One Year, Two Minutes

One Year, Two Minutes



This story has no chapters, but has been divided into three posts due to length.

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When Quatre sat down in his usual place one Friday near the end of the semester, opening his lunch on his knees and leaning against Trowa for warmth in the chilly December air, he noted in a mixture of amusement and pity that his friends had already started the customary Pre-Weekend Harassment Of Heero.

“It doesn’t have to be someone from this school, you know.”

“Though good luck finding another school with this many gay guys.”

“And it doesn’t even have to be someone you really know well, either!”

“Yeah, you should meet more people anyway. Make more friends.”

“And if you don’t like the guy, it’s not like anyone’s forcing you to go out with him again.”

“You know I could find someone for you if you don’t want to bother looking.”

“No, thank you.” Heero would, Quatre knew, eventually drop the ‘thank you.’

Given the clockwork-like prevalence of this conversation — on some Fridays a word-for-word repetition of last week’s — it was a wonder Heero even ate lunch with this group anymore. Force of habit, Quatre thought. Well, and they would probably realize why he was avoiding them and track him down anyway, if he happened to try to find some other, solitary place to enjoy the free period.

“You don’t even have to find someone good-looking! It’ll be dark!”

“Plus it’s a really good movie; I already saw a bootleg before it came out.”

“Yeah, it’ll give you plenty to talk over with someone!”

“Pff, like Heero ever talks things over with anyone.”

“But a movie and dinner aren’t serious enough for you to worry about getting all serious with someone!”

“Yeah, it’s just a casual thing! Come on, man, you’ve gotta come!”

“No,” said Heero.

Quatre hadn’t known Heero well sophomore year — OK, really, Quatre still wouldn’t say that he knew Heero well, but at least these days he referred to him as a friend rather than just a guy he had a few classes with — but it had been obvious even then that Relena was the reason Heero had come out of the closet. Quatre thought Heero would have been perfectly happy to keep the fact that he was gay as quiet as the rest of his personality, despite how friendly the school was toward gay students, if Relena hadn’t been pestering him constantly back then to go out with her.

Of course that hadn’t really stopped; it was just that now she tried to get Heero to join the group dates she was always setting up, whereas before it had pretty clearly been one-on-one time she was soliciting.

“What is your problem?” she was wondering now. “Did you get your heart broken? And you haven’t recovered yet, and you just can’t bear the thought of going out with anyone else, even on a group date with no strings attached just for fun? It is fun, by the way, and you’d really enjoy it.”

Heero looked over at her with an expression that held a trace of ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ but which in general was just his usual nearly emotionless look. “Relena. I’m seventeen.”

“So?”

“So, no, I did not ‘get my heart broken.'”

“You say that like you haven’t had time or something!”

Someone else put in slyly, “I think he’s saving himself for Lady Gaga.”

“What?” Heero demanded in a tone half scornful and half surprised. “For who?”

“More like he’s saving himself for all the more experienced guys he’s expecting to meet at Harvard.”

“I am not going to Harvard.”

Quatre finally decided to step in. Most weeks Heero had to take care of himself, since this happened too frequently for Quatre to be saving his hide every time, but Quatre was feeling generous today. “You know, you guys, it could actually be that he’s telling the truth — that he’s not interested in dating because he’s focusing on his grades and getting into the school he wants.”

They turned on him. “You should talk! You guys hardly ever come out with us either!”

“Yeah, but that’s because we’re…” He threw just the briefest look at Trowa, gave just the tiniest clearing of his throat. “…busy… on weekends.”

Appreciative laughter spread through the group, and Quatre gave Heero a pointed glance to see if he’d gotten the message: that it wasn’t what you said, but how you said it. Trowa and Quatre both usually worked Saturday and Sunday, and did homework the rest of the time; and, though it was true that a weekend rarely passed without their seeing each other at least briefly, it was pure myth that they spent two straight days in bed together or out on exotic dates — myth perpetuated by perfectly true little phrases like ‘we’re busy on weekends’ spoken in the right way and accompanied by the right gesture.

Heero returned the look with a faint, thoughtful scowl. Obviously he wasn’t terribly pleased at how easily Quatre was able to get around the problem he faced on a weekly basis, but at the same time seemed to be struck with an idea; perhaps he really had gotten the message.

“Maybe he’s got performance anxiety.”

“Yeah, he’s afraid he wouldn’t actually be able to ask anyone out, because it would take too many words.”

“You could write ’em a note, Heero… you know, like in middle school?”

Do you want to go out with me this weekend? Check Yes or No.

His brows lowering a trifle, Heero took a deep, quiet breath. “OK, fine, you guys. I’ll tell you the truth.”

Every head turned toward him; everyone went silent.

“I didn’t like to say,” he went on, “because I didn’t want people bugging me about it all the time, but this–” he gestured around– “is worse.”

“What?” Relena was leaning forward eagerly. “What is it? Do you actually secretly have a long-distance boyfriend?”

Heero turned startled eyes in her direction. “How did you know?”

“What?! You really do??” She jumped up. “Oh, my god, Heero, you have to tell us all about him!”

This opinion was immediately ratified by most of the rest of the group; Quatre thought that, Friday tradition notwithstanding, most of them couldn’t actually imagine Heero ever going out with anyone.

“Well,” Heero said slowly, apparently very aware that everyone was suddenly hanging on his every word, “I met him in April… he lives in Gearing…”

And thus began the biggest, most complicated, and by far the coolest and most collected lie Quatre had ever heard Heero Yuy tell.

***

This place was strange.

Oh, the classrooms and hallways and lockers and the way people dressed and the way the teachers treated the students and the schedules and the curriculum were all perfectly normal, as far as Duo could tell, but in what world did everyone you encountered seem to be talking about you behind your back from almost the moment you walked in the door ’til the time you finally managed to locate where you’d left your bike that morning and went home?

Of course it was a little weird — unfortunate, even — for someone to switch schools in the middle of his senior year. Duo would have wondered about anyone in that situation too. Then, his circumstances were pretty interesting… but how many people here could possibly know anything of them yet? Yeah, there were plenty of reasons for most of the school to be whispering about him, but this was just too early. It had started halfway through his second class, for god’s sake! What was going on here?

Applying himself devotedly, on his second day, to picking up what he could of the whispers, he thought he caught an unfamiliar name mentioned in conjunction with his own (to the confirmation that they really were talking about him): Heero Yuy. What he couldn’t figure out was who this Heero Yuy was, what he had to do with Duo, and why this talk had all started up so soon. Presumably the guy had answers, but Duo hadn’t yet been able to determine where and when he might be able to find him, and hadn’t felt like asking directly.

Sometime somebody would have to say something straight out. High-schoolers could keep up gossip in a vacuum far longer than any other group, but eventually they needed concrete to build on. And when someone finally approached him, whatever they had to say would surely tell him what he needed to know.

But it didn’t. Some clues, perhaps, were conveyed by the breathless demand, “So is he a good kisser?” but no real answers. “Nobody here,” the unfamiliar girl in the hall went on, “has been able to find out!”

Duo could have demanded information at this point, but his smartass instinct took over and what he ended up saying was, “Wouldn’t you like to know!” At which point the girl ran off giggling.

So obviously he was supposed to have kissed this Heero Yuy. Being a perverse individual, Duo was unsurprised that his first thought upon learning this was to wonder whether or not Heero Yuy was a good kisser. But his second instinct was annoyance at still being almost entirely in the dark, and after that came even greater curiosity than before.

His third day at his new school (Friday, since the semester had kicked off on a Wednesday) was as provoking as the previous two had been, and the fact that the widespread interest in him and his doings and his apparent connection with the oddly-named stranger didn’t seem to have died down at all was really making him quite wild to find out what the hell was going on. With continued perverseness, however, he was even less interested in asking anyone outright unless that person was Heero Yuy himself. Where to find Heero Yuy was the problem, since it was a big school, and asking someone where to find him would be tantamount to asking everyone why they thought he’d kissed the guy. He would snap eventually, though.

Actually it turned out he didn’t have to.

His new trigonometry class didn’t seem to be quite as far along as they’d been in the old one, so paying strict attention wasn’t yet a matter of great importance. It would be nice to have some homework that was just review, too, for a little while: grab a bit of a break while he got used to everything else here. Things like being endlessly talked about, and Heero Yuy, and all that.

He didn’t realize just how badly his attention had waned until class took him by surprise by ending. Suddenly everyone else was standing and walking out when he hadn’t even started packing. Hastily he shoved loose papers into his notebook and closed the latter, which action knocked his pen to the floor. When he returned from bending to retrieve the dropped article, a new and unfamiliar object lay on top of his things.

Immediately recognizing, from much experience, a private note, Duo looked hastily to see not what it said but, rather, who had left it. And though the guy was moving quickly, rejoining the other students leaving the classroom, Duo could tell he was the one, and got a fairly good look at him before he disappeared.

He’d actually noticed this person earlier — though he hadn’t paid him any particular attention — because of the weird hair. At first glance it looked like a deliberately emo style, but the lack of an outfit or makeup in that vein seemed to contradict such an assessment — which actually made the long hair over the face even weirder. Not that Duo saw a great deal of the face; the guy didn’t turn even slightly back in this direction to see if he’d found the note, and soon was out of sight.

With rising excitement, Duo reached for the folded paper. Was it possible that not-quite-emo guy had been the mysterious Heero Yuy himself, and here was an explanation of all the strange goings-on? This hope was dashed, however, even as a new one arose, when Duo finally opened the note.

It read, Heero Yuy’s locker is B-213, if you’re looking for him.

***

Without having to take in anything more than what the corner of his eye could show him, Heero knew exactly who it was that had appeared so abruptly next to him at his locker. He hadn’t caught sight of the guy prior to this, but knew very well what he looked like, and that he must have good reason to seek Heero out before too long. As a matter of fact, Heero really should have sought him out sometime earlier than Friday afternoon, but hadn’t really had his thoughts in order yet. Well, time to face the music.

The first he’d heard of it had been in his third class on Wednesday. Sylvia, who had been present that unfortunate lunchtime back before break when Heero had made up all that nonsense, sat behind him, and, coming in late, had barely had time to hiss at him before the teacher called them all to order, “Heero, why didn’t you tell us your boyfriend was transferring here?! He’s in my history class, and it surprised the hell out of me!”

There had been no time for Heero to express his shock or issue a denial at this point, as class was beginning. Since the teacher had only a fairly brief greeting for them, however, before getting them started on an assignment she’d written on the board, there was leisure for quiet conversation after not too long.

“Heero has a boyfriend?” was how it started. Heero didn’t know the name of the girl that sat behind Sylvia, but he could tell just from the skeptical tone of these murmured words that she, like the rest of the school, had a hard time accepting the idea.

“Yeah, he’s totally hot.” He could hear Sylvia shifting in her chair to deliver this reply to her rear, but he himself kept absolutely still; if the teacher was going to throw a dry erase marker at anyone for gossiping instead of completing their assignment, it wasn’t going to be at him.

“You saw him?” the whispered conversation went on. “What’s he like?”

“Totally hot; I just said!”

“Yeah, but what does he actually look like? Maybe I’ve seen him in the halls!”

Sylvia poked Heero in the back of the head, which was very annoying. “He looks just like Heero described him.”

Sincerely doubting that, Heero flipped through his notebook, seeking out the page on which he’d written in neat bulleted lines, just in case he ever needed to continue the deception, the points he’d made about his utterly fictional long-distance boyfriend back in December. As they continued talking behind him, he stared down at the improbable list.

“He’s got the longest hair in the world. He’s got it braided today; you can’t miss him.”

Subtly, Heero put a tiny checkmark next to Good-looking, and another beside Hair down to his thighs.

“And he doesn’t exactly have what I’d call purple eyes… they’re blue, but it’s a sort of purpley-blue that I bet you’d definitely call purple if you were going out with him and wanted to make him sound all exotic.”

The other girl giggled madly, and Heero, somewhat reluctantly, checked off Purple eyes.

“He said he just moved from Gearing when he turned eighteen; I bet he came just to be with Heero.”

Sadly, Heero checked off Lives in Gearing while simultaneously trying to shut his ears to the “Aaww!” of the other girl before Sylvia added the final point:

“I think he said he did, like, three different sports at his old school; too bad it’s too late for him to really do anything here.”

Athletic went the way of the rest of the list as the other girl mused, “Well, he could still go for–”

“Ladies, I somehow get the impression you’re not discussing the assignment back there.”

Heero was grateful for the teacher’s intervention, but had a hard time turning his own concentration toward searching for similes and metaphors in the short story they were currently studying. It was obvious that the damage had been done: if Sylvia had jumped to the conclusion that this handsome, purple-eyed, long-haired athlete from Gearing was Heero’s fictitious boyfriend, even if she hadn’t spread the news to everyone she knew, others might well have made the same connection. How on Earth had someone matching all of those improbable criteria shown up here so soon after Heero had invented them? And what was Heero going to do about it?

This question had occupied him throughout the last three days, and he’d never arrived at a satisfactory answer. It would be, he’d thought, good manners to give the newcomer a heads-up… well, it was probably too late for that, but at least an explanation of the weird treatment he was undoubtedly already receiving would be appropriate. But Heero had procrastinated because it seemed so odd a thing to have to confess and he’d never decided how to word what needed to be said. And meanwhile the gossip had only heightened, and the comments people threw him in passing become more and more embarrassing; god only knew how the stranger was taking it.

And now here was this same Duo Maxwell, having very understandably tracked Heero down, standing casually next to him at his locker, giving him an appraising look and exuding an air of curiosity and expectation with maybe just a touch of righteous indignation thrown in.

“You know,” he said at last, “I’ve had a lot of really weird experiences in the past… but having a boyfriend I’ve never met is a new one.”

Heavily, Heero shut his locker and turned toward him. “I can explain.”

“Good! ‘Cause I’m really curious.”

Heero looked around at their fellows, many of whom were surreptitiously watching them. “Not in here, though.”

“That’s fine,” said Duo affably. “I’ve gotta get my bike anyway, from the entrance that I thiiiiink is this way…” He pointed, though he looked a little lost.

Both in agreement and to confirm Duo’s guess as to which direction the bike racks were, Heero nodded. When he turned away and started walking, Duo hopped after and fell into step beside him.

As they moved through the halls, Duo’s glances in Heero’s direction seemed to indicate that he was about to start asking questions, despite Heero’s not yet having allowed the time and place to be right. Heero braced himself. Those selfsame glances, however, seemed to have informed Duo that Heero still wasn’t ready; instead of what Heero had expected, what came out of Duo’s mouth when it opened was, “So, ‘Heero Yuy’ — that’s, what, uh, Martian?”

“Japanese,” Heero informed him, grateful to have this to talk about and a few more minutes to try to come up with a way to explain things that wouldn’t make him sound like a total idiot.

“Oh, cool. Do you speak Japanese?”

“Yes.”

“Awesome! Say something for me! In Japanese, I mean.”

Heero sighed faintly, and wondered, in Japanese, why people always made that request.

Duo was grinning appreciatively. “That’s awesome,” he reiterated. “I’ve seen some of those Japanese cartoons, but they’ve always got the voices all redone in English. Oh, bikes! You found them!” He gave a gesture of mock admiration and gratitude to Heero for the feat of having led them out the correct door to locate the bike racks, and moved to unlock a fairly new-looking grey one from the midst of the line.

Standing back and watching, Heero tried, almost frantically now, to get his thoughts in order. It didn’t help that this Duo Maxwell fellow was… well, ‘totally hot’ on Sylvia’s part had been an understatement. And supposedly he was an athlete too? If Heero had been looking for a boyfriend, this guy would have been way out of his league.

Bicycle extracted, Duo rejoined Heero, cheerfully wheeling the vehicle alongside. “OK, where should we go?”

Heero pointed. “I live that direction; I usually walk home.”

“Oh! Well, I live that way too! Lucky coincidence.” In a slightly louder tone he announced, “Means I can walk you home, boyfriend.”

Somebody nearby giggled. Heero didn’t look around to see who it was or put his burning face on further display.

A brief discussion of relative locations as they left school property revealed that Duo lived a couple of miles past Heero’s neighborhood, which was itself a mile and a half from the school. No wonder he would be biking there and back rather than walking. More of a wonder was that the place was an apartment belonging to Duo and a roommate, that Duo had moved to town without parents or anything. But before Heero could question him on the interesting circumstance, Duo glanced around to verify that none of their schoolmates were nearby and then said, “So what’s the deal? With you and me, I mean. Why does everyone think we’re dating when I haven’t even ever seen you before today?”

Heero never had thought of a good way to put this, so there was nothing for it but just to confess. “It’s because I made you up last December.”

Duo started theatrically. “Are you telling me that I’m a figment of your imagination? And that all my memories of my life never actually happened? And that if something happens to you, I’ll totally cease to exist???”

Unable to remain unamused by this, Heero nevertheless explained seriously. “What I mean is, I made up a fake boyfriend to get some friends to leave me alone about finding a real one, and what I described turned out to match you perfectly.”

“Really?” Duo looked a little skeptical. “Because, not to sound conceited or anything, I’m pretty unique.”

“I know. I don’t know how it happened. I chose the most improbable things I could think of off the top of my head — the long hair, the purple eyes… I was trying to describe someone who didn’t exist anywhere in the world.”

“Huh. Weird.”

“So you showed up and of course everyone–”

“Thinks I’m your boyfriend, yeah. My eyes are blue, though.”

“It’s kindof a purpley blue,” said Heero helplessly.

“So why’d you invent me? Your friends wanted you to find a boyfriend?”

“It’s more like they’re always bugging me to find a date and go out with the group on weekends… but I’m not interested in dating right now. I don’t know how anyone can be, with the amount of homework we get.”

Duo chuckled. “OK, I get it. So you invented a fake boyfriend. Lemme guess — I was from out of town and you only saw me on weekends or something, so it was a perfect excuse not to go out with your friends.”

“You…” That pronoun was a little awkward, actually, in this context. “‘He‘ was from Gearing.”

“Oh, wow. It just keeps getting weirder.”

“Well, we do sometimes get people transferring in from Gearing — and Steppe and Coachroad — because of the whole gay thing… That part wasn’t as weird as the rest of it.”

“Yeah, how’d you manage to get my hair and everything?”

“I have no idea.” Heero shook his head, more helplessly than ever. “And I would never have said all of that,” he added in sincere apology, “if I’d known someone would show up who matched it all so well. I didn’t mean to make everyone think you were my boyfriend, I promise.”

“Not everyone thinks that, though… The guy who told me where your locker was couldn’t have thought we were dating, or else why would he have thought I… didn’t know where your locker was?”

“What guy?”

“Some guy with weird hair.” Duo dug through one of his pants pockets with his free hand, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “He handed me this in trig.”

Heero opened the note; half a glance was all it took to solve the mystery. “This is Quatre’s handwriting,” he said dismissively. “The guy you saw was probably Trowa, his boyfriend, running errands for him as usual. Quatre is a sort of… social guru. He knows who everyone’s dating, and everyone’s schedule, and a lot more about the entire school than he should. Of course he knows you aren’t actually my boyfriend.”

After a long, pensive silence, Duo said slowly, “Well… I don’t see why I can’t be.”

Heero found himself blushing hot all of a sudden. “What?” He barely got the word out coherently in his surprise and embarrassment.

“Not for real,” Duo assured him hastily, undoubtedly marking Heero’s flustered reaction. “But if everyone already thinks we’re together, why not let them keep thinking that? Then your friends wouldn’t keep bugging you to find a date, you wouldn’t have to admit you made the whole thing up, and you could get on with your life in peace.”

“That… that sounds like a perfect setup.” Having regained his composure, at least outwardly, Heero was able to speak in a fairly businesslike tone. “But… not to sound ungrateful or anything… why?”

Duo shrugged. “We’re already going the same direction to get home… I’m going to be working most days, and if you’re going to be doing homework, why not let people think we’re spending all our time together after school?”

“And…” It was a fantastic-sounding plan, but there was a side to it that Duo hadn’t touched on. “And at school?”

“Well, you seem like a decent guy, and I never mind having new friends to hang out with.” Duo grinned. “But even if we don’t hang out all that much at school, it won’t look weird if it still looks like we’re going home together every day, right? And if it turns out we really can’t stand each other at all, we can claim we broke up and just end the whole thing.”

So overwhelmed was Heero by the abruptness of this unbelievably fortuitous idea and the apparent quickness of Duo’s resolve, he couldn’t for a moment say anything. Finally, though, he managed, “But why would you do this? It’s… it seems really nice of you… and you just met me…”

Again Duo shrugged. “Why not? I’m going to be busy too; it’ll be nice if people aren’t bugging me about dating either.”

“But what if you want to go out with someone?”

“Why should I? Truth is, I got a lot going on: I’ve already got hours of homework after only three days, and I have a full-time job.” He gave a nod of satisfaction so brisk it made his braid bounce. “No, I think this will work out really well. I mean,” he added with a sidelong glance at Heero, “if you want to. Don’t let me push you into it if you’d rather just–”

“No, no!” Heero broke in hastily. “You’re right; it seems perfect. I just…” He scratched his head a little nervously. “Just can’t believe my luck.”

“It does all seem kindof astrology or whatever, doesn’t it?” In a deep, portentous voice Duo announced, “The stars aligned that day to throw together two strangers on the path of destiny.” Then his demeanor changed entirely as he asked casually, “What’s your sign?”

“Uh…” Thrown off-balance by Duo’s sudden alteration of tone, Heero struggled to remember. “Pisces, I think?”

“Hmm. No good for a Saggitarius like me. Good thing we won’t really be dating.”

Heero supposed that was as valid a reason as any to be glad they wouldn’t really be dating. “So you’re interested in astrology?” he asked cautiously.

“Sortof. It’s fun to follow. I like reading horoscopes and seeing how stupidly general they are. Like every single one of them could probably apply to anyone, no matter when you were born. The one I just read for myself the other day — no, actually, it wasn’t for myself, sorry; it was for Cancer — it was talking about relationships, and……”

The next mile, spent discussing astrology and Duo’s semi-satirical interest in it, was enough to convince Heero that some stars must indeed have aligned in order to bring them to this pass: his new fake boyfriend, with whom he would, presumably, be spending at least some time on a regular basis for a while, wasn’t just quickly decisive and unexpectedly understanding and helpful; he was also very entertaining. Heero was enjoying the conversation so much that he found himself a little reluctant to stop at the corner where he needed to break away from Duo’s homeward path.

“I have to go this way,” he said, pointing.

“Oh.” Duo looked in that direction, then on down the street where he needed to go. “Hey, I don’t have to work today, and I’m just going to go home and do homework… do you want to actually hang out? Might as well do homework together as separately, right?”

Marveling at the ease with which Duo suggested so friendly an activity to someone he’d just met, but seeing nothing wrong with the idea, Heero said, “Yeah, why don’t you come to my house?” He added somewhat warningly, “If you’re serious about doing homework. Because I have a lot of it.”

“Now, what would make you think I’m ever not totally serious about anything?” Duo demanded in the most innocent of tones as he followed Heero around the corner.

***

Duo had rather hoped to coincide with Heero on the way to school on Monday, but thought the difference in timing between a walker and a cyclist was a decent enough explanation for why he didn’t. Although he’d never hated school the way some people did, it wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime either — but today he was actually quite interested in being there. Having a secret was always fun, as was putting on a show for people; and becoming better acquainted with the quiet, intelligent Heero had its attractions as well.

Besides, this time when someone Duo didn’t know came up to him in the hall and asked what struck him as an extremely rude personal question having to do with the accuracy of the portrayal of Japanese men’s anatomy in anime porn — an inquiry whose significance would have gone completely over his head just a few days before — he was able to reply immediately and cheerfully that he would be quite willing to dole out punches to the face of anyone else that was curious.

The weather was cold, but evidently Heero’s group of friends wasn’t going to let a little thing like January deter them from eating in their customary outside spot. Anything to maintain their territory and avoid freshmen, Duo supposed. And the central courtyard was pretty nice, if a bit of a walk from the cafeteria if you happened to be buying school lunches (which, Duo had determined after some calculations, were cheaper in the long run than trying to figure out something else every single day). So the only problem left was coming up with an explanation for why he hadn’t eaten lunch with Heero last week, why he was eating with him today, and why he might not be again in the future.

Interestingly, Heero was more taciturn with his friends than he had been with a complete stranger on Friday, and evidently they’d been unable to get a thing out of him last week regarding his newly-arrived boyfriend. Since Heero had mentioned in some embarrassment that he’d put off seeking Duo out because he hadn’t been sure what to say to him, it shouldn’t be too great a surprise that he hadn’t discussed the matter with anyone else either. But it also meant that his lunch crowd was even more curious than they might otherwise have been because of the perceived secrecy.

They mobbed Duo the moment he appeared, a little later than most of them due to the aforementioned walk from the cafeteria and a disorientation about the layout of the school that he hadn’t yet quite overcome. Space was made beside where Heero sat unobtrusively in a corner so Duo could squeeze in next to him — right next to him, which was a pleasant warmth in the cold outside air, but Duo couldn’t help wondering how Heero felt about it.

The reason he gave, in response to the immediate questions about why he’d been neglecting his boyfriend, was that he’d been checking out lunch venues throughout the school — which he in fact had. His response to the information that Heero had been unhappy here without him was a serious inquiry of Heero whether or not this was true, to which Heero replied with a slight quirk of a corner of his lips that he’d been fine. His astonishing answer to the demand that he eat lunch here with Heero and the rest of them from now on was something silly to the effect of his being an itinerant at heart and unable to stay in one place long or consistently.

Then, in order to cover up the whispering that started as they all tried to wrap their brains around this and began to speculate what it would probably mean for his relationship with Heero, Duo asked to be introduced to everyone. When it became obvious that Heero wasn’t about to take this task upon himself, it was performed instead by a girl named Relena. Duo was interested to note both the all-knowing Quatre and lackey Trowa among the group, and also that Heero didn’t actually seem terribly friendly with most of these friends of his. It made Duo wonder how it was that he’d come to eat lunch with them every day at all.

Once Relena was finished rattling off names (and accompanying facts that were probably designed for further identification but that meant nothing to Duo), she settled down against one of the large concrete squares stationed throughout the courtyard. These had undoubtedly been intended by their builders as benches, but the one in this corner was used by this group as a shelf and a seat-back; Relena’s current position in relation to it put her near and directly facing Duo in what almost resembled the attitude of an interrogator across a table from an unwilling informant.

“Now,” she said in a complacently authoritative tone, “you have to tell us everything: how you guys met, what it’s been like being long-distance, what made you decide to move up here — everything!”

Duo had actually given a fair amount of thought to this during the long hours he’d worked over the weekend, and entertained himself making things up; though he hadn’t consulted Heero yet about the stories he’d concocted, he deemed it unlikely that Heero had fabricated anything too terribly complicated on his own that would contradict what Duo had to say. However, though Heero might not object, within the context of the scam, to Duo waxing eloquent on their supposed relationship, he might mind for other reasons. The briefest glance in Heero’s direction showed him already blushing faintly just at hearing the questions asked; the answers, fictitious or otherwise, couldn’t improve his condition.

“You know,” Duo said instead, with a grin, “I’d rather not take all the mystery out of that story by telling it all at once; it’ll be so much better if I just give you little hints over time. So for now, how about I tell you all about the fabulous Duo Maxwell instead?”

Relena’s expression of slight discontent was the first hint Duo had that she was perhaps less interested in him personally than as he related to Heero. But all she said was, “OK, fine.”

So he spent a happy lunch hour complaining about how his foster parents hadn’t really wanted a son, but, rather, a minion they could shape and control; how they’d pressured him for as long as he could remember to prepare himself for a military career, and how he’d never been interested; how he’d put up with their demands and insistence for a few years and then rebelled, and how tense things had been thereafter; about the nuclear-level explosion he’d occasioned by announcing that he was bisexual; and, finally, about his lengthy and careful preparations, during the year he would turn eighteen, to get himself out the moment that happy event took place. That had been last December, and as soon as school had halted for the winter break he’d moved away from Gearing.

“I came here — I mean here specifically — because of Heero, obviously,” he concluded, joggling his ‘boyfriend’ slightly with his elbow. “But also because I knew this school was all famous for being so gay-friendly. I read that one article in that magazine–”

“You and everyone else in the world,” someone put in laughingly.

Duo grinned. “Yeah, the one where they said this was probably the only school in the country where you could get beaten up for being a homophobe — and I was like, ‘I am so there.’ I figured even transferring schools in the middle of my senior year would be worth it to come here for a while.”

“And he didn’t tell me any of this,” Heero put in unexpectedly. It was the first time he’d spoken in quite a while.

“What do you mean?” Relena sounded incredulously amused. “He didn’t tell you he was moving here?”

Heero shook his head.

Taking the cue, Duo grinned broadly and expanded on the subject. “It was pretty much the best surprise ever, if I do say so myself. Whenever I was complaining before about how much I hated living at home, Heero would remind me that high school was almost over, if I could just hold on a little longer…” This fictitious advice seemed consistent with what Duo had observed of Heero so far. “He had no idea I was already planning on getting out before high school was over!”

“So you just showed up here with, what, a truck full of stuff or something…” Incredulity now tinged with delight, Relena turned to Heero. “And that was the first you knew he was coming here?”

“Something like that,” Heero mumbled. He looked embarrassed, maybe because he was so bald-facedly lying, but Duo thought this had been a good move on Heero’s part: it would at least partially explain why he’d been in a weird mood last week — anyone might be a little stunned if his long-distance boyfriend suddenly joined him in his hometown without warning.

“So if you and Heero met and started going out last April…” This was the very innocent- and harmless-looking little blonde Quatre, and he had Duo’s immediate attention. “And you were getting ready to get away from your parents all of last year… that means you already knew you’d be moving and changing schools before you even met him. Did you have this school in mind then?”

Duo wondered where Quatre, who knew the truth, was going with this question. Maybe he was just trying to guide the topic back to something that would embarrass Heero less. Perfectly happy to accept the subject shift in that or any case, Duo nodded. “Yeah, ever since I read that article…”

“So you were already interested in this school,” Quatre mused, “and then you met Heero.” His pointed yet half-veiled gaze indicated his awareness that, with the way he’d worded it, this was totally accurate. “It’s kinda like destiny or something.”

Duo remembered his own comment last Friday about stars aligning, heard the giggles and charmed noises of some of the girls in the group, and grinned as he leaned over the very small distance it took him to rub his shoulder against Heero’s. He still wasn’t sure what Quatre meant by that line of inquiry, and didn’t know that it was likely to embarrass Heero any less, but he didn’t hesitate to agree, at least verbally.

It turned out he needn’t have worried so much about Heero’s level of embarrassment. On their way home that afternoon, almost immediately they were down the street away from the school and the ears of fellow students, Heero brought it up.

“I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t happy not to have to get into relationship talk over lunch,” he said, “but I’m not fragile. You’re obviously a better actor than me, so you’re welcome to choose what we talk about to everyone, and I’ll just try to keep up.”

“Well, I thought you did fine,” Duo assured him. “That idea that I supposedly didn’t tell you I was moving out here was pretty funny, and I thought you pulled it off perfectly.”

“Thank you.” Heero smiled slightly; it was the first time Duo had seen him do it, and it was remarkable what a striking, attractive change the expression made to his face. “This is…” The smile turned into a bit of a grimace as he admitted the unpalatable fact. “Well, I didn’t think I was going to like this, but actually it’s been kinda nice so far.”

Duo wondered whether this unobtrusive person had ever received so much positive attention at school before. “Even if some of it was embarrassing?”

“I said I’m not fragile,” said Heero, now somewhat irritably. “Just because I get a little embarrassed about something doesn’t mean anything changes.”

Now Duo had to wonder whether anyone around here took Heero at all seriously in a social sense. He was an exceptionally good student — Duo knew that quite well even after such a short time — and there was a general tendency among people their age to equate that with a lack of social skills. Maybe that was at least part of the reason everyone had been so interested to discover Heero ‘had a boyfriend.’

Anyway, Duo didn’t feel like trying to analyze Heero’s place in the high school strata right now. “We’re only a day in,” he said instead with a grin that was both cheerful and warning. “It could get better or worse from here.”

“And if it’s worse,” Heero said calmly, “we can always ‘break up.'”

It wasn’t real; since they weren’t actually dating, they couldn’t actually break up. But Duo couldn’t help considering this — particularly Heero’s self-reassuringly cool manner of delivery — rather cold. No wonder, again, everyone had so marveled at the idea of Heero with a boyfriend!

After this, however, they moved on to Heero’s favorite topic (homework), with the occasional mention thrown in of Duo’s job at a restaurant not far from his apartment, and Duo pretty much forgot he’d ever felt put off.

***

“So it ended up 37-20, and they’re obviously in. With Manning in there, they’re practically unstoppable. That guy can find a receiver every single time, no matter what kind of heat’s on him; it’s fucking amazing. There’s no way in hell San Francisco can… god, are you even listening?”

“Yes,” Sylvia replied abstractedly, “and I totally agree.”

“Then what did I just say?”

“That you’ve got a crush on Eli Manning,” she replied promptly, finally turning her eyes back toward him.

“Not funny,” Alex growled. “That’s what’s wrong with this fucking school… everyone assumes everyone’s fucking gay.”

“I was totally joking,” she assured him. “But you have been talking about football a lot.”

“Well, what would you rather talk about?” he demanded in that exasperated ‘Oh, my god, why can’t girls ever make sense?’ tone guys sometimes used, glancing around to see what kept grabbing her attention past his left shoulder. Evidently he couldn’t tell what she was looking at, for he turned back to her with no enlightenment on his face.

“Look again,” she commanded, grinning. “Aren’t they totally cute?”

His expression darkened. “I’m not looking again if it’s just to see something ‘cute.'” Then, briefly, a flicker of puzzlement crossed his face and, contrary to his words, he did look again. “Oh, god,” he said as he slowly turned back. “You’re talking about that new guy Duo and that nerd guy, aren’t you? Please, Sylvia, please tell me Duo’s not gay.”

“He’s not gay,” she said immediately.

Alex breathed a huge, exaggerated sigh of relief. “Good, because he’s in my P.E. class, and if I thought–”

“He’s bi,” Sylvia broke in.

“So he is gay! Goddammit, he’s probably been staring at my ass in the locker room ever since he got here!”

Sylvia tried not to laugh. Alex actually seemed angry, but she couldn’t feel sorry for him. “I totally wouldn’t blame him if he did,” she said. “And why would he anyway? He’s together with Heero.”

Alex appeared somewhat consoled by her flirtatious remark, and also curious in spite of a very strong inclination not to be. “Is he? I heard he played soccer at his old school… and Heero’s in, like, five different Honor Societies… why would they–”

“Duo’s totally got a 3.8,” Sylva said, proud of her inside knowledge. “Or at least that’s what he had at his old school; I don’t know about here. I think Heero’s got, like, a 4.7 or something, but anyway they’re both really good students. Probably,” she added in satisfaction, “because they spend, like, every day after school at Heero’s house doing homework.”

“You sure that’s what they’re doing?” Alex asked darkly.

“No,” she tittered. “But they won’t come out with us on Fridays, and they always go home together. Duo doesn’t always eat lunch with us, because I guess he’s already got a lot of friends all over the school, even though it’s been, what, like, three weeks? And I think Heero misses him at lunch, but with Heero you can never tell.” She laughed again. “Anyway, they always go home together.”

“Why are you so interested in this?” Alex’s tone was suspicious as he closed his locker, gave the couple they were discussing one last, somewhat venomous look, and turned away to walk down the hall.

Following him, Sylvia answered cheerfully. “Because I’ve been eating lunch with Heero practically every day for two years now, and we’ve never seen him go out with anyone, and we always thought it would be cool if he did, and now he finally is!”

“I can’t believe that Duo guy’s gay.” This was more in muttered apostrophe than as any sort of reply to Sylvia.

“He’s bi,” she corrected.

“Oh, come on, like any girl would go out with a guy who’d been with another guy,” he said harshly.

I would!”

“God, would you? Have you? Seriously, if you say yes, you are not getting a ride home.”

That, Sylvia thought, was a terribly rude comment, but she had to admit that she never had gone out with a bisexual guy… and she didn’t want to jeopardize her chances of a date with Alex on Friday by calling him on his homophobia. She did, however, as a sort of passive rebellion, keep talking about Heero, and how pleased she was to see him with the very likeable Duo, all the way out to the student parking lot and half the way home.

***

The previous three Januaries had been the heaviest homework months of the school year, as if the teachers were trying to make up for the long winter break and get the new calendar year started off right, and this January had sustained that trend admirably.

“And you know how many pages he wants?” Duo was complaining as they made their usual way out one day near the end of the month. “Freaking ten! That’s practically a book! And he was very specific about margin widths and font sizes, too, so we can’t cheat.”

“Triple-space it,” Heero suggested.

Duo stared at him as if he’d never seen him before. “You’re a genius!”

Heero, who didn’t stoop to such tactics himself but somehow knew them all, and who moreover had written two seven-page essays this month and was inclined to feel sorry for his companion, gave a sympathetic look.

“But, seriously, I’ll still end up having to write eight or nine pages,” Duo groaned. “Who does that?”

“Have you chosen a topic?”

“I was thinking the Civil War.”

Heero laughed. “You can’t just do ‘the Civil War.’ That’s way too general.”

“Way too General Lee?”

Heero rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’ll figure something out. Stupid research paper.”

“Just wait ’til college. We’ll be writing twenty-page research papers, and we won’t have nearly as long to finish them.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. How’s it going with Stage, by the way?”

Willum Stage University, located in a town called Placette only a couple of hours’ drive from here, was the school Heero had in mind, and he’d just finished the application process earlier this week. For this he was duly congratulated, after which they fell silent for a block or so — one of them, presumably, still mulling over the paper that had been assigned in his history class today. But it was just occurring to Heero to wonder something about Duo.

Finally he asked. “Where do you want to go to college? I’ve never heard you mention.”

Duo pushed out his lips in a silly, almost pouty way and looked sidelong at Heero. “Iiiii don’t know if I do want to go to college,” he said a little reluctantly.

Surprised, Heero said, “Really? You’re a good student; I thought…”

“Yeah, that’s how everyone reacts,” Duo mumbled, “which is why I don’t talk about it much.”

“Everyone does tend to assume we’ll all be doing the same things once we’re done with school,” said Heero carefully, “but… some people work for a while first… some people travel… I guess some people don’t go to college at all…”

Duo made a weary, protesting noise. “You make it sound like it’s a really weird concept.”

“College has been my goal for as long as I can remember,” Heero admitted apologetically. “What do you have in mind instead?”

“I kinda want to be a chef.” Duo apparently didn’t have a great deal of hope that this would be in any way acceptable; his parents probably had something to do with that.

It sounded fine to Heero; he didn’t even have to give it much thought. “So, a culinary school, then?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Evidently heartened by the lack of immediate condemnation from Heero, Duo went on more enthusiastically. “What I think would be really cool is to have a combination restaurant and car repair shop so people could drop off their cars for whatever and then come inside and eat! Except I don’t actually want to run the place, I just want to do the cooking. I might take a few business classes just so I’ll have some idea what’s going on, but mostly my plan is to do some other cooking jobs so I can get really good at that and save up enough money to find a partner who can handle the business end of things while I make all the awesome food. And of course we’ll need a really good mechanic who…” He paused. “I lost you at ‘combination restaurant and car repair,’ didn’t I?”

Trying very hard to stifle his laughter and speak seriously, Heero said, “No, no, I think it’s a great idea.” In truth he considered it a remarkably childlike idea: something not necessarily impractical or inappropriate, but that few adults would come up with. Obviously one of those few was Duo, whom Heero couldn’t help considering, in light of this, rather adorable. Forcing calm upon himself he reiterated, “Really. Not a bad idea at all.”

Across the bike that separated them, Duo peered suspiciously at Heero. “You mean it?”

Solemnly Heero nodded.

Breaking into a brilliant grin, Duo exulted, “Hah! You’re the best ‘boyfriend’ ever!”

With a slight blush Heero said, “Who you should really talk to is my mom. She sometimes does catering. Just for small events, because it’s just her and a friend doing the cooking, but she still knows some things about the business…”

“Oh! That explains why she always has the Best Snacks Evar for us whenever I’m at your house doing homework! I meant to get the recipe for those little potato skin things, but I forgot. How come you didn’t tell me she did catering??”

“I didn’t realize you were interested.”

Duo frowned. “It’s probably not good that we ‘boyfriends’ don’t know all this stuff about each other. I mean, what if someone asked? Anyway, it’s definitely not good that we real, actual friends don’t know.”

Unexpectedly pleased at having Duo refer to him as a real, actual friend, Heero suggested, “We should have a question and answer session.”

“Yes! Yes, we should! OK, let me think of questions.”

This activity occupied them the rest of the way to Heero’s house. There, because Duo wanted to harass Heero’s mother and Heero wanted to do his homework, they agreed that the best way to go about this was for each of them to write down a list of questions, which they would then exchange and answer in between their other tasks as they had time and inclination.

Between the culinary discussion in which Mrs. Yuy was happy to indulge Duo for quite some time and the homework that Duo, who wasn’t nearly as irresponsible as he sometimes acted, started in on afterward, it wasn’t until nearly two hours later that they gave each other their questions. And then, not for the first time that day, Heero had to try to stifle his laughter.

1. What’s your favorite kind of ice cream?

2. What was one thing you used to want to be when you grew up that totally changed?

3. If you could take the characters from any movie and put them into a new movie about a DANCE COMPETITION, which movie and characters would you choose and why?

4. If you could have any animal in the world for a pet (and it would be friendly to you no matter what it was), what would you choose?

5. Do you have any awesome tattoos, and how do you feel about tattoos?

These weren’t really the sort of questions Heero had had in mind, and totally dissimilar to his list, which was about things like politics and important formative experiences… but honestly he was rather looking forward to answering them. Not only that, but it struck him after a few moments of thought that Duo actually had the right idea: Heero had conveyed plenty about his plans for the future and other such serious topics; it was the extracurricular aspects of his personality Duo would know least about at this point — and vice versa for Heero about Duo.

So, setting aside for the moment the book he was reading for English and the notes he was taking thereon, he centered Duo’s sheet of questions in front of him and set down his pencil without looking in order to choose one at random. Upon rereading it, he decided he would need more space than what Duo had allowed him, and extracted a fresh sheet of paper.

Am I limited to animals? he began writing. Because if it will be friendly to me no matter what it is, a banyan tree……


Eloquent



I would get naked for Heero Yuy anytime, anywhere, no matter what was going on. Back alley? Sure. Open street? Why not? Fire fight? Bring it on. Space battle? Well, you get the picture.

OK, I may be exaggerating just a little. I might have to give him an I.O.U. if I was on a mission at the time. But you’d better believe that when he comes in, dirty, ragged, sweaty, tired, to the motel room we just happen to be sharing (absolute coincidence, I swear) and gives me that look, I’m not about to hold back.

Just because I’ve finally managed to get him to open up to me in certain ways doesn’t mean I can usually get him to talk about whatever this is that we’ve got going here, and it’s a little frustrating not knowing whether or not there’s actually an us in this situation because he always avoids the subject. He’s very good at avoiding subjects. But then sometimes he gives me that look, and there’s no need for words.

I hustle him out of his clothes and equipment and into the shower, mostly just because I don’t know what he’s been crawling through, but I can’t even wait for him to half get started cleaning up before I join him. It’s probably a good idea anyway; the hot water available in this place is limited, so it’s better for us both to get clean at the same time before it runs out. Not that I’ve really got anything ‘clean’ in mind at this point. This braid can last without attention for another couple of days.

Despite the fact that he gave me that look, really the only way I can tell he doesn’t mind what I’m doing is the lack of any actual objection. If he didn’t want me putting my hands all over him, if he didn’t want me pushing him up against the plasticky shower wall and sucking on his neck, if he didn’t want my fingers wandering quite so far down his body, he’d tell me, undoubtedly by means of a bullet or two.

I haven’t been able to decide whether I like it better when he tops or when I do. I know that what I like best is both in a row, but that’s not a frequent occurrence. We just don’t have that kind of time, even when we do happen to, absolutely coincidentally, be sharing a motel room because we’ve both got missions in the area. We need sleep — actually, I should have been in bed hours ago, but I was waiting around for him — so there’s no opportunity for doing things the way I’d really prefer.

I don’t have the faintest clue which he likes better either, but usually when he gives me that look, it means that he wants to take it from me. OK, I don’t really know that it does mean that; just that’s how things end up, and he doesn’t complain.

In fact I never get any feedback on this from him. Slower? Faster? Harder? Softer? Different angle? Different position entirely, maybe? It seems like it’s all the same to him, and if I ask, he just turns red and mumbles something I can’t understand; if I insist, he gets angry. But I must be doing something right, since he spreads his legs a little wider and shifts his hips with just the faintest groan of pleasure, and over my hand that’s braced against the wall he puts his own, his fingers pressing at mine as if he wishes they could be interlocked.

If only I knew, though, whether he really likes it like this or if there’s something else I could be doing. I’d do anything he asked, if he’d just ask. I mean, I’m noisy as Hell when he’s the one taking the lead, and he tends to do whatever I ask… I’d love to return the favor… But maybe he really is OK with it like this. I just wish I knew.

He doesn’t seem to have any problems orgasming, anyway.

And, God, neither do I, when he tightens up around me like that.

So afterwards there actually does turn out to be some real getting cleaned up. I just can’t help lavishing attention on my beautiful Heero, even if it is only with this crappy little hotel soap and a tiny travel bottle of shampoo that I could have used on myself but would rather use on him.

And sometimes… sometimes… I even get the feeling that he likes it. That’s probably wishful thinking on my part, though, since I don’t really know how I ever manage to get that impression. Not that Heero isn’t extremely good at subtle cues; I just never thought I was all that good at picking up on them.

I still don’t bother with any washing of myself beyond just the basic standing under the spray, since I’ve spent my entire allowance of hot-water-time on Heero; anyway, since I’ll be the one crawling through mud and God-knows-what-else in the morning, it doesn’t really matter. And I’d much rather get to the toweling-Heero-off phase quicker anyway.

Even when he’s tired out and obviously not terribly happy, there’s only so much coddling a guy like Heero can take before he pushes my hands away with a grumble and does the rest on his own. I don’t mind; actually, I think I would seriously worry if he let me do too much for him. But he doesn’t object to me checking the bed for parasites, turning off the lights, and half tucking him in before I lie down beside him. And then we sort of sink into each other in this nice kind of melty way where our breathing is almost synchronized and we are, if not totally relaxed, at least fairly comfortable together.

I love this more than anything, and it’s not just that the sex is incredible — though it definitely is. For a few hours in a cheap motel that thinks we’re a couple of illegal immigrants trying to keep our heads down and find work and a more permanent place to stay, before we have to go separate ways that are pretty much guaranteed to lead to gunshots and explosions and mobile suits battles, I can pretend to forget about the rest of the sphere.

I can pretend to forget that I have no idea who’s going to suffer because of what I’m doing, and the fact that nothing’s going to change that; Hell, they might be suffering already as I’m doing it; innocents might be hurting right now, and I can’t even offer them a quick death, because I have no idea who or where they might be. And at the same time, the fighting is so often invigorating and fun, and maybe it really shouldn’t be; maybe I’m turning into someone who enjoys hurting other people; maybe I’m not doing any of this because I think it’s going to help, but how the Hell can I even tell? Is the specific destruction I cause going to do any good, short-term or long-term? Maybe this whole damn plot is just an insane and pointless string of terrorism that’s actually just making everything worse… and maybe I don’t care. I don’t even know anymore.

But in here, things are different. Here, I can be with someone I definitely do care about, and concentrate on the good feelings between us. Here I know for a fact that I’m fulfilling a need of someone I maybe kinda sorta love. The simplicity and positivity are so totally opposite everything else I have to deal with in this shitty Hell of a war, it’s like we’ve shifted into another dimension entirely.

He’s clinging a little tonight, and I cling right back; we huddle together in the bed more like a couple of kids protecting each other from the dark than a couple of soldiers who happen to be ambiguous lovers taking a momentary break from a war. And, really, I guess that’s what we are… just kids who don’t know what we’re doing. But at least we have each other. I think.

“So what brought this on?” I wonder eventually, so quietly that he probably feels my words through his skin more clearly than he hears them. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

Heero takes an almost inaudible deep breath and actually answers the question, which is a bit of a surprise. In that forced tone he sometimes uses when (I’m fairly sure) what he has to say isn’t something he’s reluctant about, necessarily, but something he’s not entirely certain how to articulate, he murmurs, “Out there, everything is… twisted. Here, with you, it’s right.”

I wonder if he can feel my increase in heart-rate as he says it. Miserable as the sentiment itself is, at least in part, it’s fucking glorious to realize that he was thinking the same thing I was, even if he took about two hundred fewer words to express it.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “You’re absolutely right.” And I hold him tighter.

It’s funny how just a short little phrase like that can make me feel so much better about everything. I still may not be entirely sure about the degree of us I’ve got to work with here, I still definitely have to go back out and play Death God tomorrow, and, really, nothing in the world has changed… but somehow this kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing is suddenly a little less afraid of the dark. And I fall asleep relatively content, thinking that, for all I complain about the amount of effort it sometimes takes to get things out of him, at other times Heero really is every bit as eloquent as he needs to be.


Holy Tolkien, did I write something in the canon setting? It looks like I did. It’s a fairly generic soldiers-comforting-each-other-with-romance-or-the-next-best-thing kind of plot, but everyone has to write at least one of those, right? I think I’d read one of those in the GW world before I’d even ever seen the series XD I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Gundam Wing Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Another Source of Light

He wasn’t defeated; he didn’t deserve this bizarre punishment, this world, and he would escape it yet.

James may think he no longer needs Pyramid Head, but what if he hasn’t really learned his lesson?


The TV was painfully bright in the dim room, the radio’s moaning static agonizingly loud. As he staggered up from the chair, he saw almost nothing but ghost-images of the snowy rectangle wherever he looked, and heard only echoes of her pain from the noisy device and words of a conversation he almost didn’t remember having, which seemed impossibly distant though it had only just occurred.

“Mary’s gone… she’s… dead…”

He stumbled from the room, leaving both television and radio behind, unaware even of what route he took through the maddening hotel, unconcerned about what he might meet on the way out, wishing only to escape from that place, the returning knowledge, that bright scene…

“I killed her…”

He clutched at his head, squeezed it, clawed at it, ripped out bits of hair, but all to no avail: the memories, now that they had returned, were stark and unrelenting…

…her equivocal requests, the inconstant desires of a woman suffering endlessly, physically and emotionally, that had driven him to the edge…

“She was always waiting for you… why…? why…?”

…his hatred for her, for what his life had become thanks to her, that grew steadily beneath the cover of a love that rotted slowly, love that he yet professed until the bitter end…

“I’m… sorry… The Mary you know… isn’t here.”

…the feeling of the pillow in his hands, of her weak, ineffectual struggles…

“No!” he roared, sinking to the ground. “No…” He came to rest on hands and knees on filthy asphalt as the world around him seemed to darken. Blackness spread in throbbing patches until he could see nothing, nothing but the bright, stabbing memory of what… what he had…

Another cry burst from him, inarticulate and strangled as he ground his face against the street as if somehow he could scrub out the images in his head. There was nothing but darkness and pain and memory, but the former could not overcome the latter that shone so brightly.

“I killed her…” It was like staring into the sun; it beat at him, stabbed into him, unrelenting and unjust brilliance.

And that was when he saw it.

His eyes snapped to it at once: another source of light. Thin and pale and dim by comparison, yet visible in the darkness even in the face of the first light. And any reprieve was welcome. He bent over it hungrily, desperate to bring it into better focus. It kept fading in and out, and after a moment he realized that this was merely because of his own blood dripping onto it and obscuring its glow.

It was a faint, meandering silver line on the ground that ran off into the blackness before him like a quiet and yet compelling guide. Guide to where? It made no difference to him; if he had a choice between the glare of his memories and this pale distraction, there was no question which he would take. Willing his reluctant limbs to move, he crawled after it.

He seemed to hear her voice — the voice that had haunted the crackling radio and that had haunted his dreams and that had haunted his waking life for three years — but in no physical sense; it merely resounded in his head, an inescapable conversation.

“Didn’t you want to see me?” Each word sent a shock of bright light through his consciousness like a strobe. And it was a conversation, simply because it wasn’t a memory of anything she’d ever actually said.

“Of course I wanted to see you…” It was an immediate reply, one that seemed very much like all those empty professions of love in the last days.

And her reply was also immediate, colder and harder than the plaintive question had been. “That’s not true, is it? You killed me.”

He crawled on, clinging desperately to the sight of the silver trail just as he clung to his answer, the answer he’d been giving silently all along: “I couldn’t stand to see you suffering…”

“Don’t make excuses, James.” Her voice was twisting, becoming something he didn’t recognize, an audio representation of the painful brilliance that was the memory of what he’d done. All the greater then became his focus on the other light, his only distraction, his only salvation. But her words throbbed on in his head. “I know I was a burden on you. You must have hated me. That’s why you got rid of me.”

He told himself not to answer, not to admit the truth, but when the discussion was only in his mind there was no hiding it. “Yes, I hated you! Don’t you realize what your illness did to you? What you became? It wasn’t my fault — how could I help hating you?” And maybe things would be better now that he’d said it, now that he’d acknowledged his real motives and how he’d languished during those years. He didn’t deserve any of this; it hadn’t been his fault.

“That’s not enough.” By her cold, bright, hard tone, Mary didn’t seem to agree. “You killed me, James. You killed me. And now her voice, surreal though it was, rose to a tight shriek in his mind: “James… do you really think I could ever forgive you for what you did?”

He reeled, crashing momentarily to his side on the ground, as echoes of her castigation flashed through his head, his entire body. But the next moment he was crawling again, moving faster, as if he could leave behind the pain and sorrow and bright light if he just found what lay at the end of the little glowing path beneath his eyes. I don’t deserve this, he found himself thinking over and over; he didn’t deserve to suffer like this; it had been more than he could handle; it hadn’t been his fault.

And suddenly the trail ended.

For a long moment he remained entirely motionless, frozen as if time and space no longer progressed, his mind refusing to comprehend the abrupt cessation of all his hopes. Then…

“Didn’t you want to see me?”

Rising up to his knees, he clenched his fists and howled. The memory was stabbing at the back of his eyes, white-hot and merciless. The pain on her face, in her voice… the snowy television… the pillow… For a second time, he clutched at his face, at his head, wanting nothing but to be rid of this bright light, and screamed until his voice gave out. Then he fell forward again onto his hands and then his chest, groveling on the asphalt, helpless, abject.

It was then, when his thoughts seemed to give way and shut down and only the vague sense of his surroundings and that light remained, that he noticed the difference in the air. Before him, within arm’s reach as he stretched out to test what he thought at first might be some sort of delusion, the air was in motion: thin, rising currents, now hot, now chilling, always bearing a filthy, sharp, metallic scent that wrapped around him and pulled at him.

In something resembling a panic he dropped his hand, searching for the ground… and discovered that not a foot in front of him, it ended entirely. Reaching back, he found its jagged edge, and noted that his trail, his light, his guide — it didn’t end, it merely plunged into this unknown abyss. Salvation was yet possible, escape from the brutal memory that even now tore at his mind like a gleaming, serrated blade. He rose again to all fours and threw himself forward.

He seemed to fall for a very long time, but it was the fall of a dream: no gravity pulled at him, and he feared no harmful collision at the bottom — he fell because he meant to fall. Already, knowing that he had another chance at following the silver light to its end, his mind was clearing a little. He wasn’t defeated; he didn’t deserve this bizarre punishment, this world, and he would escape it yet. By the time he hit the ground, this thought had heartened him to the point where he was ready to move on almost immediately, despite the fact that there actually was a considerable amount of pain associated with the conclusion of his descent.

Dragging himself slowly up, his entire body aching from the impact, he looked around — for he found he could see again, and not merely the blessed silver line that continued on before him into the shadows. It was clear he was lucky not to have been eviscerated during the fall, for he’d entered a confusing tangle of twisted chain-link and barbed wire. It was as if all the fences in the world had been rusted, mangled, deliberately set into an impossible maze, and laid at his feet.

After taking this in with a brief, impassive glance, he dropped again to his knees and continued to follow the light. It was difficult and bloody progress, for the silver trail did not always take the path of least resistance; sometimes the decaying steel around him encroached so close that, no matter how carefully he tried to wriggle past it, it still caught and tore. Soon his clothing was in shreds, and his flesh seemed likely to fare no better. It occurred to him that, rather than a maze, this was more like a vast cobweb of sharp points and hard lines… but whatever spider he might find at its center was irrelevant if the light led to it.

His next pause was not in response to any change in his guide, but in the scene he came upon in following it. It seemed typical of what lay around every corner in this bizarre and horrible world… but somehow more meaningful. More ominous, he might have said if he’d felt even the slightest apprehension. He stood still for some time, having lost track entirely of the silver line, staring, his eyes stinging with the unblinking intensity of his gaze, hardly breathing in his fascination and horror.

The pavement within the little clearing he’d entered was stained with blood in varying shades, from the glaring crimson of freshly-spilt to the decaying near-black of long-dried, and in the midst of this mess lay a half-clothed, headless corpse. Its limbs, the pallid blue-veined flesh like that of a drowned man, bore patches of the same colors that marked the ground, and it was curled up tightly in a fetal position, unrelaxed even after decapitation. He could make out tense ropes of muscle seemingly ready to burst free across the bare back, as if it had died in the throes of some monumental effort and never unclenched. But somehow, despite what he speculated must have been the fate of this unhappy victim of this terrible place, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any pity.

Abruptly the figure shuddered and slowly uncoiled, climbing to its feet, and with a shiver James suddenly recognized the spattered butcher’s apron it wore. Unencumbered by its usual hinderments, it moved with greater speed and agility than he had expected… but he found himself rapt, fixedly studying the blackened edges of the severed neck. It hadn’t been a clean cut, and it seemed to have been scorched besides.

Finally tearing his gaze from that inordinately fascinating sight, James looked around somewhat wildly, and noticed that there, indeed, half-obscured by a tangle of the ubiquitous wire off to his left, lay the triangular helmet or head the creature normally bore; and nearby the impossibly huge knife, its edge glinting dully even in the shadows. And in the moment it took him to take note of these things, the creature was on him.

Though he had good reason already to know the hideous strength of the muscular body, still he was surprised at the force with which he was flung to the ground. At the thought of what that strength might be capable of doing to him, knife or no knife, he began to struggle… but it was too late. The bone-crushing grip of one gloved hand was enough to keep him down while the other tore at his ruined clothing, pulling it off in shreds.

In James’s mind the consideration formed that there was really only one reason the creature would strip him… only one reason… but, like electricity along a broken circuit, the thought couldn’t seem to get any farther than that. Only one reason, only one reason, it told him, but never what that reason was. This state of incomprehension lasted as long as it took for his skin to be bared, and no longer. For at that moment the creature pulled aside the lower half of its apron to reveal a huge, erect, blood-stained penis.

This galvanizing sight made James struggle even harder — and even less effectually, for the creature’s strength seemed to grow the nearer it came to its gruesome goal. With a few iron-hard blows it neutralized his struggles, immobilized him; in fact, the stunning pain might have caused him to collapse onto his face if the creature hadn’t been holding him. He might even have given up and gone limp if he hadn’t known now what his fate was to be.

There was no preparation, physical or mental, that could ready him for this, and none was offered. In one agonizing moment he was penetrated fully, ripped open and violated in a single movement. The swiftness of the motion was no relief, however; the real torment had just begun. The creature’s strength and speed were evident here as well as in wielding its more conventional weapon; as it began its impossibly painful thrusts into him, it held him inexorably where it wanted him with a single steely arm around his chest.

Besides excruciating to the point where James thought he might faint (and wished he could), the irregularity of the driving cock was jarring, and prevented even the remotest possibility of acclimatization. Every time the creature shifted even slightly, the next thrust was at some new unbearable angle, finding some new sensitive spot inside him to torture and tear.

I don’t deserve this… oh, god, I don’t deserve this… Somehow this was for a while his single and overwhelming thought until he was screaming it aloud, and with each repetition of the sentiment the creature pounded into him harder.

And… yet… the pressure was…

It was a completely different type of pressure, but still it reminded him, took him back… in his head, somehow, the weight of the creature bearing him down was the weight of his shoulders as he held a stark pillow down over his wife’s face.

No, he told himself in a sort of mental groan, it’s not the same… that was nothing like this… maybe I deserve something, but not this

At this the creature’s arm and hand seemed to tighten as if hoping to crush him, to crack his ribs and drive them right into his lungs until he drowned in his own blood and slowly expired. Maybe it would prefer to be fucking a corpse, being something of a corpse itself… or maybe this was simply the embrace of one murderer for another.

Though the pain had not lessened, even his screams died as he choked and struggled to breathe. He felt compressed, smothered, and as all the air was squeezed from him he began to see tiny shifting points of light not unlike the condemning sun behind his eyes… and perhaps this was not so inappropriate a punishment after all…

Then the crushing arms slackened, and he gasped in the acrid, sex-scented air and coughed twice as the stars began to recede. The creature still held him, however, keeping him stationary for its continued hammering into his ass. But though James found himself able to scream again, he found himself simultaneously less inclined to protest this treatment, and the only sound that escaped his lips was a low moan of continued pain.

It seemed to go on forever, the tireless headless body violating him with endless, patternless brutality, slowly and methodically beating out of him any desire to deny that he deserved this. As the last of this desire faded, he was overwhelmed by an impression of sudden change. The air seemed abruptly fresher — or, rather, the stench of blood and sweat and filth and desperation seemed somehow less unpleasant than it had — and as he took a deep, shuddering taste of it, he began to feel… aroused.

Yes… yes this was as it should be… this was what was due him after what he’d done… for what he was… Yesssss… He felt his own cock growing hard, painfully hard, as the creature continued its relentless pounding. It drove into him just as he’d driven down on his helpless wife, robbing him of choice just as he’d robbed her. And though this brought him more pain than pleasure, yet the pain, because it was so right, because he deserved it so entirely, brought pleasure. His next moan was distinctly one of enjoyment, even ecstacy; and he squirmed against the iron grip now not in any attempt to escape but in carnal revelry — and also perhaps in some emulation of her futile struggles as he’d killed her.

And then the creature gripped him tightly again, crushing him once more, this time even harder, and its muscular body stiffened as it gave one last, savagely deep thrust and seemed to explode into and around him with the force of its orgasm. Feeling his ribs creak and as if he were being incinerated from the inside out, James roared with an agony that was more heavenly right than anything he’d ever felt, and found blackness blossoming in his eyes. Soon he could see no light but the stabbing brilliance of his guilt, and even that presently began to fade as he toppled hard onto the rough, blood-stained ground.

The throbbing of both his erection and the sharp pain in his bleeding ass and elsewhere eventually awakened him. He dragged his eyes open sluggishly and tried to fight off the sort of haze, glowing with that same horrible light, that filled his vision. Rusty, twisted shapes were all he could make out before him, which was only to be expected, but where was the creature? Slowly he stirred, delighting in the pain every movement occasioned throughout his body, and looked around for his punisher.

It really did seem to have actually exploded, for nothing remained of it but copious amounts of blood, random spatters and gobs of blackened gore, and shattered bits of bone… and the apron, which was draped across James’s back where it must have fallen when the creature dissolved. It slid stiffly off him as he sat up, and he reached out for it. Holding it, he smiled vaguely.

He got slowly to his feet and stretched leisurely. He had gone, and remained, unsatisfied, and his need for release was even greater than before, but he knew that could easily be remedied; he could sense sources of satisfaction everywhere around him.

Within, everything was gone, he noticed. Everything, gone. Everything except the brilliance that was Mary. She was still in his head, but that didn’t matter; he knew what to do. As he pulled the apron strap over and fastened the ties at his back across what remained of his tattered clothing, his smile grew.

The helmet was heavy — very heavy — but, somehow, despite having anticipated no such weight, he lifted it without trouble. It fit easily and well, bringing with it that perfect, perfect darkness. There was only one source of light he needed; he had no need for that bright memory in his head, so it could just —

A wrenching snap like a bear trap’s closing echoed in the space around him, and the memory was — gone. The light, gone. The guilt and the pain and the awareness of any events past… gone. His body twitched, staggered half a step, then straightened. Blood gushed from beneath the metal edges only for a moment before flames roared briefly within the confines of his new world.

He rolled his shoulders, settling the pyramid more comfortably, then cast a slow look around at the flawless darkness. Crouching, his hand went unerringly to the hilt of his knife, and he dragged it up as he straightened. It, too, was heavier than he had expected, and his gait was jerky and slow. Nevertheless, it was with perfect satisfaction that he walked away. The barbed wire snapped, whipped, flailed before him, and the knife, screeching behind him, scraped a meandering line of glowing silver on the pavement in his wake.


This story is dedicated to fe, who originally introduced me to the world of Silent Hill, and to scacao, whose amazing Gundam Wing fic just dripping with Silent Hill inspired me finally to finish writing this.

I’ve rated this story . What do you think of it?



I Am the Mask You Wear


The surest way to command Heero Yuy’s full attention was to begin a sentence with the word ‘Duo.’ If advertisers had known this, they would undoubtedly have taken ruthless advantage: “(Duo) Worried about your mortgage? (Duo) We can help!” or “(Duo) What’s the only difference between our paper towels and the leading brand? (Duo) The price!” Fortunately, they didn’t know this strange and inconvenient weakness of Heero’s — and neither, he was fairly certain, did his friends. They probably thought he had let them in because he was glad of their company, not because they’d indicated an intention of relating some sort of news about his object of intense fascination.

Well, and he was glad of their company. But he was more interested in what they had to say about Duo.

“He’s been running around biting people.” Quatre always had such an inappropriately apologetic air, as if (in this instance) he were the one running around biting people. Heero often wanted to reassure, tell the always-conscientious Quatre that he was one of the least offensive people he knew, but the comment seemed too… personal… somehow, and thus went unsaid.

So back to the matter of Duo running around biting people. It actually took Heero’s brain a moment to assimilate the information and present a (relatively) rational explanation. “In costume?” he asked.

Quatre nodded.

It sounded… well, it sounded just like Duo. Not content to wait for the office costume party tomorrow evening, or perhaps eager for some practice in his role of classic vampire, he had taken up a relatively harmless but doubtless rather annoying pursuit and made the other apartment-dwellers his innocent victims.

Heero assumed it must be annoying his neighbors, anyway. He based this assumption on the rather dubious evidence of Trowa’s facial expression and the accompanying reflection that (if being bitten by Duo didn’t seem like it would be inordinately fun) Heero himself would have found the behavior very annoying as well.

Trowa was Quatre’s boyfriend, and Heero would have gone so far as to say the guy had no personality whatsoever if he weren’t aware how disturbing it was to be on the receiving end of that assessment. Trowa’s face wasn’t a very good indicator of anything, at least, since it rarely changed. Still, he did seem to be looking a little less pleased than usual, so Heero’s assumption went unchallenged as yet.

“What have you done to stop him?” he asked Quatre.

“Well, we’ve tried asking him politely,” replied the latter, grimacing slightly, “and asking him… less politely.”

“How less politely?” Heero persisted.

“He dodged.” It was the first thing Trowa had said since entering Heero’s apartment. He wasn’t always quite this reticent; he must be annoyed. It was also a rather amusing statement. Trowa was like that sometimes, giving every indication of detached indifference until he suddenly said something bluntly, concisely clever. Heero had often thought of mentioning — just casually, of course — how much he enjoyed this aspect of Trowa’s hypothetical personality… but, unfortunately, he wasn’t terribly good at casual compliments.

Quatre’s laugh sounded helpless and — predictably — apologetic. “And then he pulled his cape up to his face and said something about how only a stake through the heart works against him… and ran off again.”

There was a long moment of silence while Heero pored over this entertaining mental image. He could already hear Duo’s voice in his head quoting lines from bad vampire movies and laughing maniacally as he darted through the deepening shadows across the lawn. It almost made Heero smile. Almost.

It also occurred to him, belatedly, to wonder, “Did you two come up here just to warn me about this?”

“We thought you might have an idea how to stop him,” explained Quatre. “You know him better than we do.”

While this statement was accurate in that Quatre, working in Human Resources, had less contact with Duo on a day-to-day basis than Duo’s cubicle neighbor Heero, the fact remained that the three of them were still co-workers and lived in the same apartment complex. He thought he knew what Quatre meant, though; it had more to do with the borderline-stalkerish behavior Heero alone exhibited toward Duo at times. Heero was fairly certain Quatre knew exactly how he felt about Duo, too, and simply didn’t say anything out of tact. Quatre was good at tact; on occasion Heero wished he could thank him for that… but never managed, somehow, to find the right words.

His face a little hot, Heero looked away from his friends. His eyes fell on his own party costume, which he hadn’t touched since Relena had laid it out on the sofa yesterday evening, and suddenly an idea was beginning to form in his head. Only a stake through the heart… It was a ludicrous idea, but it gripped Heero unexpectedly tightly and he found he could not shake it off. It strengthened, fleshed out, reiterated itself, and demanded to be suggested.

“We…” began Heero slowly, “need to play his game.”

Quatre, always uncannily quick to pick up on things, speculated, “Dress up and hunt him down?”

Heero nodded.

“That,” Trowa declared flatly, “is a terrible idea.”

This was pretty much what Heero had been thinking: it was a terrible, unhelpful, embarrassing idea, and he couldn’t believe he had thought of it. Only a strange, inexplicable desire to go out and chase Duo around in costume like a little kid or a nerdy college student, maybe see if he could get Duo’s mouth onto his neck, had insisted he suggest it at all. Now that Trowa had criticized it, however, Heero felt compelled to defend it.

“You tried to hit him and he ignored you.” He could state relevant facts just as stonily as Trowa could, after all. “If you had used a stake, he would have pretended to die and come back inside with you for a beer.”

Quatre chuckled. “I think you’re right, Heero… but we don’t have any stakes.” He glanced at Trowa and asked facetiously, “Do we have any stakes?”

“Not unless there are some in the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet.” Trowa’s tone was a complete deadpan but for the very slightest touch of dryness.

The remark made Quatre blush a little, as did most references to the recently-taken step of having-the-boyfriend-move-in, but, unashamed, he grinned at Heero and reiterated, “We don’t have any stakes.”

Heero shook his head. “That isn’t the point. He would probably be satisfied with any dramatic defeat.”

Quatre nodded slowly. “Yes, that sounds like Duo…” He raised worried eyes to meet Heero’s. “But do you think we can manage it?”

Of this Heero wasn’t entirely certain. He’d never really considered himself much of an actor — but, then, he’d never really made any attempts at it. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But that’s my only idea.”

“I guess it’s worth a try…” Quatre seemed pensive.

After a long moment of silence during which nobody moved, Trowa finally said, “We aren’t really going to do this.” Heero thought he meant it as a question, but Trowa said things with such finality it was sometimes difficult to tell.

“We’re certainly open to other suggestions,” Quatre smiled wryly.

Heero said nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure Trowa was wrong. True, something inside him really wanted to do this, but it was a something that was easily squelched, beaten into submission by the same repressive instincts that wouldn’t let him be as open as he wished with his friends. Of the four of them, Duo was really the only one with the sufficiently devil-may-care attitude required to put on a costume and run around outside biting people without regard to his own dignity. Heero would simply feel too silly… unless he had a good, specific reason for doing it.

He guessed the others felt the same: if there was a reason (an excuse, his better judgment corrected, at least in his case), it wouldn’t be nearly so bad. Even stoic Trowa, he thought, could put on a mask and a goofy outfit and make a fool of himself as the means to the right end.

Apparently Trowa didn’t have any better ideas, for he was shaking his head. He looked a little grim; obviously he was aware that if Quatre decided to do this, he would have to as well. This, Heero knew from having observed the two of them for so long, was not because Quatre was the one in charge (though in many ways he was) but because Trowa was innately supportive. It was rather charming… though of course Heero could never tell them so.

Nobody, Heero noticed, had suggested that this might not really be their concern. Technically it wasn’t; Duo was an adult and not their responsibility. But they all knew that Heero’s interest in the matter changed at least his perspective on it. Which was, of course, part of the reason they’d come to him at all. Beyond that, they were all Duo’s friends…

“Well, somebody’s probably going to call the police on him if we don’t do something soon,” Quatre said, voicing aloud the exact reason their friendship demanded action in this particular case. “Come on, Trowa.”

Trowa gave a quiet sigh and stood up heavily alongside his boyfriend.

“We may see you outside,” was Quatre’s goodbye to Heero as he left the apartment behind the unspeaking Trowa.

Heero wandered over to the sofa. Staring down at his costume, he felt a frown growing on his face as he pondered. He wished he could be like Duo, be able to do silly things without a valid reason. Hell, quite often he wished in vain that he could do sensible things for a valid reason — things like vocalizing his nice thoughts to his friends rather than keeping them inside all the time. At the moment he wasn’t really debating, either; he was just trying to work up the necessary… nerve? …to put this thing on.

It was an old-fashioned evening suit with a cloak of some sort, almost all of it entirely in black, accompanied by a white mask that looked like porcelain but was actually lightweight plastic. As he understood, it referred to some character from a book or movie that Relena was fond of — and probably, if he knew Relena, corresponded with her intended character. She’d chosen it all, of course; he wouldn’t know where to begin selecting a costume for a party he wasn’t entirely eager to attend in the first place, and it was apparently her right as self-destined eventual girlfriend to find one for him.

One of these days he really was going to have to tell her that he wasn’t interested. What with needing to find the right moment, find the right words, find a way to break past his innate reluctance for any such conversation — not to mention having to arrange it so that he could speak his peace without letting her think he was getting ready to say exactly the opposite… he just hadn’t gotten around to it.

Well, he had never put this thing on; who was to say it would even fit? In that light, it seemed worth at least trying. Or at least that was a decent excuse to get into it. Once he’d managed to put the costume on, then he could think about showing his face in public in it.

Except he wouldn’t be showing his face in it, would he? He held up the mask, examining it once again, this time with more interest.

Relena was obviously aware that he would feel easier in costume if a mask was involved, and he wasn’t sure whether to find this fact comforting or even more disturbing. The end result was that he had a mask, but it was brought about by Relena knowing him better than he liked to think. Discovering that the suit fit perfectly brought on a similar mixture of emotions. How on earth had she known…?

Well, when Duo was outside biting people’s necks, there was really no reason to be inside thinking about Relena. Heero swept the cape from the couch and fastened it around his shoulders, and took up the mask again and put it on. There was a length of rope tied into a noose of some sort that went along with the costume, which he had vague hopes of using to defeat Duo dramatically (though he was damned if he knew how); he picked this up as well and turned toward the door.

Despite his momentary burst of determination regarding this plan, it was still with some hesitation that he peered out into the corridor onto which a few different apartments besides his own opened. The sun hadn’t quite gone down yet, which made Duo’s masquerade that much more absurd but would also, presumably, make locating and detaining him that much easier. And for the moment, thankfully, there was no one in sight.

He hadn’t even left the corridor, however, before he got his first strange look; he’d been expecting this, and bracing himself against it, but found now that the mask provided a sort of buffer against embarrassment. It helped, somehow, that his neighbor couldn’t see his face; hell, she might not even recognize him if she hadn’t seen which door he’d come from. That made everything easier, and Heero descended the stairs to ground level with greater confidence.

Now if only he had any idea where to start…

Well, Duo would have gotten his costume on in his own apartment and emerged thence for his biting spree… where might he have gone from there? Heero supposed it depended on how long Duo had been at this, and cursed himself for having neglected to get this detail from Quatre. As it was, he supposed that his best bet was still to head over to the building Duo lived in and see if he couldn’t pick up his trail there. So with this in mind, he started across the complex.

The first of his friends he encountered was Quatre, who seemed to have the same idea or at least to be walking in the same direction. On seeing each other, they immediately moved to meet and speak, but on drawing near gave a moment to mutual costume examination before doing so.

Heero wasn’t entirely certain who Quatre was supposed to be, though he’d heard it mentioned probably more than once. The outfit consisted of a tunic-thing over fairly tight pants and under a short cape and some type of odd-looking flat cap, all of it in rather gaudy colors and patterns, including gold trim. His eyes fell last to the sword Quatre wore hanging from his braided belt, and his brows rose. It looked so… real.

Quatre followed the direction of his gaze and laughed. “Not exactly accurate, I know, but I don’t have a rapier.”

Heero nodded slowly, accepting this explanation despite how little it meant to him, and said, “You look great.” Though this was true, it was also rather surprising; he was generally so unable to separate a compliment on physical appearance from attempts at flirtation that he found himself completely unable to deliver the former for fear of being suspected of the latter. He was rewarded by one of Quatre’s warm smiles, however, and certainly wasn’t unhappy to have been able to speak his mind for once.

“Thanks!” Quatre said. “I had to come up with a design that would look fairly accurate but that Trowa would be willing to wear too. No hose, in other words.”

Now Heero did remember Quatre saying something about matching costumes, but he still couldn’t remember the names of the characters they were dressed as. “Well, it looks really good,” he reiterated, surprising himself again. “Is Trowa out here too?”

Quatre looked a little sheepish. “I feel like I bullied him into it, but, yes.”

Under his mask, Heero smiled slightly. “He won’t mind if he gets to pretend to stab Duo.”

With a chuckle Quatre agreed. “Anyway, I told him we should probably split up, and I still think that’s a good idea.”

Heero nodded. “I was going to look around Duo’s building. Hey, how long has he been running around doing this?”

“We ran into him–” Quatre glanced at his wrist, realized he’d removed his watch for costume purposes, and shook his head. “Maybe half an hour ago?”

Heero nodded.

“I’ll go over to building three.” Quatre turned in that direction and took two steps, then paused. “What are you planning if you find him?”

“I’m… not sure,” answered Heero. He held up his prop noose and said, “I’m still trying to think how this might be any good against a vampire.”

Quatre gave that apologetic smile of his and said, “Your costume is unfortunate for fighting vampires.” Turning again and once more beginning to walk away he added with a wave, “You could try singing him to death…”

Heero really had no idea what he meant by that, and instead of concerning himself about it moved on toward Duo’s apartment.

There was no sign of Duo thereabouts, but Heero hadn’t really expected any; there was, though, an annoyed-looking man standing on the patio of one of the ground-floor units, rubbing his neck and gazing out across the lawn.

“Where did he go?” Heero asked without preamble as he approached.

“What, your dumbass friend with the makeup on? Your gay friend was already here asking.”

“We’re all gay,” Heero replied coolly, which was interesting since he usually couldn’t make that statement nearly so easily. Inwardly he was hoping that Duo had bruised this guy. “Which way did the vampire go?”

The man stared at him for a moment, looking very annoyed and at first totally unwilling to comply. But eventually, probably realizing that his revenge would never be enacted if the costumed vigilantes were unable to locate his attacker, he pointed. Heero nodded, judging the man unworthy of verbal thanks, and went immediately in that direction.

After wandering for some time and finding no sign of either Duo or of any other of his victims, Heero was starting to get frustrated. His stark suit, cape, and mask, not to mention the lasso, had received a number of strange looks from denizens of the apartment complex as he moved around the various buildings, and, although this had been a great deal less unpleasant than he’d expected, so far his fortitude seemed to be wasted. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea after all. Well, he’d never thought it a particularly good idea… just one that might get Duo’s mouth onto his neck.

He was approaching the playground that lay in the center of the complex, where the equipment cast long, spidery shadows in the setting sun, when he heard the voice he’d been waiting to hear and, moving toward the far end of the sandy area, saw the figure he’d been longing to see.

“Do you really think that will hurt me, mortal?” It was Duo all right, giving his words every bit as much dramatic emphasis as Heero had been expecting. He was standing down at the far end, one foot on the concrete and the other in the sand.

Heero had known Duo was planning on dressing as a vampire, but hadn’t actually seen the costume until now. Though he wasn’t sure that vampires routinely wore leather pants, he was inclined now to believe they always should. He didn’t think he’d ever seen any sight in his life that he liked quite so much as Duo’s lower half at this moment. The black silk button-up open partway down his chest was nice too, and certainly the high-collared, red-lined cape and white face-paint were very vampiric… but for the moment Heero’s eyes were riveted on the pants.

Quatre, it seemed, had located their target first, which was for some reason not terribly surprising. He was facing off against Duo at the edge of the sand, sword in hand. The foil gleamed in the light of the setting sun, looking dangerous despite its blunted end, and only the knowledge that Quatre was exceptionally skilled and responsible with the weapon kept Heero from feeling some slight concern.

“Here’s that shall make you dance,” Quatre said, and swept his sword at Duo. An odd phrase, that; it must be related to his costume. Heero did seem to remember Shakespeare being involved.

Duo, appearing a little surprised at the attack (or the statement, or both), leapt backward just in time to miss being slapped across the stomach. Then a broad grin spread over his face, baring the fake fangs he’d acquired for the occasion. As Heero drew slowly closer, he could see that these fangs had gotten to Quatre already — there was a red spot and a slight smear of white on the latter’s neck just above the blue-and-gold braid that held his cape in place; now that he’d actually set eyes upon Duo, this sight made Heero more jealous than ever.

“Hah!” Duo cried. “You’re no match for my vampire speed!”

“By my heel, I care not.” And Quatre thrust at him again.

Duo dodged in a movement that was more like retreat. Everyone present knew that he couldn’t keep this up; Quatre was hampered by the inability to stab directly at him for fear of actually injuring him, but eventually he must score what even Duo would have to be satisfied with as a dramatic killing blow.

But Quatre had a different sort of blow in mind. “You made that little girl cry!” he said severely.

Heero hadn’t noticed the little girl at first, thanks mostly to the leather pants, but now he did: perhaps six years old, she’d evidently been playing innocently in the sand when happened upon by a wandering vampire. Now she was sitting still and weeping quietly — a good deal more quietly than Heero was under the impression children generally did — her chubby, sandy hands continually rubbing at her tear-stained face. Duo was really going to get himself in trouble if he was attacking children and having this effect on them.

In response to Quatre’s accusation Duo had the grace to look somewhat sheepish. “I didn’t mean to,” he protested. “I just thought–”

“I will bite thee by the ear for that jest!” interrupted Quatre, slipping back into Shakespeare-speak and attacking again.

This time Duo barely escaped the intended blow. It was probably because he was too busy with his gleeful retort, as Quatre’s latest statement had evidently eradicated his embarrassment about the little girl and thrown him into a state of triumphant pleasure. “But I already bit you by the ear!” he cried.

“Ay, ay,” Quatre allowed, “a scratch, a scratch.”

“No, this fight is over!” insisted Duo obstinately, his dramatic declaration colored by laughter. “You’re already defeated!” And, his laugh becoming positively malignant — he must have been practicing — he turned to run off. As he spun, his cape flew out and up so that Heero could see beneath it… and if he’d thought the tight leather pants had been riveting from the front, well, they were absolutely spellbinding from behind.

Both Quatre and Heero would have followed at once, but at the very same moment they were distracted. The door to one of the nearby ground-floor apartments burst open in a noise of children, two of which came running out toward the playground with incoherent shouts. At almost the same moment, a little dog with a bow in the topknot between its ears bounded out after them. A split-second later a distressed-looking pregnant woman appeared in the door.

“You let the dog out!” she cried in irritated despair, watching the creature dart away.

The moving children didn’t hear her, as they’d approached the crying girl in the sand, who seemed to be the sister of at least one of them, with shouts of their own — mostly with the goal of informing her repeatedly that it was time to come inside for the night. Their remarks quickly changed to demands to know why she was crying and taunts on that account, and one of them began kicking sand at the poor thing and laughing.

Quatre glanced at the fleeing figure of Duo, the abusive children, and the little dog in quick succession, nodded briefly, and said, “Heero?”

Heero, understanding him, also nodded, and darted off after the dog. Some effort was required to get his hands on the obnoxious thing, and undoubtedly in the few minutes it took for him to catch it Duo had long since escaped. Of course Heero wouldn’t have neglected someone obviously unable to pursue her own runaway pet, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling rather bitter toward the horrid yorkie for cutting into his Duo’s-leather-pants-time.

By the time Heero returned to deliver the creature to its owner with a silent, ironic bow, Duo had indeed disappeared. Frustrated, Heero went to join Quatre at the playground. On the way, he passed the three children, now making their way inside as instructed. The older two looked deeply troubled and perhaps a little pale, but the girl that had previously been crying was smiling. Heero wondered what on earth Quatre had said to them.

Quatre sighed as Heero approached, and murmured, “A plague o’ both your houses… I am sped.” Looking up he added more audibly, and also somewhat apologetically, “Well, we lost him.”

Heero watched him thoughtfully. Yes, they’d lost Duo, but only because of other, more pressing concerns. Quatre had analyzed the situation, made an instantaneous decision on what their priorities must be, and acted upon it. Sure, it hadn’t been a particularly dire situation, but it had been a miniature of Quatre’s behavior and abilities in all other fields; he was a born strategist.

Quatre was staring at him now with widened eyes, and Heero realized suddenly with a severe shock that he’d said at least some of that out loud. His face was instantly burning, but the cool mask atop his hot flesh was a solid reminder that Quatre couldn’t tell.

“I… wow,” the latter said, slowly smiling. “Thanks.”

Heero, every bit as astonished as Quatre that he’d said anything of the sort, merely nodded.

Quatre cleared his throat. “Well, let’s split up and see if we can find him again.”

Once more Heero nodded.

Noting that the sun had set entirely, he began to wonder whether Duo even had any potential victims left. Sometimes on Friday and Saturday evenings there were still children playing outside after dark, or the occasional barbecue or patio party, but this was Thursday. Which meant, quite possibly, that Duo would be forced either to go inside and give up this pursuit, or to focus exclusively on Heero, Quatre, and Trowa. And since Duo wasn’t really the type to give up, well… that was promising.

The next to locate the troublesome vampire was Trowa, and once again Heero joined the program already in progress. He approached in time to hear Duo saying something about Trowa being a much more appetizing victim even than his boyfriend — “Who I totally just defeated, by the way.”

Trowa, whose costume resembled Quatre’s in every particular but color, drew his sword. Again Heero felt the beginnings of concern at the use of a real weapon against unarmed Duo — especially as Trowa, unlike the foil’s owner, did not fence — but he found himself distracted and, indeed, riveted by a totally unexpected source.

“Now,” said Trowa stonily, “by the stock and honor of my kin, to strike you dead, I hold it not a sin.”

Duo responded with a laugh as he dodged the inexpert thrust of the sword. “My enemies are determined to Shakespeare me to death,” he declared. “But I am immune to Shakespeare!” As he had been with Quatre, he seemed positively tickled by the scene.

“Immune?” Trowa echoed. Despite his straight face, Heero thought he was enjoying the little drama almost as much as Duo was. “I hate the word, as I hate hell, all vampires, and thee: have at thee, coward!”

Heero saw that, once again, he needn’t have worried about Duo’s safety when Trowa’s next attempted blow was as neatly dodged as the first had been. “You’re just jealous that I’m immortal and you’re not!” was Duo’s next pronouncement.

“Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me,” was Trowa’s fierce reply.

Knowing (or at least thinking he knew) how reluctant Trowa had been to get into this costume, Heero was surprised to discover how well he seemed to know the lines. More than that, however, he was shocked at just how well Trowa delivered them. That Trowa was a fan of Shakespeare wasn’t particularly surprising, but the passion and intensity with which he recited, rendering the words at once natural-sounding and fascinating — that was unexpected. Whatever Heero thought of the bard (or thought he thought of him), he would pay money for a performance like that. It was almost as absorbing as Duo’s pants (if in an entirely different way), and that was saying something.

Though it would undoubtedly not have been dramatic enough for Duo’s tastes, Trowa would have been better off sticking with his fists. An excellent addition to the costume the sword may have been, but an unfamiliar weapon only slowed him up and never once made contact with Duo’s person. And eventually Duo managed to circumnavigate it and Trowa both, seizing him by the shoulders from behind.

The sight of Duo’s mouth closing onto Trowa’s neck was enough to rouse Heero from his Shakespeare-induced hypnosis. He moved forward from where he’d only been watching, rapt, up until now. Duo, however, jumped back from his victim as Trowa struck out (wisely, with his elbow this time), glanced at each of them in turn, then ran off laughing into the bushes.

Trowa and Heero both took off after him immediately, but again Trowa’s unaccustomed weapon got in his way, this time tripping him so that he fell rather violently onto the mulch that surrounded the bushes flanking the sidewalk. Heero, following too closely, stumbled likewise and barely kept himself from falling directly on top of his friend. Sitting up from where he’d landed on the pavement, he looked hastily around for Duo… but they’d lost him. It didn’t help that, at this level, the bushes entirely blocked 180 degrees of his view.

Appearing more annoyed than ever, Trowa also sat up, disentangling himself from his foil and rubbing at his neck. He too looked around for Duo, with something of a deadly gleam in his eye, but could see as well as Heero could that the vampire had eluded them. In a tone of irritation and self-reproof he muttered, “His fault concludes but what the law should end.” A little more loudly he added, “I told you this was a terrible idea.”

Rather than defend an idea that had yet to be proven anything other than what Trowa stated, Heero found himself, somewhat unexpectedly as the two of them got to their feet and dusted off their costumes, pouring out his opinion of Trowa’s ability to recite Shakespeare.

By the time he finished, Trowa was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. This didn’t cause quite as severe a sense of embarrassment in Heero as Quatre’s surprise had, since this time Heero remembered he was wearing a mask. And Trowa said briefly, “I got roped into understudying the part once.”

“So you’ve never actually performed it?”

Trowa shook his head.

Heero thought that was a shame, and said so.

Trowa just stared at him.

Clearing his throat, Heero turned. “I think he went this way.”

“No, he went around the building.”

“Well, you go that way, then,” Heero commanded impatiently, certain it was wrong. “I’m going this way.”

“Track down this murderer; he must be found,” said Trowa sardonically.

Having nothing to say in response to this odd statement that didn’t sound much like Shakespeare or Trowa, Heero just turned and headed off in the direction he believed Duo had gone. He was wondering as he did so what had ever possessed him to gush like that. Of course it had all been true, he didn’t think he’d expressed himself badly, and he couldn’t really object to having expressed himself at all… it was just so strange. It was, however, a less consuming topic than that of Duo.

Because it occurred to him that Duo had probably bitten both Quatre and Trowa before the three of them had gotten into costume. But then he’d bitten them both again once they were chasing him. Did that mean that he considered them different people — fresh, unbitten victims — once they were dressed up? And was the logical conclusion that if Heero encountered Duo now, then went back inside and came out again in normal clothing, he might possibly get bitten twice as well? If he changed his outfit again after that, could he pose as a third unbitten bystander? It was something to keep in mind.

Unproductive minutes felt forever long on this hunt, and the apartment complex seemed twice as big as usual. Every hint of movement anywhere caught his eye and made him jerk in that direction before he realized that it was just some innocent neighbor entering their apartment or heading for their car. He found that he rather liked the way his evening cloak or whatever it was swished around him as he moved, especially if he turned abruptly, but that wasn’t really helping him locate Duo.

He did locate something, drawn by sounds that seemed promising in the little space between a cluster of bushes and the apartment office building. He pushed his way through the bushes as quietly as it was possible to push through bushes while wearing a cape, and stopped abruptly two steps from emerging when Quatre and Trowa became visible. They hadn’t found Duo this time; apparently they’d just found each other.

Heero wasn’t sure how this scene had started, but he was in time to see Quatre take Trowa by two handfuls of his tunic and practically slam him up against the wall. “If love be rough with you,” Quatre was saying, “be rough with love.”

Trowa, making no resistance whatsoever to this rough love, nevertheless pointed out, “This isn’t helping us find Duo.” He didn’t much sound like he was objecting, though.

“Humors! madman! passion! lover!” Quatre grinned. “Appear thou in the likeness of a sigh: speak but one rhyme, and I am satisfied.”

You have all the lines about love,” protested Trowa softly, a faint smile appearing on his own face.

Quatre’s grin widened as he raised it toward Trowa’s lips. Heero didn’t think there was any way they could be unaware of his presence, but the energy with which they kissed — the very personal way Trowa’s arm snaked around Quatre’s waist to pull him closer, the intimacy of the touch when Quatre’s hand ran up Trowa’s face to bury itself in his hair and knock his hat right off — suggested they thought they were currently, if not the only people on Earth, at least the only ones that mattered.

That they could be that to each other, that two men so different could combine their differences to such a satisfactory end, could thus complement and support and invigorate each other, was uplifting and inspiring. They always made Heero feel that the world wasn’t quite so lonely and hopeless as he was sometimes inclined to believe, and that perhaps he wasn’t quite so far from attaining this kind of happiness as he often feared.

And he’d said all of this out loud again, hadn’t he?

“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for Duo, my clever friend?” Trowa wondered, in a tone that implied some annoyance at being interrupted but was yet so mild that Heero thought he was actually teasing. Quatre just grinned into Trowa’s jawbone, blushing.

And Heero found that he was not embarrassed. He probably would be later, when he looked back at this and wondered how the hell any of that had come out of his mouth, but by this point in the escapade he had attained a perfect state of disinhibition. At the moment he felt he could have told them anything, no matter how personal, without even faltering, if he’d wanted to.

He didn’t want to. But he could have. What he did say was, “Yes. You two have fun,” and turned to depart.

“What’s wrong with him?” he heard Trowa wondering in a near-whisper behind him.

“Nothing plainer,” Quatre replied, by his tone evidently still grinning: “He is clearly quite insane.” And the last thing Heero heard of their conversation as he made his way through the bushes away from them was Quatre changing the subject with a return to Shakespeare. “This field-bed is too cold for me to sleep: come, shall we go?”

How much further assistance he could expect from those two he didn’t know, but he had his doubts. Also, as he was the only one of the three that hadn’t yet been bitten, it was most certainly his turn to run into Duo before anyone else. It was a little unfair, actually, that he hadn’t yet, when he was the one that wanted to get bitten.

At last he got at least part of his wish. Just on the other side of the swimming pool enclosure, on one of the lawns through which sidewalks snaked between the various apartments, a rustling sound startled him into turning abruptly to find Duo approaching through a cluster of bushes. Why he couldn’t use the sidewalk like normal people Heero didn’t know; undoubtedly it was a vampire thing. Not that Heero was really one to talk, he supposed.

Heero took a deep breath and intoned, “We meet at last.” Immediately he decided that this was entirely worth it when he saw how pleased Duo was by the greeting.

Duo moved out of the bushes, his hips swaying in a hypnotic swagger that was completely un-vampire-like and completely wonderful. “So it is to be war between us,” he said. “I’ve destroyed all your allies; what makes you think you can defeat me?”

“My…” Heero really had no idea what to say, other than to protest that ‘destroyed’ seemed something of an overstatement. “My secret weapon,” he finished somewhat weakly.

“Ooh, what is it?” wondered Duo excitedly.

“It’s a secret!” Heero remonstrated.

Drawing himself up dramatically Duo told him, “Only a stake through the heart can kill me! Whatever this weapon is, it will have no effect!” And with a flip of his cape he was charging at Heero.

Of course their dialogue could never reach the dramatic heights of Quatre’s or Trowa’s, but just this brief stupid exchange had seemed fun. It wasn’t only a means to an end or an excuse to admire Duo in tight pants; it was fun in and of itself. Trust Duo to have orchestrated such a situation; really, all things considered, Heero should have been expecting it. Everything was fun with Duo. But then everything changed.

For Duo was suddenly close enough that the heat of his body was palpable, gripping Heero’s arm to keep him still while the other hand slid beneath his collar, pushing it aside to bare his neck. Warm breath hazed across Heero’s skin, and he felt himself go stiff as his heart suddenly started racing. He couldn’t help it; as Duo’s lips brushed his neck, he shuddered uncontrollably. Suddenly the cool evening seemed burning hot, and it was all he could do not to reach out and seize Duo in a crushing grip.

There was no conceivable way Duo could overlook this reaction. Heero watched with a slight sense of panic, not to mention a great deal of disappointment, as Duo jerked away abruptly. He was staring at Heero now with widened eyes, one hand creeping up to his mouth where the white makeup was slightly smeared. In stunning contrast to this, his ears had gone bright red. Well, the rest of his face probably had too, but its color was invisible under the paint.

“Duo…” Heero whispered, aware that the atmosphere had changed but not exactly sure how. And where had all that liberation of a few minutes ago gone? Evidently the mask could shield him only so far, and after that it was back to the usual inhibitions and awkwardness.

Duo straightened, and the agitated expression on his face smoothed out. “My name is Nosferatu Lord Maxwell!” he cried, and stepped back as if he planned on darting away into the bushes again. He paused with an indecisive movement, however, his eyes locked on Heero.

Nosferatu Lord Maxwell? Really?

Struck with a sudden inspiration, Heero repressed his laugh at the name and said hastily, “Well, my lord, how did you like that vampire poison I had on my neck?”

Again Duo’s ears went red, which made Heero’s stomach do funny things. “Oh, is that what that was?” he wondered.

What it really had been Heero rather wondered too. “It was made of garlic,” he said, “and…” But he couldn’t come up with what else was supposed to hurt vampires. Duo would just have to forgive him his inability to think clearly at the moment.

Duo choked out the single syllable, “You…” and staggered forward. “You betrayed me!” He stumbled right into Heero, who reached out automatically to catch him despite knowing it was just an act. Duo clutched at him with strong, clawing hands, and Heero’s arms didn’t seem inclined to let go, so when Duo sank to the ground he took Heero with him. “I thought…” Duo gasped. “I thought you were my friend.” His expression was tragic, but one corner of his mouth was twitching wildly.

It was less difficult for Heero to keep a straight face — not that Duo could see his face — as he was distracted by his efforts not to take improper advantage of the situation. As such, when he replied, “I had to stop you,” if felt more real, somehow, than it probably should have, and his tone was genuinely apologetic.

The way Duo twitched and writhed would have made Heero laugh if Duo hadn’t at that moment been in his arms on the ground. It was a good thing they had this silly drama to play out; otherwise, Heero feared, once he had Duo in his arms he wouldn’t know what to do with him there. Duo was so firm and so warm… even his harsh, fading whisper, “I just wanted… to be the… best vampire… ever…” couldn’t drag Heero’s attention from the fact that this was the closest he’d ever come to what he’d wanted for so long. Nor could Heero tear his eyes from Duo’s; the latter were half-closed, looking up at him pitifully… but at the same time sparkling with glee.

“Good… bye…” Duo gasped faintly, then closed his eyes and went limp. Well, a fair imitation of limp, anyway, beyond the repressed laughter Heero could feel shaking his chest.

Let him go, Heero’s better judgment was instantly commanding. Put him down! Except he couldn’t. You really don’t want to still be holding him when he opens his eyes. Except he did.

Duo opened his eyes. His ears abruptly turned red again. Heero dropped him and stood.

Stretching out flat on the ground, Duo put his arms behind his head and grinned impishly up at Heero. “So,” he said, “you don’t happen to have any beer in that stuffy apartment of yours, do you?”

Their walk inside was wordless, though Duo was evidently in a very good mood. Seeing nothing of Trowa or Quatre, Heero guessed they’d given up (for whatever reason) and gone back inside as well. Which was preferable, since Heero didn’t feel like tracking them down and letting them know the hunt was off.

He unlocked his door and ushered Duo ahead of him into his stuffy apartment. That description must have had to do with something other than the layout, as his one-bedroom was built to the same design as Duo’s. He wondered what that said about him. He also wondered exactly what had just happened, and whether it had been good or bad. Sure, on the surface it seemed like maybe the best thing that had ever happened, but what was the meaning of that blush Duo kept producing?

After stepping into the dim entry and closing the door behind him, he turned to find Duo standing just in front of him.

“Take that mask off,” Duo commanded. “I want to see your face.”

Heero’s hand moved protectively to the object in question, pressing it comfortingly against his cheek — which, he feared, was as red now as Duo’s ears had been a few minutes before. “That’s not fair. You still have face paint on.”

Duo leaned forward, peering into Heero’s eyes through the holes. “I have never seen you act like this,” he said.

“Like what?” Heero wondered uneasily, taking a half-step backward.

Following him that same half-step, Duo didn’t break eye contact. “Honestly I can’t believe all three of you got dressed up and chased me around outside,” he grinned, “but you especially. You’re not a bad actor, you know that? Except usually you keep everything bottled up like you’ve got something to hide. Which I guess is just more proof that you’re actually a good actor. But here tonight you’re telling Quatre that he’s a born strategist, and Trowa that you’d pay to see him perform Shakespeare, and almost telling me…” He paused. He didn’t trail off hesitantly; rather, he seemed to be toying with the words.

Heero could, at this point, have expressed his wonder that Duo had heard any of that, if his ability to express anything hadn’t been temporarily revoked.

“Almost telling me…” Duo repeated. His ears were red again (or perhaps still), but despite his embarrassment he was very clearly in control of this situation.

Another retreating step brought Heero’s back up against the door. He wasn’t even sure why he was moving; he certainly didn’t dislike the thought of Duo closing the distance between them. Perhaps, over the course of the evening, he’d developed a fear of vampires.

“It’s that mask, I think,” Duo said pensively. “If you think people can’t see your face, it’s easier for you to say things you couldn’t otherwise. I should have thought of that forever ago. Except I didn’t know, and if I had you wouldn’t have needed to tell me.”

“That… makes no sense,” Heero said hoarsely.

Duo laughed, and abruptly pressed himself full up against Heero, wrapping his arms around Heero’s waist and filling Heero’s limited field of vision with bright indigo. “Take that mask off,” he murmured. “I want to see your face.”

This time Heero obeyed without question, and immediately Duo kissed him.

Earlier he’d been reflecting that he might not know what to do if he ever got Duo into his arms in some context other than vampire-slaying; it turned out not to be a problem. His hands seemed almost of their own accord to thread through the braided hair of Duo’s head to pull him closer, then disentangle and slide down to feel the contours of Duo’s back, still pulling at him; finally they settled on the smooth roundness of his buttocks in those pants. Oh, those pants.

Meanwhile Duo kissed him enthusiastically and messily, squirming as Heero tugged at him, tasting slightly of grease paint, his own hands making a very similar exploration of Heero’s body all the while. Finally with a moan he broke away, panting, to stare into Heero’s face very intently once again.

Lips swollen and red, eyes shining, he gasped, “Wow, Heero. I mean… wow.” And without waiting for a reply — assuming Heero could have come up with one for this articulate statement or even at all — he kissed him again.

When they separated, Heero’s head was spinning, and he felt the only reason he didn’t fall right over was the fact that he was pinned between Duo and the door. “Yeah…” he agreed faintly. “Wow.”

Duo nuzzled his face against Heero’s ear and jaw. “How long have you wanted this?” he wondered.

“I don’t know…” Heero scrambled to find the answer in a brain that didn’t seem to be functioning properly. “Months… a year… I don’t know…”

“And here I only just noticed,” Duo chuckled huskily. “Hey, say something nice about me. I want to see if you can do it without that mask on.”

“I think…” Heero struggled to comply, but it wasn’t working very well. “…you…” It wasn’t just his usual inability to say such things; it was also that one of Duo’s legs was between his. “…you… were the best vampire ever,” he finally managed.

You certainly seemed to enjoy being my victim,” Duo grinned, drawing back to look Heero in the eye once again.

“You didn’t actually bite me, though,” Heero pointed out.

“No, I didn’t.” Duo pulled his lips even farther apart and snapped his teeth together audibly, all the while holding Heero’s gaze with narrowed eyes. He was deliberately teasing now; Heero had to ask for it if he wanted it.

Giving in to the unspoken demand with a blush, “I wish you would,” Heero whispered. “That was the main reason I came out after you in the first place.”

Duo looked pleased. “To get me to bite you?”

Heero nodded. “Quatre told me you were running around biting people, and… I…” But he trailed off as Duo’s lips, for the second time that night, came into contact with his neck and his breath spread out over Heero’s prickling skin in a hot mist. As if searching for the precise spot he wanted, Duo’s mouth crept slowly along, slightly open, accompanied by the occasional scrape of teeth or the brief wet trailing of his tongue.

Groaning softly, Heero let his head fall back against the door. Duo made a thoughtful, interested humming noise against his neck, and then began nipping gently at the latter. The costume fangs dug sharply into Heero’s flesh, causing him to gasp at the sudden and wholly welcome pain. Duo made the humming noise again, then began sucking on the spot he’d bitten.

This combined with the grinding that had been going on slowly and subtly all along down where their hips pressed hotly against each other was enough to complete what the kissing had started, and Duo did not fail to notice. With a chuckle he removed his lips far enough to remark, “That’s all it takes, huh?”

This was one of those moments when Heero would have particularly liked to say something clever or complimentary, but it was absolutely beyond his power. Once again, he couldn’t really blame this on his own taciturn personality, but rather on Duo’s intoxicating nearness that robbed him of his ability to articulate. A somewhat ragged syllable in the affirmative was all he managed.

Duo chuckled again, somewhat raggedly himself, and, taking hold of one of Heero’s wrists, guided his hand down to where his own lower garment was bulging just as much as was Heero’s. Then he returned to kissing Heero invasively, leaving the hand to do what it would. And what it would was fulfill Heero’s several-months’ wish of getting into Duo’s pants. He didn’t really tell it to; it just went on its own. Given the way Duo angled his hips to give Heero better access, it was evident he didn’t object.

There was a button and a zipper, which presented all sorts of trouble for a moment, but the rewards were well worth it. Beyond the last remaining barrier of soft boxer briefs, the flesh of Duo’s erection was smooth, fine, and very hot, and the breathy groan that fell from Duo’s lips as Heero touched him made the blood pound into Heero’s groin at the speed of his rapidly beating heart.

Evidently the old-fashioned suit Heero wore had given Duo even more trouble, but he also persevered. And as his hand threaded through curling hair and found what it sought, he gave a little sigh half of triumph and half of growing satisfaction, and began mouthing Heero’s neck again. Heero felt himself go simultaneously stiff and weak at the knees as Duo slowly explored his erection from one end to the other with creeping fingers and nibbled at the flesh beneath his ear with sharp fangs. He could feel the unevenness of Duo’s breathing against his neck, and his own was coming in short gasps. His unoccupied left hand clutched at Duo’s back, crumpling the red-lined vampire cape into a mass of cheap polyester wrinkles.

Except for a slight trembling that moved through him like a storm, Heero was absolutely still at Duo’s haphazardly roving mouth on his ear and jaw and neck and collarbone. He felt as if he was flying high up through a cloud of pleasure, and not just physical (though that certainly was a significant part of it), racing through lightning and thunder like a kite whose taut string was held in Duo’s skilled grip. He pulled at the flesh in his own hand, and Duo writhed against him with an inarticulate gasping groan before kissing him hard on the mouth once more.

A pulsing, aching core of arousal was largely central to the universe at the moment, but it was dimly surrounded by other sensations: the rapid beat of Duo’s heart, the scent of Duo’s sweat rising in the heat between them, the taste of the paint on Duo’s face and the unique flavor of his mouth. And yet, through all this, it was the knowledge, largely unconnected to his five senses, that Duo was here, with him, holding him, touching him, as Heero had so long wished, that was doing the most to accelerate him through waves of pleasure toward a bright grand finale.

Erratic though his motions were, he stroked Duo’s erection purposefully, loving the way the sensations he was giving seemed to mirror those he was receiving. And when the lips against his broke away as Duo’s face lifted upward in a little spasm of ecstasy and moaned out Heero’s name, it was all he could take. With a loud, shuddering sigh, he climaxed hard onto Duo, clutching at him with digging fingers as he did so.

Duo’s outcry had been an indicator of how close he was, and soon, heralded by noisy huffing breaths and a groan, he came as well. Then he went limp against Heero so that they were both in danger of slumping down to the floor, tugging somewhat absently at Heero’s hair with his right hand and letting his breathing steady against Heero’s neck as he made a soft contented noise in the back of his throat. Heero returned the evening’s favor by mouthing Duo’s neck and occasionally scraping his teeth against the hot flesh.

Eventually, after a deep, pleased breath, Duo’s incoherent sounds turned into murmured words. “So…” he said, and then repeated his earlier, “That’s all it takes, huh?”

Breathily Heero chuckled against Duo’s carotid and said, “Yeah.”

Drawing back, Duo kissed him briefly one more time before looking at him with a smile that was half thoughtful and half playful. “I have to say I’m flattered.”

“I guess I should be too, then,” Heero replied, “since you only took about ten seconds longer.” He was blushing, but also so flushed in general that he doubted it could be distinguished.

Duo’s smile widened into a grin, and he detached himself from Heero with the reluctance of something firmly glued. He looked around rather sluggishly, seeming only slowly to regain his awareness of the rest of the apartment. Holding his pants closed with his right hand and slowly swiveling his hips as he walked as if reveling in a very pleasant leftover sensation, he crossed the room. A box of Kleenex on the kitchen counter seemed, understandably, to be his destination. He examined his left hand and the sleeve just beyond it as he went, and announced, “I’m going to have to wash this shirt if I want to wear it to the party.” He didn’t seem to be complaining, though.

“Yeah…” Heero agreed, looking down and taking stock. “My pants…”

“I got some of this paint on your jacket and stuff, too,” Duo said as soon as he was finished laughing triumphantly. “Supposedly it comes off in the washer, but we’ll see, I guess.” Once he’d righted his own attire, he brought a couple of tissues back to help tidy Heero, who was still leaning weakly against the door.

As Duo’s eyes were bent downward, he kicked at something on the floor. “You never got a chance to use your Punjab lasso.”

“My what?”

“I think that’s what it’s called…”

Heero followed Duo’s gaze to his prop rope, which had dropped from his hand the moment the latter had found better things to hold onto. “Oh, that. I never figured out how I was going to use it anyway.”

Duo looked back up at him, eyes flashing through his bangs and a devilish grin on his lips. “I bet we could think of one or two ways,” he said. He bent and retrieved the object in question, then stroked one end of it slowly down Heero’s face before he put it in his hands. “You know what else I’m looking forward to? Is you wearing that mask again.” Duo nudged it with his toe where it too had fallen forgotten to the floor.

Heero smiled at him. “I don’t really need it anymore, though.”

“Maybe not with me, but I can’t wait to see what you have to say to everyone at that party tomorrow with it on.” Duo looked rather tickled at the thought, and went on enthusiastically. “Because I can just see you telling Schbeiker that we all know she’s the one who eats all the extra donuts in the break room on Fridays but nobody says anything because she’s so touchy about her weight; or that obnoxious old man who sits down at the other end that he needs to stop leering at you because you wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole, especially now that you’ve got a boyfriend.”

Heero laughed, but had to protest. “I don’t think it makes me say nasty things.”

“Well, tonight’s been mostly just your friends. Of course you’re going to say nice things to us. People at work, though…” Duo became even more excited as he continued. “And everyone’ll stare at you because they have no idea where this all came from, and you can say, ‘Why so silent, good messieurs?’ and then boom! turn to Treize from accounting and tell him that he needs to get over himself already because he just isn’t that hot. I swear I would jump you right then and there.”

“Well, when you put it that way, it’s almost tempting.”

“Almost?” Duo echoed, disappointed, as he picked up the mask as well and added it to the rope in Heero’s hands.

“All right, it’s definitely tempting,” admitted Heero. “I guess we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

Duo gave a grin of self-satisfaction. “Seriously, though,” he said, “we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for, Mr. Doesn’t-Bother-To-Tell-Me-He-Likes-Me. I’ve known you for, what, a year? and the more I think about it, the more I think I’ve liked you all along without realizing it.”

This brought a sudden warmth to Heero’s chest and a smile to his face. It was a slow, almost tentative expression; this was so much more than he’d expected tonight when he’d set out to try to get Duo to bite him and relieve just the tiniest bit of his pent-up frustration and hidden desire. It was almost incredible that they’d come this far.

Duo also seemed to be marveling, simultaneously surprised and delighted at Heero’s smile. “You are so cute…” he said wonderingly.

Heero didn’t know that ‘cute’ was the word he would most like to have applied to him, but couldn’t really object when it impelled Duo to kiss him again.

“Now,” said Duo at last, drawing away, “I seem to remember somebody promising me beer.”

I seem to remember Nosferatu Lord Maxwell inviting himself over for it,” Heero replied mildly.

Duo grinned. “You can’t tell me you didn’t want me to come.”

Heero thought he was once again blushing a little at Duo’s word choice, but still so flushed that it probably wasn’t visible. “Well, take a look in the fridge,” he said.

“Excellent!” Duo swept his cape out dramatically as he turned and headed for the kitchen once again.

Heero paused before following, his gaze falling from Duo’s figure to the objects in his hands. Contemplatively he stared at them for a long moment. “Duo…” he said.

Duo paused just past the microwave and looked over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Face taking on a serious frown, Heero continued to scrutinize his props. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Duo moved two steps back toward him, mirroring Heero’s expression with a slight worried wrinkling of his brow at the pensive tone.

At last Heero looked up at him and said, “Who the hell am I dressed as?”


This was written for the 2010 Moments of Rapture contest, whose theme was a whole long list of cliches. I’ve rated the story .

My friend Zombie Girl provided the suggestion that Quatre and Trowa dress as Mercutio and Tybalt of Romeo and Juliet. I’m not a huge fan of the play (though it’s a lot more enjoyable when the titular couple are offstage), but I wanted matching costumes that would provide them with the opportunity for dramatic dialogue, and those characters worked perfectly. The one line that doesn’t belong to either of them is, “His fault concludes but what the law should end,” which is originally one of Lord Montague’s.

Incidentally, though Heero’s narration never really had a chance to get into it because of flow and all that, Shakespeare is something of a mask for Trowa: in much the same way the actual mask allows Heero to express himself more openly, the memorized lines and the concept of performance allow Trowa to show a good deal more emotion than he otherwise could.

Obviously all the other quoted lines are from Andrew Lloyd Weber’s The Phantom of the Opera. I have mixed feelings about his adaptation of what has long been one of my favorite books, but people tend to know the musical much better, so I felt it logical to have the other characters quoting that rather than the book. I wanted to balance this out just a little by giving the story a title from the book rather than the musical (which title would also then have been a bit less obvious), but, although there are several lines featuring the word ‘mask’ in Gaston Leroux’s original (OK, a translation of Leroux’s original), none of them said what I wanted, so there you go.

This story is included in the Gundam Wing Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Clinical Treatment


The force with which Saitou threw Sano to the floor of the treatment room at the Oguni clinic sent blood spattering from the gash across his chest to the wood on which he now sprawled. Sano didn’t mind a little rough handing, especially from Saitou, but being practically dragged along the ground all the way from the bar to the doctor was something he didn’t much appreciate.

At their abrupt entry into the room Megumi had started a little, but now she only watched, calm and wordless, as Sano swore incoherently at Saitou. It was neither the first time this had happened nor particularly uncharacteristic.

“I told you I could get here just fine on my own!” was the first thing Sano managed to articulate properly. It was a pointless statement, however, since he had told Saitou that several times on the way over, and Saitou hadn’t listened then any more than he was likely to now.

“I’m not done with you,” the officer answered ominously.

“Shouldn’t you be dealing with the rest of that brawl?” wondered Sano, surly but not honestly wishing Saitou were anywhere but here.

“The men can earn their pay for once.” Saitou was glowering down at Sano as the latter shifted into a kneeling position and glared back. “Do you have any idea who that was I pulled you off of back there?”

“Yeah, I–”

“Sugiyama Shinichiro is an influential tradesman with connections all over the country. He’s one of the richest men in Tokyo and one of the most ruthless. A word from him could have you killed and your body hidden so no one would ever find you, and a second word would make sure nobody even looked.”

“Well, isn’t it your job to take care of guys like that?”

Saitou completely ignored this remark. “Just because his brother is every bit as worthless a deadbeat as you are does not make him a good target for your idiotic weekend games.”

“He wasn’t a ‘target!'” Sano protested with, he thought, a fair imitation of honest outrage. He was outraged, of course, but it was just the usual anger at Saitou’s treatment of him, not because the accusations were untrue. “He just happened to be there when that fight got started, and–”

“Just shut up, ahou. This is the fifth time in the last two months you’ve gotten yourself into this kind of trouble and I’ve had to get you out of it; I’m sick and tired of wasting my influence on you. You can’t just stick to lowlifes like yourself, can you?” Sano had rarely seen Saitou this irritated; it was very picturesque. “No, you have to seek out and start pointless fights with the highest-profile people you can find and get yourself into situations you need a government agent to get you out of alive.”

“It’s not like I go out looking for them,” Sano lied. He had struggled to his feet by this point, but here Saitou stepped forward and shoved him to the floor again.

“Is there some reason you keep doing this?” the officer demanded harshly, towering over Sano with fists clenched. “Some reason that fits into any logical human rationale? Or are you really every bit as brainless as I’ve always thought you?”

It was consistently marvelous to Sano how Saitou could enrage and electrify him at the same time; how Sano could have come to crave emotions he normally would have considered negative simply because they were the best he could expect from that source, desire this rough treatment only because it was closer to what he wanted than anyone else’s gentleness… and yet grow irate when he received it. Although he opened his mouth to answer, he couldn’t be sure what he planned on saying. He certainly wasn’t about to admit the reason he kept doing this, whether or not it would fit Saitou’s idea of ‘logical human rationale.’

But Saitou didn’t give him a chance to say anything at all. “This is the last time I step forward to help you out of a mess like this; do you understand?”

Sano tried not to show just how much of a stab this statement was. “But I thought the commissioner said–”

“I don’t care that you came to Kyoto and I don’t care that you’re Himura’s friend; it’s not my job to clean up after you, so next time you can just get yourself hanged so we can all be free of your idiocy.”

Sano had scrambled back and was moving to stand again, in response to which Saitou took a menacing step toward him, but at last Megumi spoke. Her tone was placid, and the spark in her eyes expressed plainly that the delay in her intervention was no accident. “Now, now, I can’t have you worrying my patient to death.”

“It would save you a considerable amount of trouble,” Saitou replied. He stared down at Sano with burning eyes for a long moment before striding abruptly from the room.

Once it had slammed shut, Sano tore his gaze from the door with an effort and rallied himself not only for the remonstrance he knew Megumi expected him to make but also for the entire conversation that must follow.

“You couldn’t have stepped in before he started ripping me a new one?”

“No,” she replied brusquely, “because then I would have had to do it, and I have enough to do with you tonight as it is.” Her hands were gentler than her tone, however, as she helped him to the patient bed and began examining his injuries. “Besides,” she added with a somewhat evil smile, “he’s so good at it. It would have been a shame to interrupt him.”

Sano couldn’t help grinning. “Yeah, he’s made an art out of being an asshole.”

“Trouble attracts trouble, I suppose,” she said with a slight sigh.

“Yeah, I wish,” Sano muttered.

She’d been muttering something of her own at the time — “I’m going to have to stitch this,” he thought — and hadn’t heard him. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“But really,” she went on as she washed her hands in the basin by the door, “have you noticed we only see him when something goes wrong?”

“Yeah, it sucks.”

The glance she shot him was more confused than anything else, but there might have been a hint of suspicion to it.

“That I keep having to be helped by him,” Sano explained quickly.

“Well,” she sniffed, “maybe you should get a clue and stop getting into this kind of trouble.”

“Yeah…” Sano murmured, glancing again at the door. Then he added more quietly, “Where do you s’pose they took that Sugiyama guy…?”

“It’s probably best not to ask,” Megumi replied. “And lie still.”

There was something a little untrustworthy about her tone, and Sano speculated immediately, “He’s here, isn’t he?”

Megumi laughed musically and, Sano thought, a little uneasily. “Why would someone like that come to this clinic when he undoubtedly has a private doctor back at his estate?”

“Because it’s closest. Ow! shit! warn me before you stick fucking needles into me!”

She made a disdainful noise and continued stitching up his worst injury.

“Anyway,” Sano grunted, “he was only half-conscious when I last saw him, and he didn’t seem to have enough of a brain to get himself to the right place even when he wasn’t drunk off his ass and kinda beat-up… by me…”

There’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Megumi said with a roll of eyes, snipping off her thread deftly and concisely wiping the blood away from the newly-sewn-up wound. “And don’t jump to conclusions.”

Contemplatively Sano watched her apply bandages to the fresh stitches and what other of his hurts required them. “If they’d brought him here, he’d probably be in the opposite corner room,” he mused.

Rolling her eyes yet again, Megumi stood abruptly. Applying pressure to a rather uncomfortable spot on his chest, she forced him to lie down. “You are more trouble than you’re worth,” she remarked, and went to wash her hands again.

“Pretty sure you’re not the only one who thinks so,” Sano grinned, putting his arms casually behind his head.

“And now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients to look in on.”

“Including Sugiyama, right?” Sano abandoned his relaxed pose almost immediately after assuming it, sitting up.

“You need to lie still for a bit,” she admonished, not entirely without the air of one making excuses, as she reached for the door.

“Why should I lie around at all?” demanded Sano, a triumphant grin growing on his face. “You didn’t give me any drugs or nothing. You’re running off to get him out of here before I can get at him, aren’t you?”

She drew herself up with dignity. “As I said, I have other patients to look in on. It has nothing to do with you. And you need to lie down because I’m your doctor and I said so.”

Sano jumped up, fully prepared to follow her wherever she was going and see if his guess was correct. As if to escape him, she opened the door quickly and took a step forward… but then fell back a pace with an inadvertent gasp. Even Sano’s progress was stopped in his surprise.

“I’ll handle this, doctor,” Saitou said, stepping through the door past Megumi, his dark, irritated gaze locked on Sano’s face.

Megumi could recover her presence of mind quicker than anyone Sano knew. “I would appreciate that,” she smiled. “Thank you, officer.” And she was gone.

Saitou closed the door and advanced. He did not look happy.

Sano was torn between pleasure that Saitou had returned (or perhaps never left) and wondering if Saitou might actually deliberately injure him this time and give Megumi more work. But all he said, in a tone of relatively indifferent defiance, was, “What are you doing still here?”

“Making sure you don’t do exactly what you’re trying to do right now.”

“Oh, really? What do you think I’m doing that’s so awful it requires your personal attention?”

Saitou gave a frustrated sigh. “You weren’t angry enough tonight to justify a follow-up visit to that overdressed idiot, so the only reason I can think of for you to be stalking him now is to draw attention to yourself again.”

“Draw attention to myself?” Sano echoed, trying to sound surprised at the accusation and, he feared, failing. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“I don’t know, ahou; why don’t you tell me? I’ve had the feeling you were getting yourself into trouble on purpose all this time, but even of you I almost couldn’t believe it. How is it possible for you to be that stupid? Or are you suicidal?”

“Something like that,” Sano muttered. When Saitou’s impatient, irritated glare indicated the insufficiency of this answer, it was Sano’s turn to sigh. “You’re the investigator,” he said. “You should be able to figure it out.”

He wasn’t sure exactly how to interpret the narrowing of Saitou’s eyes at this. There wasn’t, he believed, any way Saitou could really be completely in the dark about his motives… unless he did simply think Sano suicidally stupid. Well, Saitou had said this was the last time he would help him out of a situation like tonight’s, which meant this little game had to end here. So, Sano figured, he might as well finish digging his grave before trying to evade it. He’d known, after all, that this moment had to come eventually; he hadn’t really been prepared for it (if that was even possible), but he’d certainly known.

“I noticed you help me out way more than makes sense unless… And I thought, ‘Well, maybe he really…'” Sano gave a half laugh and shrugged. “The truth is,” he said after a deep breath, “I kinda li–”

The confession, the very syllable was cut off by Saitou’s hand over his mouth as another clamped down on his arm to hold him in place. Sano’s eyes went wide in surprise as he half-choked in the cigarette scent of the glove and stared into Saitou’s face that was suddenly very near his own. This behavior at another time might have angered him, but with Saitou so close, and Sano just having said (or started to say) what he had, all he could feel was the overfast pounding of his heart.

“Ahou,” the wolf admonished in a low, intense tone, “think, for once in your life, before you speak. Think about who you’re talking to before you finish that statement.” For a long moment he paused, while Sano waited breathlessly to see where he was going with this. “Because if you invite,” Saitou finally continued, “I’m not going to refuse.” Feeling his eyes widen and his pulse intensify even farther, Sano wondered why on earth Saitou was phrasing this like a warning. “But if you’re looking for something soft and romantic,” the officer finished, “you’re better off with that woman.”

Sano wasn’t quite sure what woman Saitou could possibly be referring to. As a matter of fact, he really only had an amorphous concept of what a woman was at this point, given that the world had narrowed to the hot, expectant space he and Saitou occupied and nothing else seemed to exist.

The hand over his mouth pulled slowly away. As his lips were grazed slightly by Saitou’s fingers in this movement, Sano found his face tilting forward slightly as if to ask them to stay. And now he couldn’t think of anything to say. Saitou’s caution, after all, was valid enough; Sano knew perfectly well that, the moment this moment was over and the strangeness and anticipation had passed, he was certain to be irate at the cop again for something or other.

But, hell, that would be then. This was now.

“I’ve been starting brawls and getting myself stabbed just to get you to show up,” he replied hoarsely, “and you think you’re gonna scare me off with a vague little threat like that?”

The smile that spread slowly across Saitou’s face sent an intense, prickling shudder running through Sano’s entire body. Though not much different on the surface from the man’s usual predatory smirk, yet it somehow suggested he was deeply satisfied with Sano’s answer — as if his warning had been a test and Sano had passed particularly well.

And then Saitou descended on him like some force of nature made flesh, kissing Sano suddenly and fiercely. Rough gloved hands gripped him, pressing painfully against his injuries; possessive arms encircled him, making him feel always just a little off-balance and, for the moment, utterly dependent; and at their uppermost point of connection Saitou seemed to be attempting to devour Sano alive and whole. Sano didn’t think he’d ever felt anything so wonderful.

“I shouldn’t be rewarding you for your stupid ideas,” Saitou murmured after a while against Sano’s lips.

“Admit it,” Sano triumphed (though perhaps that was the wrong word when he could still hardly believe this was happening) — “you couldn’t stand the idea of me getting hanged or whatever, so you kept showing up to help me even when it annoyed the hell out of you.”

Saitou hmphhd and went back to kissing Sano thoroughly.

“That’s an unusual way of handling it,” Megumi commented suddenly from the door.

It was like that old story where the guy got a look at heaven only to find years had passed during the brief glimpse. Surely it hadn’t been long enough for Megumi to deal with some other patient — possibly to the point where he could be discharged — and decide it was safe to come back into a room where Saitou was supposedly raging? And why didn’t she look nearly as surprised as Sano thought she should?

Meanwhile, Saitou had, very unfortunately, released him and turned an amused expression on the doctor. “Nevertheless, the situation is under control,” he said.

“The end always justifies the means with you, doesn’t it?” Whether the disapproval in her voice was real or feigned, or to what exactly it referred, Sano couldn’t quite tell.

“In this case a more accurate idiom would be ‘killing two birds with one stone.'”

Megumi looked as if she had some issue she wasn’t vocalizing, and in any case she didn’t smirk nearly as well as Saitou did — but she still definitely had her own style. “I trust, then, I won’t be seeing him in here again.”

Saitou raised an eyebrow with a brief laugh. “I’m taking him in hand, not miraculously giving him a brain. You still have the pointless fights he’s always getting into, self-inflicted injury, and whatever I do to him to deal with.” At this point Sano protested rather loudly, but they both ignored him as Saitou finished, “Situations like tonight’s, however, you no longer need to worry about.”

“Then I suppose I won’t have to move Sugiyama-san after all.”

“No,” laughed Sano. “Matter of fact, give him my best.”

“Get out of here,” she commanded wryly. “You’ve had all the clinical treatment you need for one night.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Sano glanced slyly at Saitou, who seemed unable to restrain a faint smirk at the suggestion. Signs were good that Saitou had been in much the same state of mind Sano had ever since Kyoto, and Sano’s pleasure at the cleverness of his own plan (stupid as it had seemed all along) was overshadowed only by his pleasure at its outcome.

Megumi snorted and rolled her eyes. Then she fixed the latter somewhat severely on Saitou. “I’d better not see him back in here tonight, at least. I have other things to do.”

“Nah…” Sano felt suddenly a bit sheepish about all the trouble he’d given Megumi over the last couple of months in pursuit of an end he’d never really considered very likely. “Got no reason to go looking for fights now.” Especially since he could probably find one with Saitou now any time he wanted, and not even need to go to extreme measures to get the man’s attention.

As if reading his thoughts, Saitou punched him in the arm none too gently. “Ahou. That’s not what she meant.”

“God, asshole, that’s no reason to fucking hit me!” Sano’s hand went from rubbing the spot on his arm to striking out against Saitou, who stepped easily aside. “What the hell did you think she meant?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Saitou smirked. “Come on.” And he started toward the door.

“Where are we going?” Sano jogged after him.

“I’ll explain that too.”

“Hey, see you, kitsune!” Sano whirled, walking backward for a few paces, to wave at Megumi. Stumbling, his back running hard into the doorframe, he was soon forced to resume normal movement; but before he turned he saw her standing still watching them leave, arms crossed, rolling her eyes at him again.

She was smiling, though.


I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Pattern


Saitou removed his gloves, briefly massaged one of his temples, lit a new cigarette, and settled in for another perusal of this seemingly random collection of evidence. It was his fourth cigarette and his sixth perusal; when each was spent, and he richer by no significant insight, he sighed and slumped a bit.

Rustling sounded behind him, and presently Sano’s strong warm hands slid down over his collarbones. As the young man’s body pressed against his from behind, as closely as possible with the back of the chair between them, Sano half yawned in his ear, “I shoulda known better than to expect you any time soon.”

Saitou let his head fall against Sano’s shoulder with another exhalation. He’d been concentrating so hard that the unrelated rest of the world had gone out of focus, and now Sano’s warmth against him restored his awareness abruptly. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been sitting here; it was probably three in the morning by now.

Sano’s hands roved slowly across his chest in an almost massaging motion, and now he was leaning forward to look at the desk. “You’re not even actually doing anything, are you? Just going through those same notes.”

“There has to be a pattern,” Saitou muttered, sitting up straight again and forcing his eyes back onto the papers in front of him.

“No, there doesn’t,” replied Sano flatly. “There isn’t always a connection between shit like this.”

“There is here,” Saitou stated. But the notes on the desk were blurring.

“Sure there is.” Sano pressed closer against him. “Guy gets assigned boring criminal shit whenever he’s not investigating dirty politicians, and he usually gets through it about twice as fast as the other cops because he’s some kind of crazy genius or something. So obviously this guy’s gonna want to get all his cases done twice as fast so everyone keeps thinking he’s some kind of crazy genius or something.”

Saitou gave a brief, dry laugh and murmured, “Ahou.”

“What?” protested Sano. “It makes perfect sense!”

“There are other reasons I might want to wrap up a case quickly. Don’t assume I’m as frivolous as you.”

I don’t think trying to keep up your reputation is frivolous.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t.”

“And I know this is an Aku Soku Zan thing too,” Sano went on in a more serious tone, “but you gotta sleep sometime.” Saitou looked down at his papers again, but Sano persisted before he could speak. “Come on, man, it’s not a murder case! Sure, these guys are all organized and getting away with expensive shit, but it’s not like anyone’s dead.”

“You’ve been reading my notes,” Saitou remarked in some surprise.

“I gotta find something to do while you’re busy,” shrugged Sano.

“There are quite a few more useful things you could be doing.” But Saitou couldn’t help smiling as he made this remonstrance. He stood, pushing the chair aside and turning into Sano’s embrace.

After a warm, leisurely kiss Sano said, “Here, let me help you,” and attacked the buttons of Saitou’s jacket.

Helping Sano ‘help’ him, Saitou chucked low in his throat. “And here’s the real point of all your persuasion. Don’t you ever think about anything else?”

“Hey!” Sano gave him a (mostly) facetious glare. “I’m looking out for you, trying to make sure you don’t work yourself to death, and you make me sound like some horny kid!”

“I’m afraid you’re going to work me to death one of these nights,” Saitou smirked.

“That would be a way better way to go.”

Saitou had to agree.

Sometimes all he really needed in order to solve a problem was to step back and think about something else for a while. Sometimes he forgot this in his single-minded pursuit of evil. Sano’s intervention might not have done much to compel Saitou to rest, since dawn found him again seated at his desk in full uniform, but now as he looked at the collected information all the pieces of the pattern were falling into place almost without effort.

As he gathered up his things, ready to head to the station and initiate a plan of action he’d been miles away from even forming just hours before, he threw a fond smile over at his sleeping lover. His involvement with Sano had more benefits than merely his own perpetual happiness.


This fic is dedicated to TsukiNekoSama, an old friend from DeviantArt that used to like this pairing too.

I’ve rated this story . Short and sweet.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Unconventional Gift



Sano lost track of his laundry basket as he craned his neck to watch the car — he’d caught sight of it some-miraculous-how the moment it appeared at the stop light — pulling into the lot and then a parking space. The laundry room at the rear of his apartment building, which was on a slight rise, had a good view of the adjacent lot, but a few of the venerable wide-boled trees that dotted the landscape of the complex got in the way. Which was just as well, since Sano would really prefer that fewer people noticed him blatantly ogling his neighbor.

Though Sano wasn’t sure how much money there was to be made in undercover cop work or super spy work or whatever exactly kind of work the guy did, the fact that he lived in this relatively cheap apartment complex meant either he wasn’t rolling in the dough or he was on some kind of long-term ultra-secret assignment that required him to pose as a typical middle-class drudge. In any case, Sano thought he could afford a nicer car. Sure, that thing got good gas mileage, but it was so ugly.

Unlike the man himself.

Sano found himself holding onto the zippered edges of his sweatshirt hoodie, as if holding himself forcibly back from running to attack (in one way or another) the man now climbing the shallow sidewalk steps toward the building they both inhabited. It would be a pointless maneuver; Saitou wouldn’t even bother to knock him down — he’d just move out of the way to let Sano fall on his face, make some caustic comment, and keep walking. So Sano merely watched him, probably with the Stupidest Expression Ever on his face, until the apartment blocked his view of the sidewalk and, consequently, Saitou.

There was one moment before that inevitability, though, when Saitou turned a pointed gaze directly at him, and Sano shuddered. His upstairs neighbor had this way of looking at him — well, at anyone, he supposed; he wished it was just at him — that seemed to say, “I will kill you.” And Sano couldn’t blame him — it couldn’t be anything but annoying not to be able to walk from the car to the apartment without being stared at — but he knew it was a bluff. Saitou was far more likely to ignore him to death, these days, than to bother killing him any other way.

They’d come to blows several times during the odd circumstances under which they’d met in the first place — a rather complicated business involving a couple of Sano’s friends that had turned out to be based largely on misunderstanding — and Sano had always been distinctly, bloodily on the losing end. Saitou hadn’t laid a hand on him since then, but it made perfect sense that Sano couldn’t just let it go. Nobody beat him that decisively, let alone that dispassionately.

It might have been irrational to think the rematch he wanted would end any differently than any of the previous bouts, but wanting it was completely logical. So, he thought, was the subsequent transformation of his desire into something more curious than angry; he’d still craved the fight, but now more because he wanted to know the extent of Saitou’s abilities — not to mention how his own might improve in the process — than because he felt the need to take out his frustrations on the man… and that was quite understandable.

It was in retrospectively contemplating the next transformation that he lost the thread of logic. The first two attitudes made sense, but the final evolution — an interest in Saitou as something very different from a rival or sparring partner — seemed removed from them by a bottomless gulf of incongruity.

OK, well, given that he would still enjoy a good fist-fight with the guy for the previously mentioned reasons, he couldn’t even really say that particular desire had changed. It had just sprouted some kind of unexpected cancerous growth that turned out to be something like a mad crush. Or were they unrelated? It was all nonsense.

With a sigh that was almost angry, he cast about for his laundry. He’d dropped it, and the overloaded basket had fallen onto its side in a spill of dirty clothes. Gathering these up somewhat absently, he glanced once more toward the corner of the building behind which Saitou had disappeared. It might all be nonsense, but that wasn’t by any means a deterrent; Sano was whole-heartedly obsessing and disinclined to deny it. He’d accepted with relative equanimity, in fact, and wouldn’t have complained even merely to himself… if Saitou didn’t seem to have this obnoxious attitude of being entirely finished, case closed and paperwork filed, with Sano.

The latter spent more time than he would like to admit daydreaming… trying to come up with an ambiance romantic enough to force Saitou to stop thinking of him as the stupid neighbor kid that always wanted a fight and see him instead as… something more. Even a little more would help.

If, for instance, he were to sabotage the stairs up to Saitou’s door and then lie in wait for Saitou to come along and sprain his ankle, Sano could tenderly care for him until Saitou was all better, and during that time Saitou would surely realize… well, no, sprained ankles weren’t terribly romantic, and neither was what Saitou would probably do to Sano if he realized it had been a setup.

Along the same lines, some manner of mildly poisoned food or drink was similarly unromantic and likely to be more dangerous to Sano’s health than Saitou’s.

There was always the good old mail mixup… it was delivered here to unlocked boxes just inside the outer door; Sano potentially had access to that of all four of the apartments in the building. But, while it was an excuse to meet, that was not even remotely romantic… not to mention the fact that the meeting would last all of ten seconds anyway: Saitou would accept his letters, possibly make some disparaging comment on the state of the postal service, and close the door in Sano’s face.

Borrowing a cup of sugar was just stupid.

But what if Sano played his music really loud and then answered the door half naked when Saitou appeared to tell him irritably to turn it down? Sano could pretend to be drunk and horny, and… No. That was not romantic. That was pathetic. Why did so many of his ideas seem so blatantly to run the risk of making Saitou dangerously angry?

So apparently he was good at thinking up dumb situations, but his romantic sense needed work. But, hell, if he could just get Saitou to notice him — other than by demanding a fight, that is… not that Saitou was even willing to give him that… “That’s all behind us,” he always said, or some similar whitewash. “Why can’t you just drop it?” Obviously he didn’t realize how Sano’s attitude about it had changed, and Sano couldn’t figure out how to tell him.

Laundry was something he always put off for as long as practicality allowed, but he’d been lectured in the past about the rudeness of occupying both washing machines at once… so, rather than risk the wrath of the other tenants, although he had two loads’ worth of clothing, Sano got one of the washers going and then stood staring at the other, empty machine somewhat wistfully for a few moments while the first whirred noisily about its business. Then he wandered out of the detergent-scented humidity to the chillier outside air.

Tall and lean to the point of angularity wasn’t something Sano would have thought he might at some point find attractive, but there was something about Saitou’s form that had a devastating effect on Sano’s frame of mind. Maybe it was the awareness of what kind of musculature lay under the impeccably buttoned long sleeves despite the look of leanness. Or maybe it wasn’t so much the figure as the eyes, which stabbed into Sano like jolts of hot adrenaline… or the smirking lips so promising and expressive. Whatever it was, seeing all of these aspects suddenly just in front of him outside the laundry room door was enough to make Sano suck in a quick, surprised breath.

Saitou wasn’t here to do laundry. If Sano hadn’t immediately noticed, with the acumen that cleverly picks up on superlatively useless facts at moments like this, that the other man had no basket full of white button-ups and slacks not discernibly dirty but probably having been worn to work and back the requisite once — at least, this was what Sano assumed Saitou would bring to this location — the clenched fist aimed at his face would have been a fairly good indication that laundry was not on Saitou’s mind at the moment.

“The hell?” Sano demanded as he barely dodged the blow.

Saitou’s only response was an elbow to the side of Sano’s head. It didn’t crunch against his temple nearly as hard as he’d expected, which seemed to contradict the conclusion he’d tentatively reached that Saitou was tired of Sano staring at him like an idiot and had come to let him know.

His expression didn’t look angry at all, in fact, and Sano wasn’t sure how to react. Well, obviously, he’d already clenched his own fists and started throwing punches back — but emotionally it was a little confusing. Normally when somebody jumped him for no apparent reason he would be boiling over before knuckles even brushed his cheek, but wasn’t this exactly what he’d just been wishing for? So for the moment he decided simply to fight back as best he could and assume he would slip into the correct emotional state eventually.

It didn’t take long — five or six punches, two kicks, a good deal of ducking and weaving, and a few jabs from elbows, shoulders, and knees — to get things sorted out: whenever Saitou landed a hit, especially given that the bastard really didn’t fight fair, it was annoying as hell; whenever Sano caught sight of those intense golden eyes, it was dangerously, distractingly arousing; when he realized Saitou was actually prolonging the combat by restraining himself from laying Sano flat in a couple of moves, it was confusing — even if the impetus for this sudden spar hadn’t already been a mystery. But overall, it was fun. Sano’s blood raced, his entire being energized. He couldn’t begin to think what had pushed Saitou to this point, but he was damn well going to find out so he could make sure it happened again. Maybe this wasn’t the full extent of what he wanted from the other man, but it was good and it was a start.

The combination of a knee to the stomach and a hard fist to the jaw stole Sano’s breath and seemed to set off firecrackers behind his eyes; with a grunt he crumpled, his hands falling twitching away from any blow they might have thought to attempt in return. Unexpectedly, Saitou caught him firmly as he fell; it was the only thing firm in a world suddenly very wobbly and increasingly blurry around the edges. Bending quickly, his mouth close to Sano’s ear, he murmured, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Sano was fairly sure his descent into unconsciousness was abetted by the shock of the words and their breath against his face, the realization of their implications, not to mention the glorious feeling of falling into Saitou’s arms. He had just time to reflect, as the blackness took him, that maybe he wasn’t the only one to have allowed a complete incapacity for romance to keep him from confessing something…

And that maybe that was just fine with him.



All right, an author’s anecdote almost entirely unrelated to the story here: once upon a time, over two decades ago, in a high school geometry class, the teacher used to play this CD of truly awful Christian pop during work time. And one of the songs on this album had a chorus that repeated ad nauseum the phrase, “Unconditional love.” So now, even so many freaking years later, every damn time I catch sight of this story’s title, I get that song stuck in my head. Or, rather, since that one main phrase is all I can remember of it, I get that stuck in my head — those two words over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. AAAARGH.

Anyway, I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


On Your Mark

They hovered above the city and both looked out for the same absent person.

Duo and Relena aren’t going to let a little thing like romantic rivalry get in the way of their friendship.



Relena didn’t have nearly as much attendant staff these days, but still it was damn hard to catch her alone; he’d followed her for hours, in fact, before he managed it. It probably wasn’t even necessary to talk to her privately — most of her aides surely knew who he was anyway — but old habits died hard.

“Delivery for you, ma’am,” he said in his casual-professional tone as he held out the envelope in her direction.

She was emerging from a bathroom (such the expedient to which he’d been driven), but if she was startled either by his sudden greeting, his playing a delivery boy again, or his presence in general, she didn’t show it. Accepting what he offered with barely a glance at him, she stepped out of the way of the door she’d just let swing shut behind her and opened the envelope.

He thought she probably was surprised to see him, as her reaction was just a little too politic. If she hadn’t been at all surprised, she would have greeted him; her first remark would have been more like, “Oh, hello, Duo; how long have you been in town?” and less like, “Who is this from?” as she looked at the all-day-pass to the local fair that the envelope had contained.

“Oh, did I…?” Duo patted himself down in an exaggerated fashion and pulled out his own ticket. Flipping it over, he nodded in understanding. “I put the wrong one in there. Pretend you never saw that; this one’s actually for you.”

With a somewhat skeptical smile, she accepted the trade and examined the new ticket. It was identical to the first, of course, except that on the back it read, How about a day at the fair with some old friends tomorrow? –D.M.

“I fail to see the point of writing a note on the back when you knew you’d be delivering it yourself,” she smiled. “And do I even want to know how you knew I had a clear schedule tomorrow?”

“Probably not,” he replied with a grin. “And I wasn’t planning on delivering it myself, but my other plans fell through. Good thing I did!”

She glanced at the pass again, and when she looked back up at him she had a slight, hopeful spark in her eyes that had not been there before. But her tone was merely curious as she asked, “‘Old friends?'”

“Yeah, Heero’s here too,” replied Duo, perfectly casual. “Unfortunately…” He held up the third day-pass that was still in his possession. “Convincing him that having fun is OK sometimes is something I just can’t do.”

The barest tilt of head and narrowing of eyes was all the indication Relena gave that she didn’t miss the unspoken addendum ‘yet.’

“You two are here together?” she asked. Duo might be good at making casual statements simply because casual was one of his basic modes of conversation; Relena was good at making casual statements because she’d become so practiced at all modes of conversation. Of course, when they both knew that the casualness of the statements they were making was deliberate, the entire meaning was altered.

“Naw,” he answered, not letting the light informality slip a jot. “We both have assignments here, so we’ll be in your hair for a while, but we’re not ‘here together.’ I had to track him down just to try — and fail — convincing him to come to the fair with us.”

“You might fail convincing me too,” she warned.

“How could I possibly fail twice in a row?”

“Tomorrow is my only free day before the conference, and I really can’t think of anything less relaxing to do than spend the day at a fair with you.” Her smile and friendly tone took any possible sting out of the words.

“Less relaxing??” He threw his arms out in astonishment. “How could anything be more relaxing than pretending to be a normal person for a day?! We can wait for rides and complain about how hot it is and how our sunscreen smells and how long the lines are like it’s the worst problem we’ve ever faced! Or moan about the concession stand prices or how much it costs just to buy a stupid baseball hat — ’cause the day-pass only gets you unlimited rides, not food and stuff, you know! And wonder how anyone can get drunk in the middle of the day on cheap fair beer and puke on the roller coaster and then decide not to go on that particular roller coaster and go on some kiddie ride next to it instead and get strange looks because we barely fit in the seats! Come on, seriously, how could you not think that’s the greatest way to spend your day off you’ve ever heard of?”

By the end of this little oration she was laughing, and raised her hands to ward off further persuasion. “Well, I’m not sure how, with that description,” she grinned, “but you’ve convinced me. I should hire you to write speeches for me.”

“It’s more the delivery, I think.” He returned the wide smile, his somewhat triumphant.

“With enthusiasm like that, it’s no wonder you scared Heero off.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Who says I tried that approach with Heero?”

Hers did much the same. “I wouldn’t trouble you to tell me what you try with Heero.” And there followed a sudden silence that, though brief, was palpably tense.

Finally Duo said, “So, meet me at opening time?” continuing the conversation naturally as if there had never been a break of any sort. “That’s eleven. And don’t come in a limo, OK?”

With a mildly skeptical look she answered, “Only if you promise not to come in a mobile suit.”

“No, that’s reserved for very special occasions,” he said aloofly.

“Like the limo.”

He grinned. “See you tomorrow, then!” And, pulling down over his eyes the cap he’d lifted to talk to her, he turned and sauntered victoriously away.

Duo was a little early the next day, or so he guessed by the fact that Relena was not there when he arrived at the sidewalk just outside the fair gates. He’d lost his watch, and therefore couldn’t be entirely sure that he wasn’t actually incredibly late, but the last clock he’d seen had only said 10:30 so he figured he was OK. He leaned against the wall beside the gate in the shade of a tree growing out of a square patch of mossy earth in the asphalt and waited.

While thus engaged, he couldn’t help noticing a somewhat gawky girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, pass by at least three times — mostly because each time she did, she threw such a look of longing onto the fairgrounds as to be downright heartbreaking. She was wearing the kind of sensible, unfashionable clothing that spoke of guardians that, while not necessarily badly-off, were definitely on the frugal side; probably the type that would never even consider going to a fair unless somebody else paid, or perhaps for a once-every-five-years family treat.

The fourth or fifth time she stopped and peered around the ticket booths at the colorful hints of towering rides beyond, Duo fished through his pockets and stepped up to her. “Here you go,” he said in something like a conspiratorial whisper, and put the third pass into one of her open hands before she had time to register his presence. “Have fun,” he said, ruffling the girl’s hair and moving on almost before she could understand what she now held.

He found Relena watching him as she approached up the sidewalk from the bus stop on the corner, and ran toward her, waving. The expression on her face indicated that she’d marked the exchange. “How nice of you!” was her greeting. “That girl looked like you made her whole week.” Her tone was somewhat forlorn, for some reason, as her eyes followed the progress of aforementioned girl through the turnstile.

“You say that like it’s something you wouldn’t have done,” he protested, scratching his ear.

“But you do it so freely… It’s more like camaraderie than charity.” She smiled ruefully, shaking her head. “From me it would seem condescending. I think your kindness is easier for… some people to accept than mine sometimes is.”

For the sake of fairness he replied, “Well, if mine’s freer, that means yours is worth more, right?”

Her smile turned slightly amused. “Let’s go in. Something came up for this afternoon, so we only have a few hours.”

With a shake of his head, “Why am I not surprised…” he murmured.

As he’d told her yesterday, it really was pleasant, every once in a while, to pretend to be an innocent tourist with no more interest in people’s destiny than who was cutting in line at the slushee stand and no more pressing concerns than accidentally stepping on chewing gum and feeling slightly grossed-out. So, through an almost dizzying succession of rides and the obligatory hot dogs and giant pretzels, he teased her about having taken the bus to get here — what did her staff think of that?? — and having worn slacks — had she ever worn jeans in her life? — and she gave him what news of the area she thought would be good (or at least somewhat entertaining) for him to know.

At last they came before the appropriately- if inelegantly-named Snake-Knot, the largest ride in the park, an impressive roller coaster boasting some supposedly phenomenal number of loops at some unheard-of speed. As if by one accord they paused before its monumental gates and stared.

“Scared?” Duo asked after a long moment.

Relena gave him the same mildly skeptical look she’d used for his limo comment yesterday.

“Well, let’s go, then!” And he dragged her to where the line began.

It definitely resembled a knotted snake; it had twists and g-forces and white knuckles and all the traditional roller coaster creaking and rumbling… it just wasn’t all that much fun. Beside him, though, he could hear Relena laughing breathlessly throughout most of the ride. She never shrieked like the girls in the other cars did; she was obviously affected, but it would take more than a little shakeup like this to get such a childish reaction out of her. Her laughter was infectious, though, and her genuine pleasure a treat to watch; it enhanced and enlivened what would otherwise have been a rather dull experience.

“That was fun,” she remarked with honest enthusiasm as they were disembarking.

Duo shrugged.

“You didn’t enjoy it?” she wondered. “I would have thought that was just your type of ride.”

He made a well-what-can-you-do? gesture with his hands and then put them both behind his head as they moved away from the machine. “I guess after piloting a Gundam, rides like this just aren’t the thing. Sure, nobody’s shooting at you on the ride, but that whole element of mortal peril really makes a difference, you know?”

Laughing softly, she said nothing for a moment, but then remarked quietly, “Heero would probably agree with you.”

Duo nodded slowly. “Yeah, he probably would.” Unwilling to let it go at that, though, he gave her a sidelong glance and added, “But he’d probably enjoying watching you enjoy it.” He shrugged again and grinned. “I mean, I did.”

Without answering, Relena was looking toward the next ride on their theoretical list; Duo followed her gaze and saw to his dismay that the line was twice as long as the one for the Snake-Knot had been.

“I don’t think I can handle that right now,” she almost groaned.

“I knew you were scared,” he grinned in triumph.

“No more than you are,” replied she in mock haughtiness.

As they were already ambling somewhat unconsciously toward a shaded bench rather than toward the next ride, Duo decided to let fate run its course and agreed with her. “Standing in line shouldn’t be nearly so tiring,” he complained as he sprawled onto the seat, threw his head down over the back, and stared wearily into the sky.

“Standing anywhere for a long time is tiring,” Relena said; her tone was just as worn-out, but also very knowing. And he reflected that she should know; she probably did more standing still on any given day than he’d done his entire life.

He sighed and closed his eyes, relaxing the same way he did everything else: as if it were the most important thing he could possibly be doing at the moment, making rest into an almost active pursuit. As such, it was doubly effective, and after not too long he straightened and looked around again.

Relena was watching him with a neutral expression but an eye that didn’t appear to be missing any detail of his figure. She seemed to be studying every part of his body as she might study some do-it-yourself equipment she had to put together… or maybe take apart. He grinned at her and, leaning into a new, different lazy pose, returned her scrutiny with interest.

She was so poised, even sitting here on a dirty bench at a fair wearing the most casual clothing he’d ever seen on her; the way she held herself was just so quietly elegant and yet somehow tense, ready for anything. There was something about her expression that said simultaneously strength, experience, innocence, and purity. He had no idea how she pulled it off.

Then her body was so nice too, for a woman’s. Nice limbs, good proportions, trim but not unhealthily thin. And her face was beautiful, what with expressive eyes, kissable lips, cute little ears, and all that. There was just no way an intelligent person could fail to have their eye caught. It was disturbingly possible that few intelligent people could fail to be attracted. If they were into women.

“I really like your hair,” she said suddenly, “you know that? I always have.” And she smiled at him.

He flipped his braid casually over the edge of the bench and returned the smile. “Thanks. But yours is nice too; that cut you’ve got now looks really good on you.”

Her smile widened slightly. She knew he didn’t lie, so she was able to accept the compliment exactly as it was meant — that is, on both levels. “Thank you,” she nodded.

“Hey, son, why not buy your sweetheart a souvenir?” called a barker from a nearby stall. “Don’t just sit there talking her to death!”

After glancing over at the man, Duo looked back at Relena; as their eyes met, they both smirked slightly. It was no surprise: anyone observing the previous exchange, even from a distance, would have instantly misinterpreted the tension between them.

“Well, fine.” Duo jumped up. And he sauntered to the stand to look over the logo-chocked keychains, pencils, stuffed animals, and whatnot arranged there. “A souvenir for my sweetheart,” he announced, picking out the ugliest item he could find (the fair’s anthropomorphic frog-mascot really didn’t add any appeal whatsoever). After paying for the overpriced whatever-it-was, he shoved it into his pocket and turned away. Then he stopped with deliberate abruptness and turned again. “I guess I’d better get her one too,” he said to the barker, tilting his head in Relena’s direction.

“Oh…” the man said, chuckling in some abashment, and accepted Duo’s second payment for another incredibly unattractive bit of nonsense.

“That was unnecessary,” Relena chided upon Duo’s return.

He presented the keychain with a flourish. “And I don’t really have a sweetheart.”

Taking it and looking it over with open skepticism she murmured, “Then you lied to the gentleman.”

“Oh, no,” Duo protested, “as long as I just hang onto it until I do have a sweetheart to give it to.”

“If it’s as ugly as this one–” she twirled his magnanimous gift around her raised pointer finger– “someone should do your intended sweetheart a favor and keep you away.”

His eyes narrowed somewhat as he reached out a hand to help her up. “They can try.” Oops, that was too blunt, wasn’t it?

She took his hand and stood, facial expression acknowledging his slip but words moving on: “Let’s ride the ferris wheel.”

“Good idea.” He hadn’t planned on the ferris wheel, given that he knew it from painful experience to be the most brain-crushingly boring ride ever invented, but now he realized suddenly that it was about the same as sitting around on a bench — so they might as well.

“I want a blue one,” he mused as they stood in line watching the ponderous circle move through its slow paces.

“I don’t think we get to choose,” Relena replied. He thought she was watching a blue one too, though. It was almost the right shade, even.

They were out of luck, ending up in a car the color of vomit, but once inside it didn’t really matter as the color was no longer visible. Ascending in silence, they gazed out opposite windows and felt the increased wind as they approached the highest point (except for some Doom Tower thing not far off) of the entire fair. Beyond the latter’s walls and fences the city was visible: alive, indifferent, gratifyingly peaceful.

As the wheel rotated slowly, giving each car its minute at the top, Relena finally broke the silence, though in such a soft, light tone that she almost hadn’t. “So he’s out there somewhere, is he?”

“Yeah.” Duo glanced at her, but she was still staring out the window on her side of the car not looking at him. Shaking his head, he returned to his own view.

“Do you ever wonder what he does?” she asked. “When you’re not around, I mean.”

“Not really; I pretty much know the gist of it.”

“Not what he’s physically doing… what he’s…” She laughed faintly. “It’s hard to describe what I mean. When he’s around, do you ever get the feeling… that he’s alive there… for you… but that when you leave he… shuts off somehow?”

So all of a sudden the subtlety had been completely abandoned; was that it? There was, somehow, an oddly pensive and almost mournful atmosphere in the small car as they hovered above the city and both looked out for the same absent person.

“You mean like his human side comes out when you’re around,” Duo continued for her, figuring he might as well, “and you get the feeling not many other people ever see it? And you kinda hope that maybe it’s actually for you that it happens?”

“And it hurts thinking of him thinking he has to live that way?”

“And you hope that maybe you can become what he needs to realize he doesn’t?”

“Why did you tell me he was here?”

They were descending now, and Duo watched in pensive silence as the ground, and the multitude waiting for their chance at mind-crushing boredom, approached gradually. This hadn’t been that boring after all, though — little as the actual ride had to to with that.

“Duo,” Relena persisted, reaching out and taking his hand so he was forced to pay attention, “you didn’t have to tell me that Heero was here too. We could have done this without him today and I would never have known.”

“You know, I thought about it,” he admitted. “But…” He shook his head and gave her a relutctant grin. “Somehow him and me both here, right under your nose, without you knowing… it felt like a lie.”

Almost mimicking his movement and expression, Relena also shook her head and smiled. “What a good sport,” she murmured.

At that moment the ride attendant opened the door to their car, and gave them a knowing (or, rather, mistaken) look at the sight of Duo’s hand in Relena’s. The latter two exchanged another amused glance and disembarked.

“I wanna try that Doom thing,” he pointed.

“More simulation that can’t compare to reality?” she wondered with a raised brow.

“Two friends at a fair,” he pontificated, “are going to have fun no matter how lame the ride is.”

“Though it’s probably more fun if you both have that reality in your experience to compare it to.”

“Not necessarily! Sometimes it’s more fun to be with someone who hasn’t ever…” He scratched his head and ended somewhat lamely by half-quoting her, “…’had that reality in their experience.'” And he laughed at himself. As if the few minutes spent in the ferris wheel had been sublimely lifted above the entendres and unspoken ripostes, the subtlety seemed to have returned the moment their feet touched down on the ground again. Not that Duo minded — it seemed kinder this way, and it was rather entertaining… he just wasn’t very good at it.

The Doom Tower actually turned out to be somewhat fun on its own merits, and Relena’s reaction to being lifted 150 feet and dropped again made the experience better than it would otherwise have been. But looking at her watch after it was over and once she had her balance back, she frowned slightly. “We don’t have much time left; I don’t think we’ll make it through any more lines before I have to leave.”

“Aw, but I was looking forward to standing in more lines!” he complained facetiously.

“I know you were,” replied she in mock sympathy. “But let’s play some of the games instead.”

“I guess that’s kinda like standing in line…” he allowed with a show of reluctance.

So they took turns paying to throw rings at bottles and fake shuriken at wooden targets. Partly as a handicap and partly just because it was fun, Duo did them all with his eyes closed or after spinning around several times. Relena laughed, but eventually ordered him to do the next one properly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged, snapping off a salute, before taking his place at some sort of rifle-contraption that shot a stream of water at a hole that filled up a balloon somehow. It obviously wasn’t designed with people like Duo in mind; the attendant glanced at him rather skeptically when he practically aced it almost without trying, and her tone was very grudging as she said, “That’s the highest score we’ve had all day.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Duo replied with a lopsided smile.

“You can pick any prize from the second row down.” The attendant gestured at the almost painfully colorful set of stuffed… things… available for his perusal.

“What?” demanded the young man, “Not the top row??”

“You’d have to get that same score three times in a row to get something from the top.”

Duo waved away the suggestion that he spend even more money on this kind of thing. “Well, that’s not worth it. Give me…” He scanned the hanging animals thoughtfully and finally pointed. “That one.”

“Do you always choose the ugliest thing on purpose?” Relena wondered as they walked away from the booth.

“What??” Duo pulled an exaggerated expression of wounded surprise. “You think it’s ugly?? I got it for you!”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”

Examining briefly the large, shiny, blue and green bear that looked like it could burst its cheap seams at any moment, Duo handed it to Relena with a full-fledged bow this time. “You’re supposed to give your prizes to the girl,” he informed her in a tone that suggested she really should have known that.

With a defeated gesture and an amused half-roll of eyes, Relena accepted the second hideous gift. An expression something like nostalgia passed swiftly over her face before the latter reverted to the same casually friendly smile she’d been wearing most of the day.

“I may not always be so generous,” he added, wondering what she was remembering.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her smile didn’t change. “You may not have occasion to.”

She was steering them toward the exit now, so obviously playtime was over. Duo pondered whether that should extend as far as their conversation as well, and couldn’t quite decide. It turned out he didn’t need to, for as they left the fair gates behind them (he with a stamp on his hand in case he wanted to come back later) and approached the bus stop, Relena turned toward him suddenly with a serious expression.

“Duo…”

“Yeah?”

“We’re friends.” The inflection said ‘statement,’ but her eyes said ‘question.’

“Yeah?”

“We’re not the closest friends, but still I think we’re strong enough to stay friends through just about anything.” Now those gentle, purposeful eyes were almost challenging, but there was still something ineffably insecure about her expression. How many friends had she lost in the struggles and twists of life of war? And was she to lose Duo, whom by her own admission she hardly even had, over this unspoken rivalry? Funny thing was, he would be very surprised if the exact same look wasn’t in his own eyes.

His grin in reply was a little softer than usual. “That sounds about right,” he said.

Immediately the smile of the day was back on her face, though the friendliness of the expression had perhaps deepened somewhat. She extended her hand. “Let’s shake on it,” she suggested mildly.

He complied without hesitation. “It’s a deal,” he said.

The bus pulled up in front of them, and Relena released his hand and jogged toward it. “Thanks for the day, Duo!” was her goodbye.

“Thanks for coming!” he called back. “Have fun at your conference!” And he waved as she climbed aboard; she waved back, and then was out of his sight.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned and ambled away from the bus stop. The fair really had been fun; he could even go back now if he wanted. But it just wasn’t the same alone. He knew how it could be even better, though, than it had been with Relena, and was pondering a second attempt at setting up that particular situation.

He might as well, he reflected with a grin. The starting gun had sounded, after all; it wouldn’t do to stand around and let someone else win the race.



This was my first Gundam Wing story, and was intended as a friendship fic disguised as a rivalry fic. Did it work as such? I’m not sure. I’ve rated it .

This story is included in the Gundam Wing Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Imaginary Moon


There was no response to his knock, but this didn’t surprise him, given the hour. He believed, however, that Saitou was inside and not likely to ignore him all night, so after a few moments he knocked again more loudly. Listening carefully and still hearing nothing from within, he raised his fist to pound a third time — but at that moment the door opened.

Sano’s hand unclenched to wave at the irritated man glaring from the darkness within. Saitou looked pretty damn hot in a yukata, though Sano wondered why he’d bothered to put it on when he must have known who waited at the door.

“What,” Saitou demanded.

“I gotta show you something,” Sano replied. “Get clothes and come on.”

Saitou’s eyes rolled and narrowed at the same time. “Tomorrow,” he said flatly, “or maybe never.” And he started to close the door.

“No, no, no,” Sano protested, stopping the door’s progress with a foot. “You gotta see it right now. It’s — how do you cops put it? — time-sensitive.”

For a moment Saitou stared at him, probably trying to decide whether it would be more trouble to get whatever Sano had planned over with or put up with Sano’s disappointed harassment for the rest of the night, and finally gave a half-audible sigh. “Fine.” And he disappeared into the dark house.

“What do you mean ‘What am I talking about?'” Sano was demanding, sounding truly startled.

Saitou barely glanced up from his paperwork. “What I meant by that was, ‘What are you talking about?’ It seems a logical question when you come in here talking about ‘last night’ when I didn’t see you at all yesterday.”

“But you did see me last night,” Sano insisted, his apparent confusion only growing at Saitou’s words. “You know, when I came to your house and woke you up?”

Now Saitou looked up more pointedly, fixing Sano with a skeptical expression. “If you had done that, you would know better than to be in here bothering me now.”

Sano stared, as if searching for some sign on Saitou’s face that this was a misunderstanding. Saitou shook his head and went back to the work at his desk.

Sano couldn’t be sure Saitou wouldn’t just return to bed, leaving him standing at the door waiting until whenever he finally caught on, but it was a chance he had to take; he’d known perfectly well what Saitou’s initial reaction was likely to be in this situation, and had proceeded anyway. And given that Saitou hadn’t threatened him with physical violence if he didn’t get lost, things were already going pretty well. Sano alternated between listening hard for whatever Saitou was doing inside and hopping from one foot to the other glancing impatiently over his shoulder into the sky.

To Sano’s great relief, Saitou eventually did reappear, clad predictably in blue police pants and one of those sexy black shirts. Sano had hoped he would wear something more interesting, but at least he’d left off the jacket. With an air of supreme annoyance Saitou locked his door and turned to glare at Sano, who had already advanced a few paces toward the street like an expectant dog anticipating a walk.

“So what is it you’re showing me?” Saitou wondered darkly as he stalked toward him.

Sano seized the cop’s hand and tried to urge him along faster, but Saitou resisted and eventually shook free. “What are you showing me?” he demanded again, more insistently.

“I can’t tell you,” Sano said doggedly. “You just gotta see it.”

“Ahou, if you’ve dragged me out of bed just to look at some drunken animal or something–”

“No, it’s nothing like that. Besides, you thought that was as funny as I did.”

“It wouldn’t have been nearly so entertaining in the middle of the night.”

“Well, this isn’t anything like that.”

Again Saitou sighed quietly, quickening his steps slightly, obviously sure that whatever Sano had to show him was little more worth his time than the aforementioned, but apparently having decided on the get-it-over-with method of dealing with it.

“But…” By now Sano was thoroughly baffled. “I knocked on your door until you woke up and came outside! How can you possibly not remember that?”

Saitou threw Sano another quizzical look, eyebrow even higher this time. “And I didn’t kill you?”

“No! We went on a walk!”

“A walk.”

“Yes! ‘Cause the moon was really big and shit…”

“The moon.”

“Yes, dammit. It was really… pretty.”

“I see.”

Their destination lay not far from Saitou’s house, though the distance took longer to cover than it had the other direction since Sano had run to fetch his reluctant lover to come see. When Sano left the street, however, for the space where a couple of trees grew and the ground sloped up to a hill that stood behind two properties, Saitou complained again. “I will arrest you before I’ll let you make it look like I’m party to your trespassing.”

Sano rolled his eyes jovially. “Well, if you hurry up, we’ll be past their houses before anyone even starts to wake up.”

They’d been walking mostly in shadow until they topped the rise, the houses of Saitou’s neighborhood having blocked the ascending moon. But as they emerged from the trees and looked out, there seemed to be a surplus of light. Even after coating the downward slope of the hill and the treetops and the roofs below, it made the very air feel heavy and sparkling, and the river appeared full of that rather than water.

“Well?” Saitou demanded when they’d stood still for almost a minute.

Sano gestured. “Isn’t it great?”

Although Saitou didn’t look too terribly impressed, at least he also didn’t look away as he asked, “This is what you woke me up to look at? A nice view?”

“Even you said it was a nice view.”

“And you expect me to believe I not only got up in the middle of the night at your request, but actually went somewhere with you? And still didn’t kill you even when it was just the moon you’d dragged me out to see?”

“Holy shit, Saitou, I can’t believe you don’t remember all this happening! Do you have amnesia or something?”

“Ahou, try to be logical about this. Why on earth would I do what you’re describing?”

Sano looked away and said in a petulant tone, “Because maybe you like me a little.”

“Whether or not I like you has nothing to do with it. If I had work the next morning, there’s no way I would be out in the middle of the night with you.”

“But I remember it all, even if you don’t!” The desperation of Sano’s confusion was beginning to calm, and doubt seemed ready to creep in. “How could I remember all that if it didn’t really happen?”

“Sake?” suggested Saitou mildly.

“Well,” admitted Sano, his gaze shifting back and forth between the silver view and Saitou’s face, “it was also a test.”

“A test?” Saitou still did not look at him; however much he did or didn’t appreciate the breathtaking scene, he certainly was observing it meticulously — that or lost in thoughts of his own, perhaps entirely unrelated to the situation.

“I heard somewhere that sometimes guys get turned into wolves under the full moon…” Sano cleared his throat. “I thought maybe it might work backwards too.” Even from this angle he could see Saitou’s raised eyebrow. “I mean, turn a wolf into a real guy. Who likes to spend time with his boyfriend sometimes. You know?”

“I wasn’t drunk!” Sano burst out, sounding insulted. “You think I can’t tell when I was drunk the night before? I know you think I’m an idiot, but even an idiot can tell the difference between waking up after a night of drinking and waking up after other shit.”

“And where did you wake up?”

“On the hill.”

“Alone?”

“Like you’re ever there when I wake up.”

“Maybe it was a dream.”

“It…” Sano had obviously been about to discount this new theory just as immediately and energetically as the last, but apparently thought better of such a determined denial.

Finally, slowly, Saitou turned to face him, and Sano’s breath caught. A good percentage of the extra moonlight seemed to have pooled in the older man’s eyes, making them almost silver rather than gold, and they stared now into Sano’s with an intensity Saitou rarely wasted on him. “You…” Saitou reached out and took his hand. “…are a complete idiot…”

Sano’s spirits fell at the failure of his experiment, and thoughts flitted through his head of bitterly spending the remainder of the night in a bar somewhere cursing unromantic cops and their cynical ways — but this lasted only a moment before Saitou drew him close and kissed him, threading fingers leisurely through Sano’s hair and holding Sano’s body tight against his own with his other arm.

Given that he hadn’t really been prepared for his silly idea to work, this was something of a surprise. It was nothing, however, compared to how he felt when Saitou pulled back far enough to speak, still staring into Sano’s eyes, and finished his statement: “…and I love you more than anything in this world.”

“So what else did we supposedly do?” Saitou asked in a tone that could almost be called politely disinterested, “after I supposedly didn’t kill you for all this?”

“We were standing on top of the hill looking at the moon,” Sano explained, his voice sinking to a murmur as he continued. “You kissed me and said…” and he trailed off unintelligibly.

“I said what?” Saitou wondered.

“Something romantic,” Sano muttered, still almost inaudible.

Sano couldn’t help thinking the moonlight must actually have had some transformative effect, considering he’d never been able to wring even a standard ‘I love you’ out of the normal Saitou. This longer version of the phrase, the like of which he’d never expected to hear from his pragmatic lover, had sent his heart into a strange, quick, erratic pattern, and the night was suddenly hot. But he didn’t have a chance to comment on the wonder of it, rendered speechless as he was by an even greater wonder: Saitou released him and sank suddenly to his knees.

“And then?” prompted Saitou, still in the same relatively gentle tone as if humoring a lunatic or a small child.

“All right, fine, you’re right,” Sano admitted bitterly, “I probably was dreaming or something.” And he even seemed to be blushing slightly; Saitou hadn’t thought there was anything that could call up that reaction in Sano these days.

“It’s not a bad idea, though,” was the officer’s reflective concession as he returned yet again to his paperwork. He could almost hear Sano’s head snapping up to look at him hopefully. “Just the kind of romantic nonsense women like to read about. You should get your friend to put it in his newspaper. With different names, of course.”

As the recovering Sano attempted to remember how many times Saitou had ever done that before (something like maybe once), Saitou was encouraging him to give in to the demands of his trembling legs. And as soon as Sano lay in the grass without pants, it didn’t take long for Saitou to join him in a similar state.

Somewhat caustically, “At least the sex was good,” muttered Sano.

Saitou laughed and remarked softly, to no particular purpose other than derision, “Sex with you in a public place…” He shook his head. “Go home, ahou. I have work to do.”

After a long moment of silence during which Sano clearly didn’t leave, Saitou looked up again. The young man stood quite still, staring at him with wide, sad eyes, appearing so crestfallen and disappointed that Saitou really couldn’t stand it. “Why don’t you come by my house at some reasonable hour tonight?” he added, successfully making it almost sound like he’d meant to say it all along. “I doubt we can recreate your little fantasy, but I’m sure we can find something you’ll enjoy.”

This seemed to cheer Sano immensely, for the storm in his eyes cleared up and his demeanor brightened. “All right,” he said, though still a little morosely. “I’ll see you then.”

Saitou nodded and again returned his gaze to the papers in front of him as Sano finally left the room. Maybe now he’d be able to get something done. Then he should probably go home a little early; he needed to take a bath before Sano arrived, just to make absolutely certain the grass stains were gone from his knees.


Dear Saitou,

You are a terrible person.

Love, this faery.

This story is for 30_kisses theme #27 “Overflow.”

It has been suggested that the italicization here should be reversed, and for the longest time I resisted that proposal without precisely knowing why, since the choice of italicizing what I did was one of those instinctual things I wasn’t at first able to define. Eventually I realized I’d done it because, although it’s more standard for the scenes taking place farther in the past to be italicized, I like it better this way because it emphasizes that some aspect of reality in each scene is in question. In the end it turns out that there is more truth in the non-italicized portion of the story than in the italicized part, which seems appropriate. I’m not sure if this explanation makes sense, but to me it feels right the way it is.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


How Chou Got Fired


When Sano, bored as all hell, wandered into the police station looking for his lover, all he found was his lover’s assistant scribbling away messily at some paperwork or other at his tiny desk in the corner.

“Hey, tori,” Chou greeted him in a far more welcoming tone than usual, obviously glad of any excuse to set down his pen and think about something else.

“Hey, houki,” Sano replied, carefully pushing some of the things on Saitou’s much bigger desk aside to make room to sit. “Boss skipping out on work again?”

“If he was, you wouldn’t be here,” Chou grumbled, “since it’d be to fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Sano grinned complacently. “So where is he?”

Standing and stretching his long back, Chou reached his arms out and flexed his hands, trying to dispel the cramps induced by his small workspace. “Out investigating some shit he didn’t want me in the way of; no idea when he’ll be back.” He added as if it were the natural conclusion to these remarks, “I am so sick of this job.”

“Thought you said it was fun.”

“It was fun before I was a fuckin’ secretary.” Chou came out from behind his desk, giving it a vindictive push so it slammed into the wall, and stood in front of Sano with his arms crossed and an irritated expression. “These days he just gives me all the fuckin’ paperwork while he does the fun shit, and there’s never any end in sight, so I’m sitting in that little piece of shit–” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the now-crooked desk– “all fuckin’ day and half the night.”

“That is tough,” Sano agreed, though, as he was busy wondering where Saitou might be, it came out sounding more absent than sympathetic. After a moment he added, somewhat more attentively, “Why are you still even here, if it’s that boring?”

Chou’s face went thoughtful. “That ain’t a bad question,” he muttered. “Maybe it is time for me to get the hell outta here…” Sano watched with growing interest as the frown melted slowly into a contemplative expression and then a slow, crafty smile. “You know…” Chou began slowly, almost as if deciding whether or not to say what he was pondering, “you and me could sneak outta town real easy without anyone knowing. Go find some fun somewhere.”

“Somewhere far away from obnoxious cops and paperwork, huh?” Sano chuckled.

“Exactly,” Chou replied, emphatic and now on the verge of enthusiasm.

Sano laughed again. “As if he couldn’t find us anywhere. Guy’s like a fucking bloodhound. Probably bring the paperwork, too. And his laundry for me to wash.”

“He wouldn’t waste the time looking,” Chou snorted with an unexpected level of derision. “He’d just find some other flunky to push that pen around and some other pretty boy to fuck.”

Sano blinked, the statement hitting him like a blow from out of nowhere along with the sudden startling realization that Chou was serious. He didn’t even know what to say; or, more accurately, didn’t know where to begin among the myriad astonished responses that came to mind.

Chou leaned forward suddenly, planting his hands on either side of Sano and bending down to stare into his face. “Come on,” he said, the crafty smile returning, “you gotta admit it’s a good idea. We could even leave the country. You wanna see the world; I know you do.”

Sano put his hand firmly over Chou’s nose and mouth and pushed, causing him to stumble back a step as Sano stood. He still didn’t quite know what to say; Chou was just too clueless for words. Finally he managed, his voice thick with incredulity, “Have you forgotten everything you know about everything or something?”

“Yeah, that’s my policy when I get tired of some shit and go somewhere else,” Chou replied, still serious and still evidently oblivious to Sano’s chagrin and surprise.

Sano stared at him. “All right, more to the point, have you forgotten I have friends and a jealous lover and kindof a life here?”

Again Chou snorted. “Beats me how you can call him your lover when he treats you like shit.” Now he was subtly advancing toward Sano, who was backing away just as gradually. “I’d treat you better than that.”

With a slow nod of disbelieving understanding Sano said in even greater incredulity, “So us fucking’s included in this plan of yours too.”

Chou’s eyebrows did an absurd little dance above his eyes, both of which, disturbingly, were now open and narrowed slightly. “Don’t say you never thought of it. You think I’m hot and we both know it.”

“So?” Sano wondered, his back dishearteningly meeting a wall. “I’ve got someone already.” Coming to grips with the fact that this was really happening, he was starting to get annoyed. Not angry yet — he knew how Chou was, and felt a little sorry for anyone that lived the way Chou did — but it couldn’t be long.

“You can’t really care all that much about that bastard,” the broomhead said dismissively. His gloved hands again came to rest on either side of Sano, and his face was once more a little too close. “You and me are way better for each other. We’re a lot more similar than you and him, and he’s so damn old anyway…”

Sano shook his head slightly. It was baffling, staggering that Chou, someone both he and Saitou saw constantly, could so completely have missed the development of their relationship. “Look,” he said firmly, “I am not running away with you. You can go and I won’t say anything for a couple of days if you want, but I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“But you will fuck me first?” Chou wondered hopefully.

“Where did you get that idea??”

“You knoowww you want to.” Chou’s eyes narrowed even further as he drawled out his response. “Don’t even try to tell me you’re not curious what it’d be like.”

“No, I’m not going to try,” Sano replied irritably, flushing slightly. “But just because I’m a normal guy and think someone’s hot other than my boyfriend doesn’t mean I automatically want to fuck them without thinking about the situation!”

“He’d never find out,” Chou cajoled. “It’d be real easy. Hell, for all he pays attention to me anymore, we could do it right here. Wouldn’t that show him.” His suggestive smile turned to a dark grin at this thought, until he added a little regretfully, “Except that we wouldn’t let him find out.”

“So this is all about ‘showing’ Saitou.” Sano was starting to get angry now, but his continued semi-daze of surprise at Chou’s behavior prevented it from becoming severe just yet.

“No! It’s about being bored out of my fuckin’ mind.”

“So go downtown and buy a whore or something.”

“I don’t want a whore, man, I want you. Come on… just once…”

To prevent the broomhead from coming any closer, Sano had raised both arms and planted them firmly, fists clenched, against Chou’s chest. Now he contemplated pushing again, but realized that if he only applied enough pressure to get Chou out of his way, he would soon find himself cornered again; whereas if he pushed hard enough to knock Chou across the room and unconscious, the result in this small office would undoubtedly be broken furniture, which would piss Saitou off whenever he showed up. It was a dilemma.

“He doesn’t know everything,” Chou went on, encouraged by Sano’s silence. “We could try it out and see: if you don’t like it — which I don’t see how that would happen — he’d never know, and if it’s good, we’d be way better together than you and him.”

“This really came out of nowhere,” Sano remarked, almost conversationally, as he continued to ponder how to escape this situation without breaking anything. He didn’t know if he even could knock Chou out with a single hit in this position.

“Nah, I just couldn’t risk my ass saying anything until I was planning to leave anyway. You really never noticed before that I like you?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk about not noticing shit…” If Sano kicked him in the groin first, he could probably knock him out with no problems immediately thereafter… but, though he wasn’t particularly happy with Chou at the moment, that still seemed a tad low.

“Whaddya mean?”

“I’m not cheating on Saitou. Not once, not ever.”

For one promising moment, Chou was nonplussed by Sano’s granite tone… but he was back on track again almost immediately. “Hey, I can see how the thought of getting on his bad side is kinda… scary as all hell… but you guys are just no good together!” His tone was understanding and wheedling at the same time. “But we would be… we’re like a matching katana and wakizashi.”

Sano just couldn’t help laughing, despite his irritation. “And who’s which?” he wanted to know.

Chou grinned and avoided answering that. “My point is that we go together really well.”

“Well, maybe we do,” Sano said, his tone sobering again. “But the big difference is that I have lines I won’t cross, where it seems like you have no fucking conscience at all.”

“You just need convincing,” Chou murmured, leaning forward for a kiss.

Since he hadn’t come up with any other solution, Sano decided it was time for a knee to the groin and a fist to the skull. However, before he or Chou could move any further in any direction, the latter was suddenly gone from the vicinity, hauled violently away and tossed bodily across the room in much the same manner Sano had been contemplating earlier, smashing a chair to bits as he crashed down. He shuddered into a comatose heap at the foot of the now-visibly-dented wall and lay still.

“Oh.” For a moment Sano stared at the red and purple mass that had only a moment before been trying to kiss him. Then, shaking himself slightly, he turned toward Saitou. “Thanks.”

Saitou had crossed his arms, one of his hands still twitching as if he would like to go pick Chou up and throw him again just to be sure. “Why didn’t you do it yourself?” he demanded.

“Well, I was trying to figure out how to not break the furniture,” Sano admitted. “If I’d known you didn’t mind…” He trailed off, realizing how it must have looked if Saitou hadn’t been in time to hear any of the conversation and had only seen the beginnings of a kiss between lover and subordinate.

But Saitou’s next statement erased Sano’s worries on that score. “Conscientious forethought and mature reasoning at the same time.” He was shaking his head as if to ask wordlessly whether wonders would ever cease.

“Yeah, and that’s all you get of both for the next year,” Sano shot back, relieved that Saitou didn’t suspect him of infidelity.

The officer glanced over at the unconscious Chou. “Still, you were cutting it a little close there.” His tone was somewhat dark: not quite accusatory, but not entirely pleased with Sano either.

Sano shrugged. “I was about to kick him in the balls.” Following the other’s gaze he added, “Probably woulda hurt less…”

Suddenly he found himself crushed against Saitou, bent half backward in the man’s arms and kissed passionately and thoroughly until he was breathless and his heart was racing. Even when it was over, the unexpectedness of it left him speechless for several moments. Finally he said, “Shit! Is that what happens when I talk about Chou’s balls?”

“Depends on the context,” Saitou smirked, looking a trifle out of breath himself. “Come on.” He gestured toward the door.

Sano mimicked the expression. “Don’t wanna be here when he wakes up?”

“That, and it’s about time to prove we’re not as bad together as he thinks.”

This remark brought a sudden, hot pressure into Sano’s chest. “I already know that,” he said quietly.

Saitou looked back at him. “So I noticed,” he replied, and in just those words and his deepened smile, it was clear how much the overheard conversation had meant to him. “But I assume you won’t object to some proof anyway,” he added, eyes narrowing.

“Hell, no,” Sano grinned, and hastened after him.



This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #18 “a~an?”

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Black and Blue and White All Over



“Kenshin!!”

The rurouni paused and turned. As the young man, slipping occasionally but never quite falling, pelted up the hill toward where his friend stood on the more level road, Kenshin wondered, “What is wrong, Sano?”

“Look out!” Sano cried as he reached him, and, ducking behind Kenshin, this time really did fall full-length into the snow. Kenshin didn’t have time to worry about that, however, for, the very moment Sano was behind him, a snowball struck his scarred face so forcibly it knocked him backward; he tripped over Sano and fell, and his tofu bucket went flying.

“Thanks, buddy,” Sano gasped as he wriggled from beneath Kenshin and took to running again, off the road once more into the field on the other side.

“I’d apologize, Himura,” came a new voice, “if that hadn’t been the most comical thing I’ve seen all week.”

“No need for an apology, Saitou,” Kenshin replied as he sat up. “I am used to Sano using me as a shield against missiles. Of course,” he added, smiling brightly and bringing a large handful of snow with him as he stood, “that does not mean he always gets away with it.”

Saitou smirked.

Sano had ducked behind a hedge, presumably to assemble an arsenal, and it only took a single glance between the other two men to coordinate their attack: Saitou crept around the shrubbery’s far end while Kenshin approached it broadside just at the point where he sensed Sano opposite him. Then, simultaneously, Saitou came charging at Sano from the right while Kenshin cleared the hedge in a jump and landed on his left; Sano was pelted with multiple snowballs from both directions.

With a yelp, Sano tossed the one he’d been making at a bad angle, missing his two assailants entirely, and, ducking away, once again ran off.

Kenshin, obviously satisfied with this, turned with a grin and the intention of searching for his lost bucket. However, as he did so, a snowball struck him squarely on the back of the head, and when he turned again another hit his face. Saitou, who’d been more alert and therefore successfully dodged Sano’s attack, threw Kenshin a look that said, Are you just going to take that?

Kenshin bent and scooped up another handful of snow.

Sano wasn’t giving much thought to strategy, but was vaguely aware that the belt of trees toward which he was slowly being driven by the now-doubled enemy force was 1) not likely to provide much snow for further missiles but 2) likely to provide better cover than the field. It was just as he started trying to think what to do about this change in terrain when he noticed someone on the road off to his left and his face broke into a grin.

“Hey, Katsu!” he called.

The figure, which was indeed that of his good friend Katsu, stopped and looked in his direction just in time to see him take two snowballs to the chest. Sano’s subsequent cry of, “Help a guy out, will ya?” was a little breathless as a result.

Katsu stood quietly watching for several moments as Sano dodged another assault. Deciding that the hedge he’d abandoned was probably a good option as long as he didn’t let anyone take him by surprise by jumping over it again, the kenkaya tried to run back that direction and throw snowballs at both Kenshin and Saitou at the same time. One endeavor worked better than the other: although he hit his targets, his calculated movement was entirely thwarted by the return volley.

And that was when Katsu’s first snowball struck him squarely between the shoulder blades from behind.

“Katsu!!” Sano bawled in anger and surprise.

“Sorry, Sano,” said the grinning Katsu, “I like these odds better.”

“Your friend has sense,” Saitou smirked.

“My friend’s a fucking traitor!” Sano growled, now trying to watch all three of them at once.

Kenshin laughed.

“Besides, Sano, I still owe you for shoving snow down my pants last week,” Katsu explained as he took careful aim and hit Sano’s forearm so accurately that the ball Sano had been about to release from it was knocked right out of his hand.

“He shoved snow down your pants?” asked Saitou in an odd tone.

“It was a non-sexual shoving,” Katsu assured him quickly.

“I am not sure in what context shoving snow down someone’s pants could be considered sexual,” remarked Kenshin.

“Well, with Sano, you never know,” was Katsu’s mock-sober response.

They all got back to business. The brief exchange, though, had given Sano an opportunity to take a better stance against them and hastily manufacture enough snowballs that he was able to hold his own for a few minutes. He felt rather proud of himself, actually; he knew he excelled at facing off against multiple enemies, but he wouldn’t have thought he could last this long at snowballs against both Saitou and Kenshin — and Katsu was proving uncannily good at this, too.

“What’s this??” A new voice from the road. “Nobody told me it was Everybody Throw Snowballs At Tori-Atama Day!”

“Shit,” Sano muttered.

As Chou came sliding down the slope to join the others, Sano had another moment of relative freedom in which to replenish his collection of weapons somewhat desperately.

“You’re supposed to be at the station,” Saitou was admonishing.

“I think you are too,” Chou grinned. “But I need to get even with this bastard for shovin’ snow down my pants the other day.”

“Hmm…” Thoughtfully Kenshin cocked his head to one side. “Whose pants has Sano not shoved snow down recently?”

“His own, presumably,” Saitou replied.

“We should totally fix that,” Chou suggested.

Sano did not like the sound of this. Gathering up his snowballs, he turned and fled into the trees.

They followed him — Kenshin the most quickly, of course, but Sano, expecting that, slowed him up with a pointed missile. Then his heart lightened as he cleared the trees and came upon exactly what he needed.

A little ridge of rock curved toward the forest belt, a considerable snowdrift piled between its protective arms. If his enemies kept to the cover of the trees, they would have little ammunition; if they advanced to where the snow began again, they would be forced into the narrow space between the rocks, and he would have an easy shot. And he had plenty of snow within reach; he didn’t even have to bend down for it. He grinned in triumph and turned to face them.

They must have seen immediately the advantageous circumstances in which he’d placed himself, for after a few missiles they’d probably brought with them from the field, everything went still and silent. Sano watched carefully for their movements behind the trees they were using for concealment, a snowball in each hand and a defiant smile on his face.

Finally, after a tense minute or so of this stalemate, Saitou stepped out into plain view.

Sano threw immediately; Saitou dodged one and took the other, and kept walking forward. Sano reached back for more snow, at which the officer raised his empty hands and Sano paused. He would accept their surrender graciously.

“You’re freezing,” Saitou murmured as he came within arm’s length of the younger man and observed his heavy shivering.

“And whose fault is that?” Sano wondered.

“Entirely your own,” replied Saitou with a smirk. “We should probably stop…” He bent and kissed Sano soundly, working the coldness from his lips with a massaging motion.

As he drew back, Sano’s shivering increased, but his eyes were sparkling. Then his expression changed completely as Saitou added softly, “…but not yet,” and sprang abruptly backward, bending for a handful of snow.

“What the fuck was–” Sano began, but was cut off as snowballs came flying at him from all directions. He dashed for cover, but found the very ridge he’d been using for that purpose now held against him. Two of his enemies must have scrambled up it from either side while he’d been too distracted to notice and thwart them.

“Your diversion techniques are rather unusual, officer-san,” Katsu remarked from high on Sano’s left.

“What?!” Sano demanded as he attempted to dodge in multiple directions at once and failed miserably.

“Yeah, I gotta try that one one of these days,” Chou laughed from high on Sano’s right.

“No, you don’t!” Sano growled as he went to scoop up more snow to retaliate, only to have an unfairly accurate projectile knock his hand away.

“Sano, you really should know better than to lower your guard in the middle of a battle,” Kenshin’s voice came from not far behind Sano to his left, “no matter who it is kissing you.”

“‘Battle?'” Sano swatted a snowball out of the air but took another to each side of his head.

“I keep telling him that,” Saitou remarked from Sano’s right, “but he really is too thick-skulled.”

“You’ve never said a word about kissing in the middle of a battle!!” Again Sano attempted to fight back, but started to recognize the futility of his efforts. Soon there was nothing to do but fall to his knees and try to guard his face and head with upraised arms.

“Well, Sano, do you give up?” Kenshin wondered cheerfully.

“Never!” Sano roared.

“Come on, Sano, my hands are getting really cold,” Katsu prodded, nearly as cheerful as Kenshin.

“Not mine,” Chou put in, more cheerfully than both of them. “I could do this all day.”

“You’re wearing leather gloves,” Katsu pointed out.

Despite his defiance, Sano was weakening. What’s more, he was beginning to be able to distinguish which snowballs were whose, and that was pretty pathetic: Saitou’s hit hardest, Kenshin’s came fastest, Katsu’s were the most accurate, and Chou’s were just sloppy. Not that it mattered much; four on one would suck in any case. He was getting to the point where he was almost ready to start thinking about maybe giving in when he was unexpectedly saved.

What is going on here?”

The tone was enough to stop them all in their tracks, frozen more thoroughly than the snow could render them.

“Kenshin, I sent you out after tofu an hour ago!”

Sano, peering warily through his arms, saw Kaoru standing back beyond Kenshin and Saitou in the trees, brandishing the bucket Kenshin had dropped earlier and glowering like death incarnate. “I come out looking for you because I’m worried something might have happened to you, and what do I find?? A bunch of grown men playing around in the snow!?!”

“And if you were all gonna beat up on Sano,” grumbled Yahiko from her side, “you could at least have invited me.”

After smacking Yahiko briefly, Kaoru held out the tofu bucket and growled, “Kenshin…”

“Yes, yes, Kaoru-dono.” Kenshin dropped the snowball he’d been about to throw and began self-consciously brushing and shaking snow from his clothes even as he went to join his dojomates.

“I swear, you’re as easily distracted as Sano is!” Kaoru ranted as she turned sharply and walked away with a tight, hauling grip on Kenshin’s sleeve. Sano noticed Yahiko casting those that remained in combative positions a somewhat wistful glance as he followed.

Watching with grins and rolling eyes, Katsu and Chou began making their way off the high ground they’d so unfairly captured — one careful, the other reckless. “I’ve entirely forgotten what I was on my way to do,” Katsu said.

Chou glanced over at him. “You were on your way to have dinner with me?” he suggested hopefully.

“Oh, was I?” wondered Katsu with a laugh. “I guess I’m late, then.”

“Oh, I have a feelin’ you’ll get there the same time I do,” Chou grinned, “so it’s probably all right.”

“Better get going, then.” Katsu returned the expression, then glanced at Sano. “Sano, it appears I’ve got a date, so we’ll have to finish this another time.”

Sano, who had not yet removed his arms from over his face, grumbled from behind them, “You’re wasting your time with that guy, but all right!”

Soon, therefore, the only people left were the two with whom the entire drama had originated, and the scene had become very quiet. Seeing both of Saitou’s hands engaged in lighting a cigarette, Sano deemed it safe to emerge.

“How the hell did that start, anyway?” he wondered, standing at last.

Saitou looked over at him with a raised brow. “By you stuffing snow down my pants?” he suggested.

“Oh, yeah,” Sano grinned. “Well, I guess that was worth it.”

“You’re going to be black and blue,” smirked Saitou.

“No shit, man.” Grimacing, Sano glanced over the various red spots that had already developed on his raw, aching skin. “I swear Katsu’s had little eyes and brains of their own.”

“He does seem to be quite a good shot,” Saitou agreed. “But I meant you’re going to be black and blue once I’m finished with you. Come on; let’s go take a bath.”

Sano’s grin widened as he bounced over to Saitou’s side and took his arm. “All right!”

With narrowed eyes and a puff of smoke that seemed double in the frosty air, “And we’ll make sure it was ‘worth it,'” Saitou added.


I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Inappropriate Methods


The first thing that caught Saitou’s eye as he entered his office was Chou’s expression. Such a broad smile on the face of someone that lived to be entertained never signified the day would go well. “What are you grinning about?”

“Nothing,” Chou replied, blatantly lying. “Chief wants to see you.”

“Why?” Saitou asked.

Chou shrugged. “Maybe he wants an update on the other night?”

Saitou restrained his roll of eyes, not wishing to give Chou any reason to widen his grin, and headed for the chief’s office.

They were unmistakably dead. This was highly irritating.

There were three of them, and all had been alive only a few minutes ago. From the way they’d fallen, he guessed two of them had killed each other but that the last had been stabbed by some fourth party now absent. This was, as he had already noted, highly irritating.

“First, let me commend you on the progress you’ve made on this case,” was the chief’s first comment, his air that of disclaimer. “Before you took it over, Kanbu-kun couldn’t figure out whether he was looking for five murderers, three murderers and two hostages, or three thieves and two hostages.” The chief sighed. “Or five thieves. Or some combination of those options. He was wasting resources going every which-way, but you cut straight to the heart of things as usual.”

Saitou nodded acceptance of the compliment, unsure what was coming. The chief appeared unusually grim and worried, and, Saitou thought, perhaps a little nervous. It was an odd combination of emotional nuance.

Of course he’d intended to kill them anyway, but not until after his questions had been answered. He didn’t think any of these corpses were the hostages, but he couldn’t know for sure now, could he?

As he stood scowling down at them, he became aware that somebody else — somebody not dead — was present. Somebody watching the scene from the shadows under the bridge. Somebody…

He growled when he realized who it was, and stalked into the blackness to confront him.

“Since I’ve said this much, you must understand I’m not trying to undervalue your work. Your methods are unusual, but you always get results. However.” The chief crossed his arms and lowered his brows. “There are some methods I would have thought beneath you.”

Saitou frowned. “What are you referring to?”

“I never thought I’d be saying this to you.” The chief took a deep breath. “Sexual abuse is never an appropriate way to get answers out of witnesses.”

Saitou blinked.

“Evening,” was Sagara’s greeting. “Nice night, ain’t it?”

Gripped with a sudden premonition that this would not go well, “What happened here?” Saitou demanded.

“Oh, it was funny,” Sagara grinned. “Great small-gang drama. I’da stepped in, but they were doing a pretty good job killing each other without my help.”

Such a flippant reply was a little unexpected even from Sagara, and Saitou’s foreboding increased. “Tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded; “start from the beginning.”

What little light there was glinted off Sagara’s teeth as his grin widened. “What’s it worth to you?”

Of all the things he might have expected to hear in this room, that was not on the list — yet it took him only a moment to realize exactly what the statement pertained to and how the news must have reached Uramura’s ears. A plan of action was slower in coming than comprehension, however. And completely taken aback was not something Saitou frequently found himself.

The chief took advantage of the stunned moment to remark, “I’m not going to speculate on why this is such a surprise to you. Just let me remind you that helping some of the innocent at the expense of others entirely undermines our purpose.”

Saitou had absolutely no patience for further delay in this case. He gripped the edges of Sagara’s gi and pulled him roughly closer. “I’ll consider not killing you.”

Sagara raised his hands to grip Saitou’s tense arms — not to disengage them, merely to hold them — and replied with no concern, “You can’t kill me if you wanna know what happened here.”

“Try me,” Saitou grated back. Sagara just continued to grin. Finally, as the sense of wasting time continued almost painfully to heighten, Saitou demanded in the same tone, “What do you want?”

“Kiss me,” Sagara replied promptly.

“Don’t lecture me,” Saitou snapped, buying time while he considered how to word his explanation for the least potential loss of face. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“And that’s what I’ve brought you here to explain.” The chief crossed his arms again. He still didn’t seem entirely comfortable, and no wonder. Not once in his acquaintance with Saitou had he been forced to carry out this sort of conversation with him, and doubtless had never expected to.

Not yet entirely sure what he could say, Saitou opened his mouth to reply.

Slamming Sagara abruptly against the wall and closing in angrily he snarled, “How many times do I have to tell you–“

He broke off when he realized his violent movement had put his body a good deal closer to Sagara’s than he would have if he’d been paying attention. Now the shameless young man was grinding against him provocatively and completely ignoring his words. Saitou shook him. “Ahou, I have no time for this.”

“You never have time,” Sagara purred. “You’d be less grouchy if you cut loose now and then.”

“This isn’t about me. There are two men–“

“Then you better kiss me quick,” interrupted Sagara.

“Sir?” The door opened and someone put his head in. “I’m sorry to intrude, but you requested–”

“Yes,” the chief broke in. “You found him?”

Saitou restrained himself from repeating incredulously, ‘Him?’ Had they tracked Sanosuke down as a witness against him? And if so, what kind of nonsense testimony was the idiot likely to provide? Even the absolute truth would — Saitou was not afraid to admit it — be embarrassing; god knew how much worse Sagara was likely to make things sound.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, bring him in.”

And, indeed, here was Sagara, escorted by a couple of low-ranking officers who then, at the chief’s word, took up places by the door as if to guard the room. Sagara appeared at first somewhat defiant, but when he saw Saitou this expression vanished, replaced by sudden understanding that was quickly stifled. “So, what’s going on?” he asked in a tone that was nothing more than casually curious.

Saitou’s fury was cooling; he had the feeling he’d lost his chance for further pursuit. Which didn’t make Sagara’s information less desirable (provided he wasn’t lying about having witnessed the fight), but did make his absurd behavior more worthy of retribution. Saitou punched him in the chest.

With a grunt Sagara remarked in a tone that was a good deal less sultry than his previous, “I shoulda known you’d like it rough.”

Saitou knew Sagara would cease with the seduction attempts (which were always a good deal closer to successful than the officer would like to admit) once he was angry enough, but not only would that process take too long, an angry Sagara probably wouldn’t be willing to tell him anything. Nothing useful, anyway.

“This officer questioned you the other evening, correct?” The chief gestured at Saitou.

Sagara nodded somewhat blankly.

“Can you describe that encounter?”

Although Sagara’s face was serious, Saitou didn’t like the look in the young man’s eyes when they touched briefly on his. The deep breath he took before beginning to speak gave him somewhat the appearance of nervousness, but Saitou believed rather that he was merely trying to think fast. “Well…” he started slowly. “He wanted me to tell him what I saw those gang guys and their prisoners doing, since they’d mostly killed each other…” He hesitated as everyone looked at him expectantly.

“Fine,” Saitou snapped, and kissed him. Just to make absolutely certain Sagara would be satisfied enough not to hold out on him further (or perhaps just too dazed), he dug his tongue into the idiot’s mouth and his hand into the idiot’s pants. Sagara groaned into the kiss and squirmed, and Saitou pushed firmly aside the inconvenient wish that there weren’t a glove between his hand and the hot flesh.

When he broke away all at once, he was pleased to note that the surprised brightness in Sagara’s eyes bore no trace of further deviousness.

“I knew it,” the boy whispered.

Not caring what Sagara thought he’d known, Saitou demanded, “What happened here?”

After a moment the chief turned to Saitou. “If you would step out for a few minutes…” He gestured to the door leading to a small adjoining briefing room — not to the door into the station proper, which implied that this affair, however informally it was being conducted, was a disciplinary issue. Saitou wasn’t even sure how to react.

“He doesn’t need to leave,” Sagara said unexpectedly, drawing all eyes once more. His expression was now one of slight confusion, but, again, when his gaze met Saitou’s, there was a spark of amusement in it. Saitou would never had thought him such a skillful actor. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I think maybe you guys have the wrong idea…”

“Were Fujita-kun’s methods in questioning you not inappropriate, then?” The chief’s tone was grave.

“Oh, they were definitely inappropriate,” Sagara chuckled, “but…” Then like clockwork the confusion was gone from his expression, replaced by skepticism. “Don’t tell me you guys don’t know…”

At this Saitou knew what was coming. He might have interrupted to prevent it, since Sagara had paused for effect, but he feared that what the roosterhead had in mind was the least of the possible evils; he was busy bracing himself for it.

“Know what?” The police chief’s tone was somewhat impatient and perhaps a little suspicious. It could be he also anticipated Sagara’s statement and began to sense the absurdity of the situation.

“Fujita and me are lovers,” Sagara announced with offhand grandeur.

With a deep breath Sanosuke began. “They were on their way from a job, far as I could tell, and they started arguing. It seemed like they were just continuing some argument they’d had before, and they kept getting louder and louder, and that was what made me really start paying attention. When I realized they must be the guys you and houki been after for the last fifty years, I was about to jump in and take ’em out…”

Saitou shifted in irritation and some discomfort. He still didn’t know whether these thieves had also been the murderers, and it was so typical… what would he have done if, when he’d come upon the scene, Sagara’s body had been among those he’d found?

“But then one of ’em just suddenly attacks the others and boom, one’s down. It was about then I realized two of the guys had their hands tied behind their backs. It all went pretty quick from there: another guy went down, and somehow one of the tied-up guys got loose and stabbed the last of the other three. Then he cut the ropes on the other guy and they ran off. It all took about three minutes.”

The officers by the door twitched, and Saitou, in a moment of prescience, saw very clearly how quickly this gossip was going to spread through the entire precinct. Then there was another moment of silence.

Finally the chief turned to Saitou and asked in a measured, inscrutable tone, “Is this true?”

Very stiffly, Saitou nodded — and did not miss Sagara’s expression of triumph in so doing.

“He hates letting aaaaanyone know about his private life,” the young man continued, “but, yeah, me and old Gory here’ve been going at it almost since I was too young for that kinda thing.” Lowering his voice slightly, suggestively, he added, “He can question me however he wants.”

Another twitch from the men at the door; another long moment of silence.

“Very well, that’s all we’ll need from you, then.” And at the chief’s gesture, the other officers escorted Sagara out.

Saitou was silent and still for a few moments. This tale, though not delivered with the conciseness and level of detail he would have preferred, was undeniably useful. Whether it was worth having given the lovesick idiot undeniable encouragement he did not know, but it did answer most of his questions.

“Ran off where?” he asked.

“Hopefully to a doctor,” Sagara replied. “They weren’t looking too good.”

Saitou shook him slightly, just for good measure. “Which direction?”

Sagara tilted his head. “That way. Up the bank. I didn’t hear ’em cross the bridge.”

With a nod, Saitou released him.

“I gotta find something bigger to witness next time,” Sagara murmured in evident satisfaction.

Saitou scowled at him.

He fully expected a reprimand from the chief for not explaining himself at first, but, as it turned out, Uramura was just as intrigued as his subordinates by the suggestion that Fujita-kun was not, in fact, an inhuman entity of chiseled stone that lay only with his sword and loved only justice. So, rather than any sort of remonstrance, Saitou only had to suffer a few leading remarks before he was allowed to go about his business.

Not exactly to his surprise, the beehive-like noise of the station’s main room quieted almost to nothing when he appeared, and Chou met him with a smirk even wider than before. “Get back to work,” was all Saitou was willing to say in response to the latter’s grinning questions. Then he left the building. The noise had redoubled before he was entirely out the door.

As he had expected, Sagara joined him nearly the moment he was off the police station grounds. His expression was similar to Chou’s, but somehow a trifle less maddening.

“One of these days I really am going to kill you,” was Saitou’s greeting.

“And here I thought you’d be thanking me,” Sano grinned.

“For what? What exactly did that accomplish?”

“Besides getting you out of trouble?”

“May I remind you that the ‘trouble’ was your fault in the first place?”

“Hey, I’m not the one who was getting all fancy-fingers in my pants.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

Saitou snorted.

“But, no, what it really accomplished,” Sano explained in self-satisfaction, “was to get rid of one of the million stupid things that keep you from getting with me. Now you don’t have to worry about people finding out and what they’ll think and all that.”

“Putting it that way might make it sound like you’d planned the whole thing… if that hadn’t been the worst ‘solution’ to that ‘problem’ anyone could possibly come up with.”

“Maybe I did plan it all.” Sano attempted, and failed, to look mysterious.

Saitou rolled his eyes slightly, a more hopeless than disdainful gesture at this point. How had he managed to catch the attention of history’s stubbornest idiot? And how was it that he never quite managed to give him the decisive negative he needed to hear?

“So now I’ve just got, what, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine more bullshit reasons to deal with, and then you’ll be mine.”

“Ahou.” It was, for some reason, all he could think to say. But as he turned back toward the station, readier now to face the rest of his day, he wasn’t scowling quite as much as when he’d left it.

“Sir?” It was a hesitant call — almost tremulous — from behind him. Saitou had nearly forgotten about his subordinate’s presence.

“This way,” the wolf replied as he stepped back out from under the bridge and gestured up the slope. And though the younger officer tried his best to hide it, Saitou easily marked his searching glance into the shadows where Sagara stood. How much had he seen? It was anybody’s guess, as was what he would make of it. It must have seemed excessively odd, if he hadn’t been able to catch the accompanying conversation.

Well, let him wonder. No harm could come of that.


This story was for 30_kisses theme #21 “Violence; Pillage/Plunder; Extortion.”

Can you imagine having to formally reprimand someone that consistently adheres only to his own moral code and, you have a sneaking suspicion, only nominally recognizes your authority? Also I love that Saitou is so blatantly teetering on the edge of giving in but is still resisting. And “Old Gory” may be the most hilarious nickname for Saitou (or anyone) I have ever come up with. Sano is a jerk here, though.

I’ve rated this story .

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


Corner of the Eye

It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly.

Much as Kenshin and Katsu would like to pretend they don’t care about Sano’s breakup with Saitou, something has to be done.

Sano’s behavior today had been entirely inexplicable from beginning to end, and at this latest, Kenshin had to whisper his name in some embarrassment.

“What?” Sano wondered as the girl ran off with a giggle and a wave. “Just saying hello.”

“Since when do you say hello to girls in the street by kissing them?” said Kenshin in the same chagrin.

With bright innocent Sano replied, “Isn’t that the best way to do it?”

“Maybe,” Kenshin allowed. “But you were in such a bad mood before…”

“Kissing makes things better; didn’t you know that?”

“Sano, I have known you for almost two years, and I have never seen you kiss someone — especially not a casual acquaintance in the street — to put yourself in a better mood before.”

“You never saw me kiss anyone at all, huh?” Sano asked curiously; Kenshin believed, despite the jovial tone, the bad mood hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

“Not that I can remember.”

“Huh. I thought everyone knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew… that I hate relationships because all people ever do is fight and then do stupid shit to make each other jealous.” Sano seemed to be struggling for continued lightness of tone with this incongruous remark, and Kenshin was puzzled. “Anyway,” Sano continued, his voice intensifying even further, “let’s get out of here before someone decides to arrest me for public indecency.”

This couldn’t be aimed at anyone other than Saitou; Kenshin had been aware of the officer’s presence unobtrusively observing the street in a recessed doorway close by, but hadn’t thought Sano had noticed. He certainly hadn’t associated the circumstances of the wolf’s proximity and Sano’s strange behavior.

Saitou evidently heard and likewise assumed he was the target of the statement, for he replied immediately, “I can’t arrest you every single time you go out in public, ahou.”

“Not even for making out with girls in the middle of the street, huh?” Sano made no move to depart as he’d just proposed; that and the words spoken were adding up to an almost incredible explanation for all of this.

“If you want me to arrest you,” Saitou sneered, “I’m sure I could come up with a charge — but whatever you were doing just now, I didn’t notice.”

Sano snorted. “Well, that’s good. Wouldn’t want you trying to insult my taste because she was too short or had the wrong color hair or something.”

“It’s true brunettes tend to be idiots,” Saitou sniffed.

“Thought you didn’t see her,” shot back Sano in dark triumph. “How would you know what her hair looked like?” And Kenshin had to admit that for Saitou to make such a slip, just for the sake of insulting Sano’s hair, was rather telling.

Whether the officer agreed or not, all he said was, “Hn.”

“Che… let’s get the hell outta here, Kenshin.” And this time Sano really did turn and stalk away.

Kenshin, after a baffled glance in Saitou’s direction, hastened after his friend. “That did not work very well,” he commented carefully once they were in the next street.

A sidelong glance served as Sano’s acceptance that Kenshin now understood the situation, and the young man replied gruffly, “You didn’t think so?”

“Did it make you feel any better?”

“Fuck,” Sano muttered, and said nothing more for several moments. Finally he grumbled, “I should kiss you next time.”

Kenshin struggled to recover from how much this startled him in time to nip the idea in the bud. “Sano,” he said very seriously, “I am not getting involved in this. I will not let you kiss me to make Saitou jealous.”

Sano seemed a little startled as well at Kenshin’s severity, and after staring at him for a few moments, again said, “Che…” and fell silent.

Kenshin had no desire to kiss his friend, or to take part in any petty jealousy scheme; he had no idea what were the circumstances of Sano’s relationship with Saitou, nor what exactly might be going on between them now; indeed, it was a little difficult to wrap his head around the idea of them being together at all — and all of this provided a formidable barrier to helping Sano as he naturally wanted to. Therefore it took him a while to decide what to say next. Eventually, “Sano,” he ventured delicately, “whatever kind of fight you may have had with him, it is obvious you still care about him.” Even that felt strange: that Sano cared about Saitou

“No shit,” the young man mumbled.

Kenshin smiled wryly. It did rather seem typical of Sano to have gotten himself into a relationship that wasn’t ever likely to go smoothly. Still, even with that in mind… Saitou? But he forced himself to go on. “Have you talked to him since…” He trailed off; he assumed it had been a fight, but couldn’t really be positive.

“Talked to him just now, didn’t I?”

“I mean really talked to him,” said Kenshin sternly.

“I dunno if you’ve noticed, but talking to Saitou doesn’t work very well.”

“It cannot work any worse than what you are trying now. You should not need me to tell you that playing this kind of game is not the right way to heal a relationship.” He didn’t want to accuse Sano outright of being childish and vindictive… no matter how clearly Sano’s reply proved the point:

“I don’t figure I need you to tell me much of anything.” Sano was obviously stung by the reproof. “Why don’t you go heal your relationship with jou-chan?”

While this did not quite hurt or insult, Kenshin didn’t much feel like sticking around for something that might. “That is a very good idea, Sano,” he smiled. “I will see you some other time.” And he broke away from his companion without waiting for a response.

He planned on leaving it at that. Sano had obviously never mentioned the Saitou thing for reasons of his own, and just as obviously didn’t want advice on the subject; Kenshin found it somewhat bizarre and better left uncontemplated at any rate; so there was no reason the issue should come up again.

But Sano’s absence from their circle from that day forward was so prolonged, so marked by lack of any contact from him whatsoever, that Kenshin could not but think things must have gone from bad to worse and Sano didn’t feel he could come to the dojo anymore. And though Kenshin wasn’t sure it was either his place or his inclination to intrude (mostly because Saitou was involved), he did keep an active eye open for Sano — and worried quietly when he still never saw him.

It occupied his mind enough, in fact, that once or twice he actually probed delicately at the distasteful idea of what a relationship of that sort would be like with Saitou, how it could be patched up once broken, and why in the world it would have this kind of effect on someone if it wasn’t. At times he even thought it might have been better to let Sano kiss him than to let him decide there was no support among friends, run off and brood to decide who knew what, and stay away for who knew what reason — not that Kenshin thought he really could have gone through with any charade that involved kissing Sano, and not that the current circumstance might not eventually have resulted in any event.

Then, as if purposely to augment his concern, the artist/bomber/newspaper friend showed up. It was a rare occasion that brought Katsu to the dojo, and previously he’d never been unaccompanied by Sano, so Kenshin’s immediate reaction to the sight of him was a frown of intensified worry.

Katsu came over to where Kenshin was hanging laundry and said without preamble, “I take it you haven’t seen him either, then.”

Kenshin shook his head with a sigh.

Echoing the sound, Katsu appeared more exasperated than worried. This was a good sign, as it suggested he knew something of Sano’s absence — more than Kenshin did, at any rate. Presently he said, “You know what this is about, don’t you? This is another stupid attempt at getting that stupid cop’s attention.”

Accepting the explanation with a nod, Kenshin remarked ruefully, “If he thinks Saitou will go looking for him, it really is stupid.”

“The one consolation to us is that he can’t stay in hiding long and still eat; he has to show up again soon.”

The redhead agreed. “And since we have an explanation for his absence, we do not have to worry about his safety in the meantime.” And they shared a glum look that spoke clearly just how much they weren’t going to worry.

“Well, I’ll send him your way if I see him,” Katsu sighed.

“I will do the same for you,” replied Kenshin.

Despite this very logical speculation about food, however, Sano stayed gone. Katsu became almost as much a regular at the dojo, exchanging news (or lack thereof) with Kenshin, as Sano had ever been; and Saitou, whenever they saw him, scowled more than ever.

The idea of discussing the matter with the officer seemed so impractical that it had never seriously crossed the rurouni’s mind; the fact that Katsu hadn’t suggested it seemed to indicate he felt similarly — on the point of the futility of talking to the wolf, at least, Sano’s friends agreed with him. But the third or fourth time Kenshin, running his usual errands in town, caught sight of Saitou glowering over a bowl of inferior soba at a cheap open-air restaurant, he felt almost compelled. Despite the fact that Saitou seemed every bit as disinclined to have the conversation as Kenshin was, the latter approached and cleared his throat.

“Have you seen Sano lately?”

Saitou’s expression of displeasure strengthened, and he did not look up. “Why would I have seen him?”

“Well, you have been eating at this restaurant a lot, and it is one of his favorites…”

With a snort Saitou remarked, “Given the quality of the food, that’s no surprise.”

“I have been questioning Sano’s taste lately,” Kenshin couldn’t help but admit, trying not to smile.

“He’s an idiot,” muttered Saitou somewhat pointlessly, his scowl and the accompanying lines on his face deepening even further.

It was obvious there was nothing to be gained from this. Saitou had no more idea where Sano was than Kenshin did… which actually made the theory about why Sano was gone less plausible: why go to such lengths to attract somebody’s notice if that somebody couldn’t find you? “I just hope he is all right,” Kenshin murmured, half to himself.

“Why wouldn’t he be?” the officer demanded with a little more attention, glancing up at last.

Kenshin shrugged.

Saitou, apparently recalling the frame of mind he would prefer to convey, went back to his soba with a reiteration of, “He’s an idiot.”

The redhead made a noncommittal noise and turned to leave.

Well, odd as it seemed to think about, Saitou cared too — which made the entire situation even more foolish. Kenshin didn’t have much experience with romantic spats, and it was still Saitou, but it wouldn’t take a relationship genius to figure this one out. How the two stubbornest men in Tokyo — and a pair with that kind of history, no less — had ever managed to start something, Kenshin could not begin to guess.

At that moment, just as he turned the corner away from the restaurant, he found himself joined unexpectedly by Katsu. “I found him,” was the artist’s somewhat breathless announcement; he appeared to have been running.

“Oh? Where is he? Is he in trouble?” Given the reflections Kenshin had just been entertaining about the stupidity of quarreling lovers, his queries would not have been so energetic if he hadn’t been aware of Saitou right around the corner listening.

Katsu seemed similarly aware of this (having run past him), for his reply, “I think he may be; he wouldn’t let me in to see him,” didn’t feel entirely honest. “And now someone’s caught up with him, he may relocate again, so you should come talk to him while I still know where he is.”

The rurouni raised a curious eyebrow as if to ask, Do you really think this will work?

To which the artist replied with a wry smile and a shrug that said, Do you have a better idea? Out loud he just requested, “Come with me.”

Any internal debate Saitou might have had about whether or not to follow them must (by necessity) have been conducted in haste; Kenshin sensed the wolf’s presence behind them barely a street away. Was Saitou aware he was being baited? Possibly. It was no more important than whether or not he cared; all that mattered was that he did follow. This had gone on far too long.

Katsu led them straight to the wretched area of town where Kenshin would have looked first if he’d been actively searching for Sano — which didn’t speak well for their friend’s creativity or, perhaps, sense of hygiene — and into a grimy hotel that barely warranted the title. The attendant in the lobby was asleep or something similar, and if his opium-scented slump was any testimony to his backbone, he probably wouldn’t have stopped them in any case. Kenshin wondered whether Saitou was concerned enough about Sano to look the other way; it would say something about the relationship if he was.

Of course, his mere presence in a place like this looking for the recalcitrant kenkaya at all said something about the relationship.

It seemed the officer was willing, for the moment at least, to overlook the opium in the interest of following them upstairs. In doing so, rather than join them and admit openly what they were aware of anyway (that he’d been there all along and they all three knew it and this whole thing was idiotic), he was forced to employ greater stealth than the perfunctory level of care he’d given to tailing them thus far — to the point where Kenshin’s awareness of him sank to purely ki-based. Katsu glanced around as if wondering whether or not they were still being followed; at Kenshin’s slight gesture, though, he returned to his guide duty.

It was the last room on the second floor — which floor, incidentally, seemed in danger of collapse at any moment — where Katsu stopped. Standing still, glancing around, Kenshin frowned. What kind of unhealthy and poorly formulated decisions might one come to, moping all alone in a place like this?

Katsu knocked emphatically.

“Who the fuck is it now?” was the grumpy-sounding demand from within.

“Sano, exactly how long do you plan on sitting around in there doing nothing?” Katsu replied in nearly the same tone. “And how the hell are you eating, anyway?”

“I already told you–” began Sano severely, apparently moving closer to the door the better to debate with his friend.

Kenshin cut him short. “Sano, a lot of people are worried about you; it is rather rude of you to go into hiding without a word.”

“Oh.” It was a barely audible exclamation as the footsteps within the room stopped abruptly. “Hey, Kenshin.”

Given that the true purpose of this visit had been to deliver Saitou, the rurouni didn’t quite know what to say next. It seemed Sano, even after so long, was still in the mood to be difficult and refuse any assistance… it also seemed a shame, however, to have coaxed Saitou this far and then just leave before at least showing the two of them the path of reconciliation (if not necessarily forcing their feet onto it). But Kenshin assumed the officer wouldn’t step forward and speak up, admit he’d come looking, unless they prodded him into it somehow.

Hadn’t Kenshin specifically told Sano at one point that he wasn’t getting involved in this?

“I’ll tell you if I decide to leave town,” was the defensive grumble from behind the door. “Not like I’m just gonna disappear.”

“‘Leave town?'” Katsu echoed in disbelief. “My god, Sano, you’re running away?”

There was a long silence before Sano finally replied, “It’s better than what I’ve been doing…”

“What, sitting around sulking?” Katsu sighed in exasperation, but instead of continuing the conversation with Sano turned rather to Kenshin and remarked in a quieter tone (though still loud enough, doubtless, to penetrate the door and permeate the hall), “He’s behaving like a woman.”

“I was going to say a child,” replied Kenshin, wincing at the thought of how the women he knew would react to that statement.

“Hey…” Sano protested from within.

“No wonder Saitou didn’t come looking for him,” added Katsu decisively.

“Hey!”

Kenshin saw where this was going; considering how far Katsu’s last idea had brought them, he decided this one was also worth a try. “I am certain there are other reasons for that,” he suggested calmly. “I doubt Saitou is any more capable than Sano of maintaining a serious relationship; he was probably glad of an excuse not to try.” Which was entirely true (that is to say, he did doubt it), and seemed to cause a sort of invisible twitch down the hall.

Katsu shrugged. “Let’s be honest, though; you can’t blame even a preoccupied bastard like him for having a hard time dealing with Sano.”

“Backing down might actually be the easiest thing for Sano.”

“It isn’t like that asshole would ever pretend to be human and admit he wants Sano back.”

Though uncertain yet whether Saitou was aware of being shamelessly goaded, Kenshin could sense a nearly palpable ill will and disquiet from around the corner. It was matched by what emanated from the room whose door he still faced. “But I am starting to believe Sano may not have any idea what he wants,” he sighed. “He is easily confused.”

“Well, we know what he doesn’t need,” was Katsu’s emphatic declaration.

“And it is therefore fortunate Saitou does not know a good thing when it punches him in the face.” Kenshin had a hard time keeping the smile from his lips after that one.

“They bring out the worst in each other,” concurred Katsu solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching as well.

Finally the door burst open. Looking disheveled, hollow-eyed, half starved, disturbed, and very annoyed, Sano glared at them. “Anything else you guys want to decide for me?” he demanded.

“We weren’t deciding anything for you, Sano,” the artist nearly drawled, evidently trying to mask how much seeing his friend like this bothered him.

“We were merely reaching our own conclusions,” Kenshin agreed, feeling much the same.

Sano’s expression made a sudden and drastic shift to an indescribable blend of positive and negative emotions, most of them much more serious than the irritation that had prompted him to open the door, and his eyes were focused neither on Kenshin nor on Katsu. The former wondered vaguely how Saitou had come all the way up the hall to stand behind them without either of them noticing.

“These two terrible actors have a few good points,” the officer remarked drily as he pushed his way past said terrible actors.

“You mean like about you being a preoccupied bastard?” Sano growled, looking up into Saitou’s face. The officer did not deign to reply in words, only snorted and dragged Sano back into the room, slamming the door behind them. The sound of their angry voices, which rose immediately into animated argument, receded gradually to the far side of the chamber.

“I believe we have done all we can,” said Kenshin quietly.

Katsu nodded, then added conversationally, “If they ever do this again, I’m bombing both their apartments.”

“I will not stop you,” Kenshin agreed. And to the continued sounds of the reunited couple making up, making love, making new dents in each other’s heads, or whatever they were doing in there, the two men turned and walked away side by side.



This fic, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #1 “Look over here.” It’s also a companion (chronologically latest in the continuity) to Magic and Responsibility.

This story is included in the Saitou & Sano Collection ebook (.zip file contains .pdf, .mobi, and .epub formats).


No Reservations

From the moment Saitou had stepped into that dojo knowing more than Shinomori did, a subdued air of competition had reigned between them and marked their every meeting.

Has Aoshi really invited Saitou to a private interview because he has case-related information? Or is this a complicated cover for something else entirely?


It had always been a contest of sorts, ever since they’d first met. Though never any good reason for it, there it was: from the moment Saitou had stepped into that dojo knowing more than Shinomori did, a subdued air of competition had reigned between them and marked their every meeting. And so far, they were about even. Saitou had consistently been better-informed than the Okashira during the Shishio affair, but while trying to deal with Yukishiro in Tokyo, Shinomori had generally been one step ahead.

Which was what made Saitou so wary now.

He paused before knocking on the blue-roofed building’s side door, the staff entrance, as he’d been instructed. He really had no idea what to expect within. This was an odd situation, more even than usual when a possible informant requested a private conversation with an investigator — and that was saying something. The offer was not entirely on the level, and it was a sense of intrigue about that that had drawn Saitou here more than that it might be a useful lead for his case.

“Oh, hello, officer,” said the young woman who answered when he did knock. “Shinomori-san is expecting you.”

He said nothing as she bowed him inside and led him upstairs to one particular room of several on the third floor. There she rapped at the shouji, waited for the quiet welcome from within, and left him.

Saitou entered. Contrary to what he would have expected of the former Okashira of the Oniwabanshuu, it was a bright, comfortable room, at whose other end Shinomori stood looking out a half-open window. Despite this orifice, the air was somewhat heavy with a rather oppressive-smelling incense, but otherwise the scene was not unpleasant. Rather than being relaxing, however, this rendered the wolf all the more cautious.

“Saitou.” Shinomori turned. “Hisashiburi.” He wore a yukata pulled close, which, especially against the daylit window, marked the almost unhealthy-looking slenderness of his figure. With the light to his back, his eyes beneath his long bangs appeared very dark.

“Good morning,” Saitou replied, watching him, and calculating the accuracy of the ninja’s greeting: indeed, they hadn’t really spoken since the end of the Yukishiro incident, though they’d seen each other often enough since Saitou had transferred to Kyoto.

Shinomori moved from the window, walking past the officer to the door and listening at it for a moment before locking it. He then seated himself beside a tea service. “Join me.”

As he complied wordlessly, Saitou’s tension was rising, and he kept a careful watch on the other man without letting it appear that he was doing so.

“Youngest child of a rich family abducted,” Shinomori was saying succinctly as he poured tea for them both, “and a government spy assigned to the case because the only existing clue is a name overheard from one of the kidnappers that matches that of a recently-subdued and supposedly-dissolved revolutionary group.”

Saitou had to appreciate this kind of conciseness; he wished the people he worked with could command half as much. “You seem to have a decent grasp on the issue,” he nodded, accepting the cup from the ninja’s slender hand.

“Better than you do,” Shinomori replied.

“Which is why I’m here.”

A placid nod. “The kidnapper was once a bitter enemy to the Oniwabanshuu.”

That, perhaps, cleared things up a bit, but Saitou still couldn’t believe that the other man was really being anything like candid.

“He is dangerous,” Shinomori continued, “and what’s more, he knows who you are.”

Saitou pretended to sip his tea. It didn’t smell unusual in any sense, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Shinomori wouldn’t bring him here without a specific purpose, and so far the information provided only bordered on useful. “It’s true there are more that do than I’d like, but it usually doesn’t make much difference.”

Still impassive, the ninja went on. “It might. You could defeat him in battle, it’s true. But he knows this. He won’t be straightforward; he won’t come at you fairly.”

“I’m used to that,” Saitou remarked, then added with a slight smirk, “I’m not altogether straightforward or fair myself.”

Shinomori brought his own cup slowly to his finely-formed lips; Saitou didn’t think he actually drank, either, though. “What’s important to understand about this person is that he has an obsessive nature, and absolutely no reservations when it comes to getting what he wants.”

“That’s true of most people on some level or other.” Growing a little tired of the excessive incense in the air, Saitou lit a cigarette. Shinomori must burn the stuff all day and all night, to be inured enough to sit right next to it with the smoke floating up into his face like that.

The Oniwaban didn’t seem to care that the officer was smoking in his private chamber without bothering to ask permission. “This man has not only motive and drive, but ability and resources, to get what he wants.”

So far this felt like either a diluted warning or a very abstract tip; neither was likely to be particularly helpful, nor could Saitou believe that such roundabout information could possibly be Shinomori’s reason for inviting him here. Maybe a more straightforward treatment of the exact nature of this exchange would get better results. That had been Saitou’s main point of curiosity in coming, after all — what Shinomori would demand in return for his communications, whatever they were. And perhaps once that was established they could get down to names and other actual facts… if there were any. Well, depending on what the ninja wanted and how Saitou felt like responding to it. Which latter idea had been another point of curiosity that had brought him here.

“You’re getting impatient,” Shinomori observed calmly. “But what if I tell you that you are this man’s target?”

Well, that did get Saitou’s attention, as it was obviously meant to. Still, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“But you might not escape this time.”

Saitou noticed the very faint upturning of Shinomori’s lips in the same instant he reflected that his cigarette tasted odd — the flavor of the tobacco combining with the incense creating an unusual sensation in his throat — and that his limbs felt strangely and increasingly sluggish.

The tea had been a distraction; that idea had crossed his mind, but as a distraction from what, he had not been able to discern. He hadn’t considered the incense a threat, given that Shinomori was closer to it than he was. And he rarely gave his own cigarettes a second thought, which, of course, Shinomori had counted on. But all this reflection was too late now.

“And his name I believe I can guess,” he said quietly, finding every word more difficult as what resembled a great weariness began to spread inexorably through his body.

“By now I hope you can,” Shinomori replied, reaching out and catching the cigarette as it fell from Saitou’s lips. It was the last thing the officer saw.

Any doubts he’d had about the intentions with which he’d been summoned here were erased when he began to regain consciousness.

He didn’t think he’d been out long, for he could not yet move, could not even open his eyes. His breathing was shallow, and he felt somewhat dizzy even lying still. His senses were vaguely in tact, however, so he was aware of lying stretched out on his back on a soft surface — a futon, if he was not mistaken — of Shinomori beside him — right up against him, actually, with a hand on his chest — of a significant lack of clothing — yes, both of them seemed to be naked — and of certain things that had been done to him while he was unconscious — namely, he seemed to have been… washed. Since he didn’t think Shinomori had a general cleanliness fetish that went quite as far as drugging people in order to clean them up, the intent here must be sex.

No reservations indeed.

The ninja, apparently noting Saitou’s return to awareness, sat up; though still in darkness, Saitou could feel the movement and sense its direction. Shinomori did not speak, which came as no surprise, only grazed his palms over Saitou’s chest. A slow, soft caress, it awoke in Saitou instant frustration that he could not move, and gradually changed to a more pointed touch as the Oniwaban’s fingers began languidly to explore the contours of the officer’s stomach and chest. A few of Saitou’s muscles twitched slightly under this treatment, and a shiver ran through him as the dragging fingertips circled almost carelessly one of his taut nipples.

He was momentarily preoccupied with the gentleness, the apparent fragility, of Shinomori’s hands. They were long and warm and seemed more like those of an artist than someone who practiced heavy kenpo. But there was not much time for such thoughts, as their actions at the present moment must be infinitely more engrossing than their shape. For, moving slowly farther and farther down his body to brush and probe and lag along his hips and thighs, their almost delicate application became more teasing, more maddening, with each passing moment.

Abruptly the touch ceased entirely, and Saitou shivered again as echoes of the tantalizing sensation crept over him like remembered pain from an age-old wound. Then breath moved across his face and Shinomori’s lips, unexpectedly soft but decidedly purposeful, descended onto his.

Saitou couldn’t respond to the kiss, and wasn’t entirely sure he would have if he’d been capable — to show willingness in this situation would be unbecoming — but Shinomori’s talent at it left little to be desired, considering the motionlessness of Saitou’s own lips. He was quite impressed, actually, that a kiss so necessarily one-sided could be so enjoyable. And with the action heightening the responsiveness of his own body and thereby, perhaps, hastening his recovery from the drug, he finally managed to open his eyes. He found himself staring into bright blue, and was amused (and not particularly surprised) at the little jolt of sensation that went through him at the sight.

The ninja drew back slightly, trailing his tongue over Saitou’s lips as he did so and maintaining the lock between their eyes. He stayed away only long enough to remark, “I would prefer you more responsive, but that isn’t an option,” before, closing the distance once more, he ran one of those exceptionally fine hands down Saitou’s body and gave him something he might have wanted to respond to. Whatever his chemical state was, Saitou had no trouble becoming very erect at the touch.

The ninja worked his hardening length slowly and methodically from base to tip as he began unhurriedly traversing Saitou’s jaw and neck with his agile mouth. The officer’s breathing, previously the deep consistence of a sleeper’s, rapidly shortened to a quick and audible cadence, a marked contrast to Shinomori’s deliberate, measured movements.

As the kisses moved down Saitou’s chest and the ninja’s skilled grip made him harder and harder, the older man also began to wish he could be a little more responsive, regardless of whether it would be appropriate voluntarily to give a positive response. He was glad of his inability to show surprise the next moment, however, when, without warning, oiled fingers pressed slowly inside him. Why this should be a surprise he wasn’t sure; it made perfect sense, given the situation. It was just that he’d never been penetrated before, and had become so accustomed to being on top that he had perhaps started to take for granted the way things worked.

And suddenly Shinomori’s tongue was gliding along Saitou’s erection, meticulously-rubbing fingers close in its slick wake. He never actually took him fully in his mouth, and Saitou was certain that this, along with the unnecessarily leisurely process of preparation, was just another deliberate torment and reiteration of the ninja’s complete control. Yes, the former Okashira played this getting-what-he-wanted game very well. So well that, torment notwithstanding, Saitou was not wasting any effort at the moment considering what he was going to do when this was over.

Shinomori added another finger. The sensation was odd, but elating, and increased the pleasure of his attentions elsewhere in a way Saitou would not have guessed. Should have guessed, given that he’d been on that end of this sort of exchange often enough, but still could not entirely have fathomed without experiencing. The other caresses were slowing, however; Shinomori evidently didn’t want him to come yet, and must be aware that Saitou could have less control of it in his current state.

For all he was enjoying this, lying still did not make for the most satisfying sex. Saitou’s body, whether aided by his will or not, was exhausting itself straining to work through the chemical influence and regain control, while Shinomori, with the utmost patience, systematically continued his arousing preparations. Saitou heard himself moan inarticulately, and thought that was probably a good sign. Shinomori apparently thought that was the signal for the main event.

As the ninja drove slowly into him, Saitou could hear his own voice again, wordless but unmistakably approving. His lips had managed to move somewhat this time, and when Shinomori’s again closed over them the kiss was much closer to mutual than the previous had been. Though unable to reciprocate when his mouth was worked open and thoroughly overrun by Shinomori’s tongue, he could feel thus the muffled groan from the Oniwaban’s throat that indicated just how good it was to be inside him.

He could never have guessed from the symptoms exhibited by his partners in the past how this would feel. The clinical awareness that it was tight and uncomfortable as well as almost overwhelmingly thrilling and stimulating could never encompass his present sensations. He wondered what it would be like when he had control over his body; for the moment, however, he dismissed this thought, as well as the subsequent query as to whether he was planning on finding out.

Shinomori was stroking him again, and Saitou’s clarity of mind was deteriorating; it was a short-lived reflection that his inability to move and imperfectly-parted legs couldn’t make for a very convenient position, that it was lucky the younger man was so flexible. The rhythm into which Shinomori had smoothly guided them, the building tension and pleasure, was overcoming logical thought.

Twitching fingers longed to clutch at and test the texture of the skin above him, but Saitou’s arms were still too heavy and unresponsive. Authority over his muscles was returning, however, gradually but certainly; how much time passed before he was able to reach up sluggishly and grip the ninja’s rocking body he did not know, but as his climax approached he was aware that his nails were digging into the scarred flesh of Shinomori’s sides.

Evoking a low cry that did not sound even slightly drugged, the white-hot rush of orgasm spread through him. He could feel himself tightening almost painfully around Shinomori, who groaned and quickened his pace with hands bracing against the futon. Not long after, even before the clenching sensation throughout Saitou’s body had fully dissipated, Shinomori let out a long, unsteady sigh that ended in a slight moan, and grew still. He dropped his form back onto Saitou’s and lay panting against the officer’s shoulder for some time.

Well, this had certainly been an entertaining and unique experience, and now that its intenser moments had passed Saitou had opportunity to contemplate its ramifications. He wasn’t really sure what he planned on doing; this was so much more than anything he’d expected in coming here… though at the same time not entirely surprising. But if Shinomori thought he was going to take it lying down (in the figurative sense, of course), he was very much mistaken.

The ninja raised his head and kissed Saitou languidly as he slowly drew out. Here was another unfamiliar sensation that the wolf found rather pleasurable than otherwise, the constriction and return to normal configuration of that particular opening; but, though he returned the kiss to the greatest extent of his current ability, he did not otherwise react. Shinomori’s eyes, staring into his, were equally devoid of communication; they were exceptionally bright, though, and the flush on the former Okashira’s face was particularly attractive.

Finally Shinomori sat back with a soft, contented sigh, and, leaning away, busied himself with something Saitou did not care to make the effort to look at. After a few moments the officer felt something cool and wet touch his chest, and shivered inadvertently. As Shinomori continued to sponge him off fastidiously and almost, he might have thought if he’d been given to such fancies, affectionately, Saitou reflected that this fixation with cleanliness seemed eminently typical of the younger man. It was amusing and perhaps somewhat charming.

Once they were both cleansed to the Oniwaban’s satisfaction, Shinomori took the water basin away somewhere and, returning, pulled Saitou up with both hands. Saitou found that the drug had worn off so far as to allow him to sit unswaying with little trouble, but he was still dizzy. Of course Shinomori, placid and apparently emotionless, was aware of this, and, logically, had no fear of retaliation at this point.

He had produced a neatly stacked and folded set of clothing — Saitou’s uniform — and was shaking the articles out in preparation for helping the officer into them. Saitou did not refuse the assistance, nor, when he was fully dressed, did he object to Shinomori giving him a hand up. As the ninja donned his yukata again in continued silence, Saitou concentrated first on maintaining his equilibrium in this precarious standing position, then on fastening his upper garment.

But fine motor function was still beyond him, it seemed, and after a moment Shinomori pushed his hands away and buttoned the jacket for him. As he did so he finally spoke, quietly: “The boy will be returned to his parents this evening; they will find him unhurt and probably the better for our hospitality.”

Saitou made a noise of acknowledgement; then, as the ninja’s deft fingers finished their task and the imperturbable gaze rose to meet the officer’s, he decided to try for something with a few more syllables. “You do realize…” But as even this short phrase left his reluctant tongue in more of a slur than he would prefer anyone to hear from him at any time, he broke off there.

Shinomori’s eyes narrowed slightly, and the corners of his mouth twisted upward by a fraction; it was obvious he didn’t need the I’m not just going to let this go spoken aloud. “Of course.” Leaning up, he touched a brief kiss to Saitou’s lips. “It’s your turn.”

After a moment, Saitou returned the pseudo-smile and nodded slightly. Then, very slowly at first so as to accustom himself both to the foreign ache in his lower half and the precautions necessary for walking in his still-slightly-blurry state, he turned and headed for the door. He was fairly sure that before he would run into anyone, he had the entire length of the hallway beyond and a staircase to make sure his movements would not betray the events that had just transpired. He did not throw so much as a glance behind him as he left the room.

So his case was closed. The dangerous, roundabout, obsessive former enemy of the Oniwabanshuu had had his way, and the only question remaining now was what Saitou was going to do about it. The officer’s emotions were mixed, to say the least.

By the time he’d reached the street below, he had resumed, if not his usual brisk stride, a natural enough gait. This disturbing dizziness would certainly pass; the bemusement was sure to take more time, the animated scheming that had already gripped his brain even longer.

Though he wanted a cigarette, he didn’t consider himself up to the task of extracting and lighting one just yet. He glanced back at the third-floor windows of the Aoiya, but, though a little disoriented, didn’t think Shinomori’s room was on this side of the building. Noting that his enunciation was still somewhat inhibited he murmured, “My turn…”

The possibilities were endless.



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No, More Pretending

Pirika was the one who’d gotten him to this point; it seemed like betrayal to question his relationship with her.

Horohoro realizes and comes to grips with the true nature of his feelings toward his sister.


From a recumbent position that wasn’t likely to change any time soon, no matter what happened or who insisted that breaktime was over and they should all get back to their training, Horohoro watched languidly the interaction of a trio of figures not far off. The largest — standing solid and unperturbed by the heat as usual — was not particularly interesting; the other two — the slender, elegant woman and her scowling brother — held the teenager’s attention now as they often did.

Ren was so clearly excessively devoted to Jun… It had surprised Horohoro when he’d first noticed it, and had not ceased to fascinate him since. Ren, who didn’t seem to care about anyone other than himself, think about anything other than his own pursuits, or (understandably) feel even the smallest connection to his odd family, yet appeared to put everything second to his regard for his sister. It made Horohoro grin, among other reasons because it proved that Ren had decent emotions and the capacity to be concerned with something that relatively normal human beings thought about; additionally, it reminded Horohoro very much of himself and Pirika.

He’d been gloating up until now that Ren wasn’t as different from him as the pointy team leader would like to think… but gradually, as he lay watching them over there, his grin faded. For the more he observed the way Ren and Jun interacted, the more he saw that they really weren’t much like him and Pirika. Despite the curtness that Ren showed even to her, it was obvious that his esteem for Jun bordered on worshipful, that he wanted to protect her above all things… Horohoro couldn’t think that Ren’s mental images of Jun were consistently naked, or that they’d ever shared a bed.

This, of course, forced the Ainu very seriously to examine his attitude about his own sister. He sat up, crossed his legs, and frowned.

It was not entirely strange that he’d never thought about it before, as he’d apparently been pretending all along that he’d forgotten they were related — and therefore his potentially questionable feelings for her hadn’t raised any objections in his mind. Whether he objected now, he wasn’t sure. The shaman fight was designed, among other things, to hone the participants who lasted by making them face themselves as well as others, question the way they lived… but Pirika was the one who’d gotten him to this point; it seemed like betrayal to question his relationship with her. On the other hand, she must have understood that, and had sent him nonetheless; and if she accepted that he must question, was willing to risk it, it almost seemed cowardly not to question.

He growled and tugged on his hair. He was twisting himself into knots here! What use was it questioning whether or not he should question?? He was already questioning! Should he face the fact that his feelings for Pirika might not be entirely appropriate, or keep on pretending that their relationship was perfectly normal?

Kororo landed on his shoulder, wondering if he was all right, and Horohoro realized he hadn’t stopped pulling his hair. “Sorry,” he mumbled, patting her. “I don’t mean to make you worry… just thinking about some stuff.”

She hugged his face and flitted off, and he had to smile. It faded quickly, though, as he considered that to make one of his dreams come true, he might well have to give up another. And was he man enough to handle that? Oh, but why should he?! Why couldn’t he have both? …because it wasn’t normal to pretend your desire for your sister was innocuous, all the while wishing out loud for a girlfriend but knowing subconsciously, complacently, that you’d never get one because you didn’t really need one. It wasn’t right.

But couldn’t the Shaman King determine for himself what was normal and right?

This was still a stupid and frustrating debate, especially since he wasn’t really considering the real issues. He turned and looked again at Ren and Jun as a sort of distraction. An inneffectual one, though, as they were what had brought this to mind in the first place. A little bitterly, he projected his dilemma onto them: what if Ren had……. that same kind of feeling for Jun? (No, Horohoro could not define it clearly just yet; that was part of his problem.) What if she returned it? Well, Ren never let anyone else dictate the way he should live, so the two of them would surely act on those feelings. Horohoro wasn’t assigning a concrete definition to that either, that action, but there was no denying that the idea made him feel… good… warm… happy. It was a sweet concept, and didn’t seem at all wrong. Was that because his thinking was warped by his own situation, his selfishness? Was it time to admit his weakness and stop pretending?

But his earlier reflection, that Ren didn’t and wouldn’t let others tell him how to live, now hung before him like a challenge. Was he to be repressed by a world that he already wanted to change? Was he to let even a hypothetical Ren live more freely, live better, than he did? Was the future king of all spiritualists to let his destiny be guided by a blind and arbitrary code?

No, more pretending was fine. Because he shouldn’t have to define it at this point, but he shouldn’t have to give it up either. So until things took their natural course — until he faced and admitted what he wanted, or until it faded, or whatever the case turned out to be — he would pretend, and he wouldn’t regret, because the world was big enough for things like that.



No, there is no mention of the potential Yoh/Horo implied in the first story simply because Horohoro is utterly oblivious to that possibility XD

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