back at the barge and shivered. He knew Heero wasn’t trying to bluff him. Heero would kill them if he thought he had to. He’d already tried to kill himself.
But so have I, Duo thought, remembering the fleeing seconds of nightmare in Deathscythe’s cockpit before his hand slammed down on the detonator.
He shrugged out of the cassock with difficulty, laying down on one of the two beds. Duo couldn’t help letting out a sigh of pure relief as the soft mattress accepted him, the pillow sinking behind his head. After sleeping on a steel floor, the bed felt like heaven.
The entire situation still felt surreal. Heero alive? Rescuing him? Maybe I’m dead after all. Maybe this is heaven. Maybe the space between stars is as close as it gets.
Before he could have time to contemplate it further, Heero was back in the room with a glass of water, a rag, and a first aid kit.
“Hellooooo nurse,” Duo said, attempting an eyebrow waggle. All it did was make his face hurt, but it was worth the look on Heero’s face as the Wing pilot visibly fought to keep from rolling his eyes.
“Do you always have to be a smartass? Sit up.”
Duo watched Heero as he pulled up a chair and sat across from him, scooting up on the bed and swinging his legs over the side as Heero sat the first aid kit on the floor. He grimaced as he did, the ribs on his side sending shooting pain across his torso. Fuck.
Heero was holding something out to him. Pills. Duo took them from him, not feeling guilty at all about letting his fingertips brush Heero’s in the process, chasing that low-voltage feeling, smiling as Heero’s serious blue eyes met his.
“It’s kind of the other half of my job.” Without dropping his gaze from Heero’s, he popped the pills in his mouth and took the glass of warm water, swallowing to wash it down, the warmth from the water filling his chest.
At least he thought it was from the water.
Before he could think of anything else, Heero was pressing the damp, warm rag to his face. Close again. Duo swallowed and tried not to flinch as the Wing pilot gently and methodically washed the traces of his beating from his face, soothing bruises, rinsing dried blood.
He’s...gentle, Duo thought, watching Heero’s face carefully as Heero did it. So gentle.
Duo didn’t trust gentleness. On L2, gentleness meant an ulterior motive. Someone was gentle to get you closer to them.
Gentle was a trap.
“So why’d you do it?” he said, the words out of his mouth before he knew what he was going to say.
“Do what?” Heero said, his voice so flat and unaffected he might as well have been talking about solar flares instead of a murder-suicide. He returned the rag to Duo’s face and Duo felt his eyes slide shut at the warm, damp contact out of instinct. The side of Heero’s hand brushed his face as he worked. Duo shuddered at the touch, couldn’t help it.
He was going to kill me. He really was.
So why the fuck didn’t he do it?
“Oh, don’t be an ass,” Duo said. “You know exactly what I mean. Ow!” Heero swiped the wet rag over Duo’s broken nose, wiping away the blood beneath it.
Heero put the rag down and then his hands—both of them—were on Duo’s bare chest, running over his ribs. As much as it hurt, Duo still felt a flash of hot desire rush him, and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on something that was not Heero running hands across his bare skin, trying desperately not to embarrass himself. He didn’t have to worry about it long, because Heero finally found the rib that hurt more than the rest of them. He hissed at the Wing pilot like a cat.
“If you think hurting me is going to distract me, you’re right. But I still want to know.”
“You need to take deep breaths to prevent pneumonia,” Heero said in response, ignoring him. But his eyes moved from Duo’s chest to Duo’s face, and Duo held his breath, but not because Heero was pressing on his broken rib.
“I think your rib is fractured here,” Heero continued, his voice still completely clinical, as if he was an ER tech and not….well, Heero.
“I know, it hurts like a motherfucker, please stop prodding and answer my question.”
Even though it hurt, Duo still felt a pang when Heero removed his hand.
“What does it matter?” Heero said, drawing back to look at him.
Duo scowled, shaking his head a little in disbelief. What the fuck do you mean, what does it matter? What could possibly matter more than that?
“It matters to me.”
You were going to kill me, and you didn’t. You didn’t have to save my life, and you did. Why? It makes no goddamned sense.
Either you’re crazy or—
Duo didn’t know.
“I didn’t want to hurt you,” Heero said, the words quiet and simple, and the words hit Duo like a freight train. He closed his eyes, feeling the ghost of Heero’s hands on the back of his hand, his face, his chest like a brand.
But why? Everybody wants to hurt me. What should make you any different?
“Why?” Duo said, hearing a hard note in his voice and regretting it, but not being able to keep it out. He looked at Heero, watching Heero’s face, any change in his microexpressions. Heero just stared back at him, letting him look.
After a few tense seconds, Heero said: “Did you want me to kill you?”
“No,” Duo said as Heero reached out and took his head in his hands. A part of him—not a small part—wanted to wrench out of Heero’s hold, not sure what he was doing. But the sensation of Heero’s hands on him was too tempting to avoid. He pushed past his initial resistance, sighing as Heero’s hands gently roamed his skull.
“Um, what the fuck are you doing?”
“Looking for intercranial fluid leaking from your ears. It can indicate a skull fracture.”
Ew. Pretty sure if I had a skull fracture I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you, pally.
“Gross,” Duo said instead, flinching when Heero’s hand ghosted over the back of his head, feeling the large knot there.
“You’re lucky you’re hard-headed.”
Ha ha, very funny. “Now who is being a smartass? Is my skull fractured or what?” Duo grumbled. He swallowed as one of Heero’s hands came under his jaw to cradle it as he moved his other across the back of Duo’s head, checking for contusions. In kissing distance again. Dammit.
Heero withdrew, and Duo wasn’t sure whether he was glad or not.
“I don’t have an X-ray, but I think you’ll live. Lie back down.” Duo followed Heero’s instructions as Heero walked back out of the living quarters without another word. When he came back, he was carrying two ice packs. He handed one to Duo. “Hold this over your eye.”
Duo took it from him, putting the cool weight over his eye that was swollen shut, the cool like an instant balm. He sighed and closed his eyes at the relief, he couldn’t help it. But he winced when Heero pushed the other ice pack against his chest, holding it there. He met Heero’s eyes again.
“Jesus Heero, that’s cold.”
“That’s the point.”
Duo let Heero ice his wounds and held the ice pack for him when he went to go get their food. The pills Heero had given him had taken the hard edge off of his pain, and he felt himself getting sleepy despite Heero’s instructions. The sight of the macacroni Heero brought back from the kitchen for him made his stomach clench painfully, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in days.
He was so focused on his food that at first he thought he misheard Heero.
You need a shower.
Duo felt a hot rush of embarrassment wash over him, wanted immediately to lift his own armpit and smell it. Am I really that bad? Jesus, how mortifying. It gave him a miserable flashback to living on the street, how awful it had been to be dirty constantly—no clean water. No clean air. No clean anything. Nothing simple or pure or safe.
“Oh, thanks,” he said, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks.
“Your hair,” Heero said, simply.
Oh.
Duo reached up to his head where the braid was falling out in large sections, grimed with blood from his head injury, the hair sticky with sweat, greasy with three days of build-up. Yeah, it is pretty gross.
But just reaching up with his good arm to touch his head reminded him of the bad one, which was stiff and getting stiffer all the time despite the acetaminophen. I can’t fucking fix my hair like this.
“Well...yeah,” Duo said, feeling his blush deepen. “But I don’t know if I have the energy to fix it back even if I washed it. Which also sounds like a little more than I can manage right now.” And oh, how he hated it, to admit that weakness, too weak to escape on his own, too weak to kill himself, too weak to even wash himself.
He already thinks I’m weak. Now I can’t even clean my own damned hair, much less pilot. I’m just a burden to him.
“I can help you.”
The fuck?
Duo’s head shot up and he felt himself glare at Heero, not able to help it. His breath came a little faster and he swallowed, hard. Tearing his eyes away from that cool cobalt gaze, he stirred his food for the ability to have something else to focus on. “What’s with you, anyway?” he muttered.
Something about the way Heero said it reminded Duo of Solo. But that wasn’t exactly why he found himself suddenly unable to meet Heero’s eyes. He just...did not understand.
You tried to kill me.
Finally, because Heero was silently sitting there watching him, waiting for him to say something as if he could sit there and wait for a hundred years if that was required, Duo raised his head to look at him again.
“You came here specifically to murder me, and now you’re offering to help me wash and braid my hair. Do you really have no concept of social boundaries to understand how fucking weird that is?”
Duo watched Heero’s face as he said it, looking for any change, any indication of Heero’s inner thoughts. But the Wing pilot may as well have been wearing a mask. After a few moments of silence, Heero turned back to his macaroni and cheese.
“If you don’t want my help, all you have to do is say so.”
Are you kidding me right now?
Duo sighed. I just...do not get you, dude. I really don’t.
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“You’re one to talk,” Heero replied immediately, voice as placid as a still lake.
They ate in silence while Duo contemplated his options. Option 1: Reject Heero’s offer. Hurt Heero’s feelings. (Subtopic: Does Heero have feelings?) Stay nasty. Option 2: Accept Heero’s offer. Have Heero’s hands on me again. Get clean.
It was a pretty easy choice, Duo thought, if he didn’t have to consider the fact that letting Heero help him meant letting someone else touch his hair. He reached up to touch it himself, making a face at the feel of the flyaway strands, the crusted blood.
Fuck.
Duo sighed again. “I...uh.” He swallowed, starting again, having to grate the words out against his own reluctance to ask for help. “If you could help me with it, I would appreciate it. My right shoulder...they pulled something in it, I think. The pain when I took my shirt off was pretty bad.”
Now he’s gonna kill me. If I can’t pilot a suit, what good am I to him?
But Heero didn’t kill him. He just took Duo’s empty tray.
“I said I would,” he said. While he walked to the kitchen, Duo let out the breath he’d been holding and pushed himself off the bed, grimacing as he shuffled to the bathroom. He felt stronger after eating, less woozy, but the food seemed to wake up his pain if anything else, like his body was immediately using it to heal.
When he got to the bathroom, he tried unbuttoning his pants with his left hand, but it was awkward. Ambidextrous he was not.
“Quit trying to bend over. Sit down on the toilet.” He heard Heero’s hard command from the bathroom entrance and looked up.
Yes, Mother, Duo thought, but had enough self-preservation to keep to himself. Instead he sat on the toilet, letting Heero unlace his boots and take them off. The gesture was weirdly intimate, and Duo felt himself blush again. Don’t look up, don’t look up, he prayed at Heero, and Heero didn’t. Just gently pulled his socks and shoes off, tossing them aside.
“Stand up. Quit straining your arm.”
Quit telling me what to do, Duo thought crossly, shoulder throbbing, but did as he was told.
Duo started unbuttoning his pants again stubbornly, then flinched as Heero pushed his hand away and did it himself, causing a small cry of surprise to escape Duo’s lips before he could catch it. Before Duo could react again, Heero had pulled both his boxers and his pants down in one fluid movement.
Jesus Christ, Yuy. You will buy a guy dinner next time.
Heero, for his part, seemed completely disinterested in how interested or not Duo was in him. He stood and backed away, giving Duo room to step out of his clothes. Duo felt like his face might catch on fire. Death from skull fracture was off the table, but death by spontaneous combustion was apparently still an option.
He managed to flick his eyes to Heero’s face and he froze on the inside. He could swear there was amusement dancing in Heero’s blue eyes.
“Get in,” Heero said.
Duo did, turning away from Heero to step into the shower, grateful for a chance to hide his face. He turned on the water and left it on cold a minute, letting the cool water soothe the wounds on his body, closing his eyes, hearing a rustling outside the shower.
Heero got in.
Um, excuse me sir? What in the actual fuck?
Eyesupeyesupeyesupeyesup
Duo stared at the ceiling of the shower.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Without looking back at him, Duo heard Heero’s calm response. “What, I’m supposed to get my clothes wet to do this?”
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the carpenter from Brooklyn. Duo turned away from him, breathing harder. He turned the shower water to warm, squeezing his eyes shut.
This guy is so weird, I can’t even begin to keep up.
And...um...muscular.
Duo felt for the elastic in his hair, slipping it out. He tried to think of what he should say, but before he could think of anything, Heero’s hand was on his braid, unraveling it. Duo trembled under the sensation. No one else had touched his braid since...well, he couldn’t remember the last time he had let anyone touch his hair. Not like this.
Be cool. Be cool be cool be cool.
“How is your pain?” Heero asked from behind him.
A peripheral concern compared to having you naked in the same shower with me, buddy, thanks.
“A little better, thanks,” Duo said instead, hearing the strangled note in his own voice and feeling himself blush even harder, not sure it was possible.
Heero grunted behind him, working on his hair from the bottom up. Duo swallowed, his hands clenched into fists at his side, tense all over, as if any second he expected Heero to grab a handful of his hair like a vise and beat his brains out on the side of the shower. Changed my mind. You’re weak. Useless.
But he wouldn’t, Duo was starting to realize. He wasn’t like that. Not really. The boy holding a gun to his head was not this same boy standing in the falling water with him, soaping up his hair one careful section at a time before rinsing it out.
Duo, for a change, couldn’t think of anything to say. So he kept his mouth shut, letting Heero work. By the time Heero reached his head proper, hard fingertips working softly against his scalp, Duo felt like he could melt into a puddle and slide right down the shower drain. He let out a soft groan despite himself, then immediately blushed as he realized that it could be...well, misinterpreted.
Heero seemed completely uninterested, completely absorbed in his task.
“There. Rinse it out.”
Duo turned in the shower to follow Heero’s instructions, and was suddenly very, very aware that they were standing naked within two feet of each other, face to face. When he raised his eyes to Heero’s, he was shocked to see a flush across the Wing pilot’s cheeks.
He knows. Duo wanted to laugh nervously. What do you know? Flesh and blood, after all.
“Better?” Heero asked, and Duo could have swore that his voice sounded different, lower.
He swallowed. “Oh yeah.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something cheeky that might really tempt Heero to put him through the shower door.
Then Heero started to wash Duo’s body too, the loofah passing over Duo’s bruised collarbone. The sensation was as arousing as an electric shock.
NOPE.
Duo grabbed Heero’s wrist gently, looking into his eyes. “You...uh...don’t have to do that. I can do it.”
Heero just stared at him a moment, then nodded and got out. As soon as he did and closed the frosted shower door behind him, Duo cast his head at the ceiling and mouthed Thank you.
It was bad enough having Heero wash his hair. If he had to deal with the humiliation of popping a hard-on while the Wing pilot bathed his body, Duo thought he might have to throw himself out the airlock.
“Grab some dry towels!” he heard Heero call from the hallway.
Duo got out of the shower when he was done gingerly washing himself, scrubbing away all the sweat and blood before he cut the water.
Heero was waiting for him when he got out. If Heero had been embarrassed by their interlude in the shower, there was no sign of it on Heero’s face now. He watched Duo come with a stoic expression.
“Sit down.”
Swallowing, Duo did, facing away from Heero. He closed his eyes as Heero started carefully tamping the excess water out of his hair with the towels, not rubbing his head out of fear of hurting him.
He let out a shaky sigh. “Why are you doing this?” Duo asked, not able to help himself. Because it doesn’t feel real. All this feels like the kind of thing that you think of while you’re dying. Am I still in the prison? Is any of this actually happening?
“You’re injured. You can’t.”
With his eyes closed, Duo heard the hair dryer kick on, and then his head was enveloped in a hot wind, too loud for more words.
After his hair was dry, Duo felt Heero start taking the brush to it, brushing it out as if he had done it a hundred times before. The sensation made Duo’s heart hurt in a way that he couldn’t articulate. Part of him wanted to run from that feeling, to rip away from Heero and lock himself in the bathroom where he was safe, and he pushed it down hard.
“This is impractical,” Heero said, his voice a warm rumble in Duo’s ear.
“Yeah, yeah,” Duo sighed, leaning into the sensation of Heero’s fingers in his hair.
“Why don’t you cut it?”
Like hell.
“Reminds me of someone I cared about.”
Solo…
“Ah,” Heero said. Master of the monosyllable. Duo scowled a little as he felt Heero begin to braid his hair.
“How do you know how to do that?” he asked finally, curious.
“It’s just looping one piece of hair over the other and back again. It’s not a complicated process if you watch.”
If you watch….?
Duo felt hot blood fill his face again, glad he was turned away from Heero so that Heero couldn’t see his expression.
“You watched me braid my hair?”
“…Yes.”
“Why?” Duo asked, flinching at how shocked it came out but not able to help it.
“In case I needed to know,” Heero said, and Duo could read nothing in his voice. Fuck. What the fuck...fuck. Duo’s face was flaming.
“Oh,” he said, shaking in the chair.
Heero finished braiding his hair and Duo stood up, turning to him.
“There. Now get back in bed. But no sleeping. Just rest.” Heero’s face was impossibly blank, but Duo could still see a blush in his cheeks.
Holy shit, Duo thought, practically vibrating out of his body.
“What?” Heero asked, his voice hard. Fuck you’re staring.
“Nothing. Thanks for that,” Duo said, looking away quickly.
“You’re welcome.” Heero moved past Duo in the cabin to the opposite bed, careful not to touch him now, far away even in the close quarters. Withdrawn now. Without another word, the Wing pilot laid down and folded his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as if that was the final word on the matter.
What in the hell just happened to me? Duo thought.
“You going to sleep?” he asked instead, trying to keep his voice casual and failing miserably, at least to his own ear.
“We’re on autopilot until 0600. But no. I’m just going to meditate. I have to make sure you don’t fall asleep.”
Exhausted, Duo couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than fall asleep. Great. I just partnered up with the colony’s hottest Jedi.
A silence fell over the room and Duo relaxed into the surface of the mattress again, closing his eyes.
“Heero?”
“What?”
“Thanks for saving my life.” Duo opened his eyes to look over, to see if Heero would look back at him, but the Wing pilot’s eyes never opened.
It was as if Duo wasn’t even there. Sighing, Duo closed his eyes again.
“You’re welcome.”
Duo smiled, even though it hurt.