To Rise Unseen

“Admit it, Pettigrew: I was a better friend to you than any of that lot ever were.”

An acquaintance from school, who happens to be a Death Eater now, highlights everything wrong with all of Peter Pettigrew’s relationships.


“I have to say I’m not surprised to run into you here; you always were good at skulking.”

Peter, who had whirled at the first syllable, let out his sharply indrawn breath with a bit of a squeak when he identified the woman that had stepped from the shadows of a doorway and addressed him so unexpectedly. “Lila!” he more gasped than properly greeted. “I- I haven’t seen you since Hogwarts!” He should have stopped there, but, too nervous at this sudden encounter so close to Headquarters, he allowed the next question, and the subsequent attempt at repairing it, to slip out uncautiously: “What are you doing in this part of London? I mean, in London at all? Don’t you live in Kent?”

The witch leaned against the wall beside the smelly bins Peter had been in the process of circumnavigating when she’d appeared, and gave him the bright smile he remembered so well from school. “Is it really so strange for someone to come to London? Visitors from Kent aren’t allowed; is that it?”

“No, of course not.” Peter tried to return her smile, but his could never sunburn the way hers did. “Just a little strange to meet you in this alley. It’s a bit–” he glanced around, in part to indicate what he meant and the rest to break eye contact– “rubbishy back here.”

“Like I said, then, no surprise to find you here.” She flashed her teeth in a chuckle, in which Peter weakly joined. “But it wouldn’t have been a surprise in any case, because I suspected you’d come this way soon. I was waiting for you.”

His blood ran colder than the October chill could account for. Did she know? How much did she know? How did she know? And what was she in a position to do with that knowledge? Her intentions as a Hogwarts seventh-year had been clear, but he couldn’t be completely sure what direction she’d taken once school had ended. He certainly couldn’t blurt out his suspicions here and now, and all he ended up managing to say, faintly, was, “Back here?”

“Damp corridors do seem like the best places to find you.”

*

“What are you doing down here, Pettigrew?” The tone was cheerful and vaguely familiar, and, though Peter could sense the underlying bite to the words, even just the hint of a pleasant sound made the dungeon hallway feel slightly less clammy and chilly.

The face, too, seemed somewhat recognizable as its owner stopped in the doorway of the classroom she’d just been exiting. Yeah, that was right: she was in his year; he saw her in one of his double classes. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, but he had to speak sooner than he could remember, so he merely addressed her by house. “None of your business where I go, Slytherin.” It came out sounding a little less confident than he’d planned, and she noticed.

Her musical laugh echoed off the stone walls around them. “Not so brave without your swaggering friends along, are you, Gryffindor?”

Obviously she knew him better than he knew her, and Peter struggled to recall her name so as to put them on a better footing. Finally he managed it, as well as to come up with something to say other than, ‘Well, I was supposed to meet them down here for something, but they’ve never shown up.’ “No need to be brave when there’s nothing to be scared of.” He tried to make his shrug nonchalant, the way James would have done. “You don’t think I should be scared of you, do you, Sutton?”

“Of course you should.” Again she laughed, and again the sound carried two layers — ‘I’m totally kidding,’ and, ‘I’m totally serious and you’d better watch your back’ — and which he should attend to was as yet a mystery. “I’ve had a glimpse at our marks in Care Of Magical Creatures, and I know how much better I’m doing than you.”

“So?” In reality, though, Peter’s heart fell. He was only taking Care of Magical Creatures because his friends were, but by this late autumn of their third year at Hogwarts, Remus had less and less time to tutor Peter in difficult subjects.

“So,” Lila explained patiently, smile widening but eyes narrowing proportionally, “I’m a lot better than you at that subject. But even I’m having a hard time with fairy management. Since you’re down here, why don’t we go practice together? It might help us both.”

Peter hoped she couldn’t see the mixture of emotions that arose in him at the suggestion. He was surprised, he was suspicious, he was skeptical, but most of all he was interested. He’d had to worm his way into every study group he’d ever taken part in; he’d never had someone suggest to him that they might practice together. And with Remus, his usual recourse, more and more caught up in his own private struggles and with Sirius, Peter could use all the help he could get. But was she serious, or baiting him? There were other objections the idea besides.

“Don’t you have your own friends you’d rather revise with?” he asked cautiously. Most people did, after all; just because his own didn’t seem to care much whether he passed or failed didn’t mean hers didn’t.

She laughed. “I exploit my friends in other ways.” And she sounded so pleasant as she said it. “I think you have latent talents that will be useful in helping me get good marks if I can just help you bring them out a bit first.”

He simply couldn’t help smiling at her tone, even as she blatantly discussed the idea of using him. At least she was very straightforward about her selfish motives. “Do you really want to be seen with a Gryffindor, though?”

She shrugged. “I think you’re more than half Slytherin, but of course we’ll be quiet about it.”

That clinched it. He couldn’t imagine why she’d been watching closely enough to recognize the Slytherin in him, but she’d hit close to his heart. Even after two years at Hogwarts, he’d never been completely convinced the Sorting Hat had made the right choice… and if other people could see it, that meant he wasn’t imagining things. Interhouse rivalries were all very well, but if he’d gone to the wrong place, he needed to get in touch with his Slytherin side… and wouldn’t this be the best, the safest way to do it?

“All right,” he said. “But I don’t make any promises for what my mates will do if they find out.” It was more false bravado, and she knew it.

She twirled her wand dangerously, smiling brightly all the while. “Same here! Let’s go look into fairies, shall we?”

“I actually think I’m starting to get them,” Peter admitted.

“Good! I thought you might be.”

*

She’d taken his arm and was leading him the way he’d come with no slow steps. Now as ever it was difficult to deny her, and his mind was a blank in every attempt at coming up with an excuse for why he didn’t want to return this direction, what he was doing that he needed to get back to. He had to admit, though, it was nice to leave the alley and the smells of rubbish.

Lila had begun chatting about her shopping in London, the outlet they didn’t have in Ashford, and how she’d found just about everything she’d come up here for. She’d always been interested in fashion design, he recalled as she discussed the latest in robes and hats. It wasn’t interesting, and didn’t serve to conceal the minuteness with which she peered at their surroundings, and into the face of every passerby, and watched him for reactions to any of it.

“You must be meeting some friend around here,” she said with an ease belied by the closeness of her examination of the area. “Some of your friends did always seem the London types. You certainly did, so it’s lucky for you you’ve got friends in town.”

She couldn’t trick him that easily into mentioning where everyone was living these days and that most of them apparated over for meetings — nor how formal and deserving of the term those meetings were. But her very use of the word and her assumptive declaration that it must be nice for him to have friends in London left him a little tongue-tied. All he could manage was yet another weak laugh and a mumbled something about Sirius — who did, in fact, live here, as anyone might know.

She tossed her head. “Sirius Black,” she scoffed. “I’m surprised you still keep up with him when I haven’t heard from you more than two or three times since school.”

“Sirius has always been a good friend,” Peter protested, and forced himself not to add, “If you call treating me like an obnoxious little brother when he even notices I’m around ‘being a good friend.'”

Full well she knew, though, what he wanted to follow up with, and she shot him a bright smile. “Oh, yes,” she said airily. “Always.” She gave him a dig in the ribs; he couldn’t tell if it was with her fingers or her wand, it was so quick. “Admit it, Pettigrew: I was a better friend to you than any of that lot ever were.”

*

From where she lay stretched on the sun-warmed stone of the disused Astronomy Tower, having rolled onto her back and away from the book she’d previously had her nose in, Lila asked lazily, “You’ve been spending more time with your blood traitor friends again lately. Have they ever cottoned on to us?”

Not about to admit that the process of becoming animagi he and his friends had of late illicitly embarked upon required a lot more time and attention from him than he’d expected, Peter chose to respond to a different part of her question. “I’m half-blood. You think I’m a blood traitor too?”

Her tone was still languid, and so was the little laugh she gave. “Being a half-blood’s bad enough.”

Peter let out a soft breath that was like the prototype to a laugh in return. Stretching out his legs beneath the relatively giant book on his lap so his toes pointed in Lila’s direction, and noting as always how stubby and unattractive they seemed, he let his eyes fall from the Slytherin girl and his own appendages down to the book’s pages. He turned surreptitiously to the later spot where he’d tucked the Marauders’ Map, and checked the immediate area again for anyone that might come interrupt them and, more importantly, spread rumors.

He tried to be the one carrying the map whenever he was to meet Lila, but lately he felt as if he didn’t really need to be: he doubted his friends would notice his absence, his location, or his company in any case. He was still around them much of the time, but didn’t know if they noticed that either unless they were busy with the animagus process together; they were probably just relieved he didn’t need nearly as much help as in earlier years with his schoolwork. That was largely thanks to Lila, whether she believed him a blood traitor or not, and Peter wasn’t inclined to deny it. It turned out he wasn’t half bad at most school stuff; he merely needed it presented in a different manner, a lot of the time, than conventional teaching methods offered.

Finally, though, he answered her original question. “No, I think they still have no idea.”

“Gryffindors have no subtlety,” she yawned. “They’d pay a lot more attention to you if they knew how useful you can be.”

“You mean,” Peter replied a little dryly, “you help me with what I’m having a hard time with, and that helps you understand it better, so then you get better marks.”

She laughed like golden bells ringing. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing. Aren’t friend supposed to help each other out? And Slytherins? And better-blooded families?”

Not at all sure what to say in response to this, Peter changed the subject. “So are you getting this stuff about the Arithmantic Renaissance?”

*

He simply couldn’t help admitting, in a quiet, reluctant tone, “You were.”

She threw him her dazzling smile and pulled him closer, squeezing his arm. “I knew it; and I knew you couldn’t deny it.” She’d never ceased her intense scrutiny of the area, and now gestured to a muggle café that stood not far off — undoubtedly a spot where she could watch through the windows for any familiar faces in the street and note from which direction they came. “So let’s have tea like the old friends we are, and try to figure out why you haven’t contacted me in so long.”

He didn’t want her there, watching through the windows for any familiar faces in the street and noting from which direction they came, but it was so hard to say no. He fixed on the best excuse he could come up with. “Do you have any muggle money?”

She waved his concern away. “We’ll just obliviate them. Come on; you look a little peaky, and I’m dying for something chocolate.”

Uneasily Peter went where he was steered, a mixture of emotions and memories not allowing him to be as assertive with her as he wished. He relaxed a little, though, when, on entering the café, they really did embark on a simple and relatively innocuous process of ordering and obliviating, and even then settled at a table not immediately adjacent to the windows. Maybe he was paranoid; maybe he’d been fabricating her significant statements and pointed looks. Maybe they could have an innocent tea together as old friends that truly had met by pure coincidence.

In an alley full bins. In a rundown area of a city where neither of them lived.

Lila dipped a spoon into her tea and cast a patronizing smile of dismissal at the waitress that had brought it out. The young woman had not been obliviated, but obviously took instructions from someone that had, and now appeared a little confused. “Muggles,” the witch said with mild disdain. “They’re not so bad as servants, but it’s a shame they’re not magically enslaved like house-elves; they’d be so much easier to control.”

Peter drew breath to contradict her, but found he didn’t have the energy to voice an opinion he’d never more than half embraced anyway.

*

The seventh-year ball, Peter had heard, was dropping out of favor and might soon be discontinued, but that happy event had not yet taken place, so to celebrate the end of his stint at Hogwarts he was still forced to endure an entire awkward evening of being ignored and overlooked. James and Lily were sickeningly caught up in each other, Remus and Sirius were hiding somewhere together to prevent the latter being mobbed by girls (and a few boys), and all of Peter’s remaining friends were only such through the others.

Except Lila.

“You want to dance?” he wondered in an incredulous hiss. He threw a covert look at the group Lila had left in order to come seek him out — a rough set of Slytherins if ever there’d been one, including Rabastan Lastrange, Calliope Wheatley, Evan Rosier, Sirius’ annoying little brother taking advantage of the fact that sixth-years were allowed to this gathering, and, of course, perennial favorite Severus Snape. “What happened to keeping quiet?”

“We’re leaving school soon,” she shrugged. “I don’t think it much matters anymore.”

He sucked in a reluctant breath through his teeth, but after another moment’s thought decided, why not? He hadn’t anticipated being noticed by the other Marauders or Lily at all this evening anyway; he might as well dance with a Slytherin. And Lila was looking especially pretty tonight in a gown that went from black to blood-red, and smooth shining red stones (Peter didn’t know what they were called) in settings just a few shades lighter than her golden-brown skin.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s dance.”

Of course his skill at this was negligible, and he thought he caught more than one giggle from people around them as Lila clearly took the lead. But it wasn’t too bad. At least he would be able to say he hadn’t lacked a dance partner throughout the entire ball.

“I wanted to talk to you tonight,” Lila said as he struggled to keep up with her steps without stumbling or treading on her feet, “and this seemed like a better way to do it privately than dragging you off behind a curtain or something.”

Peter felt his face go red at the idea. “Yeah,” he said a little shakily. “Thanks.”

“You saw my friends?” She gestured with her head.

“Yeah?”

“We’re a pretty tight-knit group, and we all have similar interests.” Her tone was low, effecting the privacy she’d mentioned, but she emphasized certain words to indicate a meaning beyond their surface level. “We’re planning on sticking together after school, and doing some great things.”

He wished he could say the same for his set. But, although there was a lot of murmuring about taking a stand and using what they’d learned for good, if anyone had made any concrete plans, those hadn’t yet been shared with Peter Pettigrew the permanent afterthought. So eventually he said nothing at all.

“We’re going to be important and respected,” she pursued, “and we’re going to be winners. We’re going to be on top. Everyone else…” She gave her usual bright smile, but there was a touch of wry regret to it as well, and her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “I can’t say how successful — or safe — everyone else is going to be.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Peter wondered, the voice he found at last yet hoarse and quiet.

All wryness, regret, and indifference burned right out of Lila’s smile, which now shone like the sun. “Because I want you to join us, stupid. You’re not too bad a wizard, but no matter what you decide to do, if you don’t join us, you’ll be in danger. Who knows what could happen? You might die!” Her light, tripping tone as she made such a morbid prediction was utterly typical of her, suggesting jest while assuring him of her deadly earnest.

He shuddered, having no doubt in his mind of exactly what she meant by all this. And her final point had preyed on him, in the shadows of his awareness, for a few years now. Taking a stand and using what they’d learned for good made for a gorgeous castle in the clouds, but here in this actual castle, in reality, he had to wonder just how suicidal such a course might prove. Wouldn’t he be much safer, indeed, as Lila promised, offering no resistance to the way things were going? Not provoking the wrath of the important, the respected, the winners?

And wouldn’t it be nice, for once, to be important, respected, a winner?

What chance did he possibly have, though, at being any of that? If he abandoned his friends and joined Lila’s in their quest for great things — even assuming they would accept him as readily as she did, which seemed doubtful — wouldn’t he simply be trading one group that ignored and undervalued him for another? Her promises should be made to someone less invisible than he was; in reference to himself, he couldn’t believe them.

So he couldn’t accept her invitation. Simultaneously, he’d never been able to give her a direct negative, and now found himself torn in two, wordless and awkward. He stomped on one of her feet three times in a row, tried to move the wrong way, and felt his face getting hotter and hotter.

She laughed openly at him, but as always there was a sense of friendliness to her mockery that kept him from feeling the sting as much as he otherwise would have. “You don’t have to answer right now,” she said a little condescendingly. “As long as you don’t do anything dangerous–” and she flicked a look toward the end of the Great Hall where most of the Gryffindors not busy dancing were amassed– “you should be OK for a while.” None of his immediate circle stood over there, but he caught her drift.

The song ended, and Lila released him and stepped back into a mock curtsey. “Send me an owl,” was her goodbye, and then she headed back toward her cohorts.

*

“So what have you been busy with these last couple of years?” Lila’s eyes sparkled at him across the rim of her teacup.

Peter swallowed, and accidentally poured significantly more sugar into his own drink than he wanted. “This and that,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Lila chuckled. “And some of the other thing?” She’d seen through him, as always, and they both knew what ‘other thing’ she referred to. She bit into her chocolate tart, which silenced her briefly. It might have been the perfect chance for Peter to attempt heading her off, but, as usual, he couldn’t think of anything to say to that purpose. He feared the moment of reckoning was at hand, the moment when ‘OK for a while’ drew to its grisly close, and a cold knot of fear began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

He was right. When she’d finished her bite, Lila asked in the same easy tone as before, “And your friends? What have they all been up to?”

Peter couldn’t speak.

She leaned forward a trifle, forking another gooey piece of tart but pausing with it near her mouth. “You remember the last time we talked in person?”

He nodded. He couldn’t stop remembering it, in desperate detail.

“I have all the same friends — and more — and they’re just dying to hear the gossip about yours.”

Trying to buy time, clutching at the wand in his pocket with his free hand just in case this went suddenly from coaxing to Imperius, he gulped his tea, then choked at its hyper-sweetness. Coughing into a serviette until his eyes watered did give him several seconds, but when he’d finished the artificially extended process he found her gaze still fixed on him.

Like the tea, she was all sugary sludge as she murmured intensely, “So spill.”

And that was when realization hit.

At the Hogwarts seventh-year ball, she’d offered him a place among her proto-Death-Eater friends merely because he was ‘not too bad a wizard’ and she had a passing fondness for the boy she’d used to improve her school marks. She’d never seen any real value in him, and if she hadn’t noticed he was doing better with fairy management than she was, back in third year, her eyes would have passed right over him just like everyone else’s did. And today she’d been sent to sound him out not because she’d developed a sense of his worth, but because he was viewed, when viewed at all, as the weakest link in the Order of the Phoenix, and she’d been more or less his friend for several years.

But now, in addition to whatever value he’d had all along (something he believed in but whose quantity he’d never been sure of), he also had exactly what she wanted. What her same friends — and more — wanted.

Sirius, Remus, James, Lily, his supposed nearest and dearest, those to whom it should have been a priority to encourage and support him… they’d never seen his potential. They’d never seen him as anything but a tag-along, a vague nuisance tolerated mostly out of habit and because he never did anything memorable enough to force them to pay better attention.

Even now, when he risked his life on a daily basis to fight against the rising tide of Death Eaters and for goals he didn’t particularly care about, his sacrifice of personal safety was never recognized the way that of the others was. Oh, Sirius was a disinherited pureblood… Remus was a suffering werewolf… James and Lily had a son, and He Who Must Not Be Named was after them personally… so of course that made them and their work more meaningful than little Pettigrew, who remained in the background toiling away like a house-elf… like a muggle… and likely to get killed just like one because his so-called friends neither noticed nor cared. He probably wouldn’t even get a Dark Mark above his flat, because he just wasn’t that important.

But now he had an opportunity to be important. To be respected, a winner… and safe. The moment of reckoning was at hand, and Peter Pettigrew would be reckoned up at a much greater sum than anyone had expected.

He stood abruptly, rattling the teacups on the table, and looked down at Lila with more confidence than he’d ever used to face her in the past. Of course he had to swallow his fear at the idea of facing someone worse than merely Lila Sutton, his sunny, conniving, manipulative pseudo-friend — yet he believed, in this suddenly assertive mood, he might actually be able to say no to her for once. But for once he didn’t want to. He was taking the step at last that would make him somebody, and somebody that wouldn’t be ignored.

And Peter thought he would always remember triumphantly the startled look on her face as he finally managed to surprise her with the blunt statement, “I talk to the Dark Lord personally, or I don’t talk at all.”


Co-worker Julia gave me the following Monthly Story Prompt:

Peter Pettigrew is obviously weak minded and betrayed his “friends” and gave them up to Voldemort, then suprizingly uses powerful magic to fake his death and make it look like Sirius Black did it all. I want the moments in his life that lead up to this. Did it start at a young age? Was he jealous of his friends?

I had several immediate ideas, but how to make them somewhat interesting was the tricky part. Add to that the health issues just when I got the prompt, and this took approximately forever to write XD

For some later notes on this story, see this Productivity Log.



Working Interview

As yet there were no symptoms of neurological disorder, however contradictory it might be that Duo appeared so generally happy after coming so close to death.

Concerning Duo’s Near-Death experience and its results.


The air in the tent Heero had pitched beside where they’d hidden their gundams was a trifle too warm — in large part thanks to the brush he’d arranged against the canvas siding for optimal concealment — but still he was sitting just within the open flaps where he could see and hear both inside and out, since he didn’t believe it wise to leave Duo alone at the moment. After having gone to the trouble of resuscitating him and hauling him back here (and the latter, at least, had been some considerable trouble), he wasn’t going to abandon him possibly to his death and waste all prior effort.

It wasn’t merely that. True, he was never pleased by wasted effort, but here he thought there was also some actual desire on his part for Duo not to die. Duo was often a useful ally, and allies of any type were rare enough in the current climate that Heero didn’t want to waste one of them either. And though the agitation he’d felt during the process of resuscitating this one had struck him as inexplicably excessive for the situation, mirroring the oddly heightened hope of this very moment for some sign that Duo had not suffered permanent damage, Heero wasn’t dwelling on it. He merely waited.

Slight indications of Duo’s change in consciousness sounded faintly before the crinkling of the emergency blanket signaled it more loudly and Heero looked back around to see the prone figure shifting. He reached over to put a hand on Duo’s shoulder. “Don’t move too much,” he admonished. “I assessed your condition the best I could, but you need to confirm your status.”

“You know, some people, when their injured friend wakes up, say things like, ‘Hey, how are you feeling?’ or ‘You’re going to be all right.’ But not Heero. Heero’s like, ‘Make sure your bones aren’t secretly broken before you move!'”

There was no reproof in Duo’s tone, no hint of bitterness. In fact he was smiling faintly, and simultaneously fixing Heero with an odd expression. It was a look such as Duo had never given him before, and suggested, in its turn, that it was seeing things about him Duo had never noticed before. An expression like that as the first to cross Duo’s face upon his regaining consciousness seemed a little illogical, and perhaps an indication of more injury to the brain than Heero had originally diagnosed.

“‘How are you feeling?’ isn’t specific enough. And I can’t know yet whether you’re going to be all right.”

“I know.” Duo’s smile widened, and he raised a hand to clasp the one of Heero’s that urged him to stay down. Though the movement was slow, the squeeze he gave was relatively strong and definitely warm. Heero withdrew his hand quickly.

“All right,” Duo grunted. “Checking now.” He started working his muscles, making the blanket shudder on top of him but not sitting up. Though the occasional grimace crossed his face as he felt out all the damage that had been done to his body back in the base, still he was giving Heero that unusual and unusually happy look. Though perhaps ‘happy’ wasn’t quite the right word. Heero sometimes had difficulties with emotions and how to describe them, and wasn’t entirely sure how to define what Duo appeared to be feeling at the moment. Normally he wouldn’t consider it a matter of any concern, as long as it didn’t interfere with Duo’s recovery and subsequent mission performance, but he found in himself now an unprecedented curiosity about Duo’s mental state.

“All right,” Duo repeated at last. “My muscles are all burning, and I’m completely exhausted, and I have a headache, and I’m dizzy, and I feel like I can’t catch my breath. Oh, and the backs of my arms and thighs feel like they were actually burned.” This list of complaints was delivered with such incongruous cheer that it might have been a list of reasons he was having a wonderful day. “What…” And the frown that followed his smile was no more than puzzled, seemed to hold no real unhappiness. “What actually happened?”

“It appeared one of your charges went off prematurely,” Heero replied, “and you were thrown against a wall. It must have been a serious shock to your body. Your heartrate was so erratic and weak that I could barely detect it, and you had no significant respiration.”

“Wow!” Duo looked surprised and impressed, and still sounded perfectly sanguine. “Who knew I sucked so bad at setting charges?”

“It may have been faulty.” Heero experienced a touch of surprise of his own as he said this, for he wasn’t usually given to seeking extenuating circumstance to justify past failure. What was done was done. But somehow it seemed undesirable to hear Duo claim that he ‘sucked so bad’ at something, especially something at which he had demonstrated sufficient expertise in the past.

Mirroring Heero’s at this statement, Duo’s surprise evidently grew a trifle. It seemed he too was unaccustomed to having Heero make such a deviation from his usual unrelenting practicality. And was he pleased by it as well? Why should that be? In any case, all he said was, “I’m lucky as hell the stupid thing went off when I was far enough away from it for it not to just kill me.” At Heero’s nod of agreement he went on, “The whole thing was really lucky, I guess. Lucky everything turned out the way it did… lucky you were there…”

Again Heero nodded, less certainly this time. He didn’t know that he believed in luck. Things had worked out better than they could have, though.

Slowly, as if continuing to test his muscles and find them smarting from that brief period of poor circulation, Duo raised his arms in a cautious motion to put hands behind his head in a pose that would normally appear casual and unconcerned. He yet seemed inordinately satisfied, as if things had worked out more than merely ‘better than they could have’ — which still didn’t entirely make sense, which still worried Heero a trifle. Why were Duo’s eyes fixed on him with such apparent pleasure? At least they were focused and unclouded eyes. What was the meaning of that faint smile on Duo’s lips, which looked so out of place beneath the discomfort evinced by his contracted brows? At least his facial muscles all seemed to be functioning properly.

Only after approximately one hundred and eighty seconds of the two young men staring wordlessly — Heero attempting to dissect Duo’s emotional state and determine whether it indicated cerebral damage, Duo conducting whatever mysterious thoughts were contributing to his bright eyes and inscrutable smile — did Duo ask, “So what’s next?” They each seemed to have fallen into a sort of reverie focused on the other, and from this Heero now shook himself.

He had no way to assess definitively the current state of Duo’s brain. He could only work from symptoms — and as yet there were none of neurological disorder, however contradictory it might be that Duo appeared so generally happy after coming so close to death. He glanced at the time. “Response to calls for help from the base could arrive as early as ninety minutes from now. That’s based on the location of their closest allies and the assumption that none of them were already en route for any reason. I would prefer to leave the area in forty-five minutes.” Actually he would have preferred to leave the area as soon as the mission was complete, but was providing Duo with the estimated maximum period he had to lie here and recover.

“Got it.” Now Duo removed his arms from where they’d been pillowing his head, still with the same gingerly motion as before. He rolled his shoulders slowly, extending his arms first upward, then out to the sides, flexing his hands as he did so. Since piloting a gundam, though it was taxing to the entire body, required the most from these particular organs, it was no surprise to see Duo trying to prepare them, in the time he had, for getting out of here in forty-five minutes. What might have been a surprise was that he still looked so cheerfully pensive as he did it.

Finally Duo broke the silence again with the perfectly conversational remark, “You know I’m not afraid of dying… not even a little bit.”

Heero believed it with certainty. The same held true for him, though he felt that the lack of fear each of them had was of a different composition, had different origins, said something different about the character of each. Deeper into this he did not have the capacity to probe, so he merely nodded.

“Actually it’ll probably be pretty cool,” Duo went on, continuing his stretching motions. “The next really big mission, you know?”

“That seems possible,” Heero allowed.

“But I’m still glad I didn’t die.”

It took no significant restraint for Heero not to reply that he, too, was glad — but the impulse to say it was distinctly present. He wondered whether mere pleasure at not having died was the explanation for Duo’s current mood.

“I feel like I’ve got lots of stuff to do.”

“There’s a lot for all of us to do.” In this Heero was both agreeing with Duo and echoing a sentiment he’d heard J express. “Probably more than any of us have time for.”

“Yep.” Duo seemed unperturbed by the grim idea. “Lots to do for probably a hopeless cause.” White teeth flashed in an open grin. “Good thing the work’s fun, huh?”

And there Duo had locked himself up in a sanctuary Heero could not enter, and one that, at the moment, he had no energy to assault. Already struggling with puzzlement regarding Duo’s inexplicable cheer, Heero didn’t need the added agitation of the old ‘trying to figure out what fun is’ problem. And though there was at the moment a strange combination of drive to know and indifference — he wanted to understand what Duo considered ‘fun’ about the work they did, how he felt in circumstances like this and why, but at the same time found the entire thing irrelevant enough to himself as to be almost tiresome to consider — neither desire nor disinterest motivated him at the moment: it was merely that he already had enough to think about.

This attitude was, he found, practical, for clues to neither Duo’s current frame of mind nor his concept of fun were forthcoming during the next half hour, which was all the time Heero had to spend in his company right now and certainly not enough to give him answers. And perhaps he did believe in luck after all, since he considered it lucky or something like it that answers were not what he needed or sought. It was a little odd that he even wanted them.

As they broke camp and prepared to go their separate ways, to report their success to and receive further instructions from their disparate commands, Heero watched Duo’s movements carefully. He should have been convinced by them that there would be no danger in leaving the other pilot unsupervised, but there was some last little percentage of conviction that seemed impossible for him to obtain. Perhaps it was because he knew how easily the fragile human body could suffer invisible damage, and how foolish it would be for Duo to die or suffer other permanent ill consequences after the successful conclusion of a mission due to a simple lack of proper medical care.

So as Duo headed for the cockpit of Deathscythe high above and separation from Heero for a length of time neither of them could guess, his movements still apparently a bit uncomfortable, Heero held him back for a moment with the serious admonition, “Be sure to have some scans run. We don’t know what kind of internal damage that shock may have done.”

Duo, hand still on the cable that would draw him upward and away as soon as he initiated its retraction, turned toward Heero, this time with an expression that looked somewhat annoyed or frustrated. “You know I was planning to make you go out to lunch with me after we were done?” He grunted in irritation. “Nothing like a near-death experience to mess up your hopes of marinara sauce, huh?”

Taken aback by what seemed an almost completely irrelevant response, and not as ready as he might have been with a statement that this proposal wouldn’t have been practicable even without the near-death experience, Heero said nothing.

“The point is,” Duo explained, leveling one finger at Heero almost accusingly, “I already said I had lots of stuff to get done.”

Thinking he understood and therefore giving a nod of acknowledgment, Heero replied, “Just remember we can’t go out to lunch if you die of a skull fracture you could have caught with one radiograph.”

Duo’s thwarted expression turned into a grin. “Roger that.” And he ascended.

As Heero followed suit, he wondered just how seriously Duo had taken his advice. Adding this to his curiosity about Duo’s frame of mind and the strange looks he’d been giving Heero, Duo’s state of health and the possible results of today’s injury, why Heero was so unexpectedly interested in all of this, and whether or not he’d just agreed to go out to lunch at some point, he came up with a package of unusual inquisitiveness that was probably better not opened today, if ever at all. It was easier to enter his own gundam, fire it up, exchange a brief confirmation of departure/goodbye with his fellow pilot, and flee the area without wondering any more about any of it right now.

*

Duo didn’t much like these underground bases with their claustrophobic little corridors. There wasn’t room for a gundam’s foot, let alone to swing a twelve-meter scythe. To destroy a place like this he had to run in on his own legs, usually shooting a number of people on the way, and set a bunch of charges.

Of course, when Heero had the same mission, there was the option of having him blast at the place from outside with his beam cannon while Duo guarded his back against a horde of defenders… but Heero didn’t seem to think that sounded nearly as fun as Duo did, and there was always the possibility that the result would be a field of melty slag atop a series of untouched inner rooms and hallways too deep for the cannon to reach. So running and shooting and charges it was.

Not that there wasn’t a huge rush associated with meeting Heero again outside the base after a heart-pounding, gunfire-punctuated twenty minutes apart, taking cover in the brush, and counting down to a simultaneous activation of detonators. But heated gundam battles were always exciting. Heero was all about strategy and proportional expenditure of energy, though.

Today’s expenditure of energy went quite smoothly. These folks were pretty well trained, but they weren’t ready for a couple of gundam pilots. Quite a few of them were even smart enough to run, and Duo mostly let them go; the focus here was the facilities, the equipment, more than the personnel. Some heavy explosions would take care of that, and, though that probably wouldn’t be as fun as a mobile suits battle, maybe he could then convince Heero to go get some lunch with him somewhere afterwards.

With that happy thought, he dealt with obstructions, set his charges, checked with Heero (who was also just leaving), and headed out. Noodles, he thought, sounded good. Something with marinara sauce.

Only then something (something without marinara sauce) exploded. It wasn’t time yet, and he could swear he’d set them up correctly, but something exploded anyway. As was not infrequently the case when explosions were involved, he wasn’t entirely certain what happened next. There was heat and whooshing and pain, and he thought abrupt full-body contact with a wall might have been involved; but then everything went black.

Fortunately, the confusion didn’t last long. At least, it seemed like only a moment or two later that Duo was climbing to his feet with no difficulty. The explosion didn’t appear to have progressed considerably… in fact, the whole world seemed to have slowed down, which was a little strange. So was the realization that, although he had stood up, he was also still lying at the base of the wall, looking rather the worse for wear. Why did there seem to be two of him all of a sudden?

Listening to Heero’s voice over his communicator demanding to know what had happened and whether he was injured, the sound even smaller and more distant than it should have been from where Duo was (for lack of a better word) standing, he stared down at himself in some puzzlement. Not a great deal of puzzlement, though; it didn’t seem to matter all that much why his body and his primary area of consciousness suddenly weren’t occupying the same space the way they normally did.

Even when the explosion had passed and left only small lingering fires in its wake, and the sound of feet in the nearby corridor heralded the advent of Heero; even when Heero, completely ignoring Duo and, in fact, apparently running directly through him and out the other side so that Duo had to spin around to continue watching him… even then, all Duo had to say was a mildly interested, “Huh.” And he might have been surprised at the serenity of his tone if he hadn’t suddenly felt so very calm. “Weird.”

INDEED, came a voice from beside him. It was an odd and interesting voice; in fact, it was more interesting than the events in front of him, and Duo rather liked it. And when he turned to find its source, he liked what he saw even more.

The figure that now stood next to him where none had been a moment before was unnaturally tall, but somehow it didn’t really look unnatural — especially since the excessive height was compensated for by an excessive narrowness: despite the great length of the deep black robe, hood drawn low over the face, that shrouded the entire shape, it was clear there wasn’t a lot of room inside. And then there was the totally fleshless hand that emerged from one black sleeve to clutch the smooth haft of a great scythe even taller than the figure itself.

Duo couldn’t decide whether he liked the bony hand or the bright edge of the weapon best… or maybe it was the figure as a whole. Perhaps it was a little odd, especially in the apparent context, but he was definitely reacting positively to what he saw. He might even go so far as to say he was delighted… except that nothing he felt at the moment was quite strong enough for such a word.

“So you do exist,” he said. There was a touch of admiration to his tone, but even this seemed to have faded into placidity.

TODAY I DO, replied the figure. TOMORROW I MAY NOT.

Trying to reconcile the uncanny voice he didn’t quite seem to be hearing, as he understood the action, Duo shook his head, found the motion similarly uncanny for its lack of physical sensation, and gave up. “Tomorrow I may not,” he pointed out instead.

OH, YOU WILL CONTINUE TO EXIST, the voice from beneath the hood assured him. A bony hand — the one not holding the scythe — flicked toward where Heero was assessing the level of injury to Duo’s limp figure. BUT POSSIBLY NOT IN THIS FORM. Then the fleshless fingers gestured back in the direction of the swaying cloak that presumably enveloped an even more extensive set of bones. I, HOWEVER, MAY NO LONGER EXIST IN THIS WORLD BY THE TIME YOUR PERCEPTION OF TIME HAS ADVANCED TO WHAT YOU CONSIDER “TOMORROW.”

Duo had been planning on asking in what form he would exist tomorrow, if not this one, but was distracted by what seemed a greater issue. “How can you not exist?” he wondered. “Aren’t you sorta… universal? You know you’ve kinda been my hobby for half my life… I’ve more or less named myself after you…” He finished up where he’d started: “How can you not exist?”

With a clattering noise, off-white phalanges and metacarpals drummed pensively against the black haft of the scythe as their owner seemed to consider, in the darkness of his hood, how to answer this question. Finally the strange voice said, DEATH IS UNIVERSAL, YES, BUT THE PRESENCE OF AN ANTHROPOMORPHIZED REPRESENTATION OF THE PROCESS MAY BE AFFECTED BY THE SKEPTICISM LEVELS IN A GIVEN UNIVERSE. THIS WORLD HAS LACKED A DISTINCT ANTHROPOMORPHIZATION FOR SEVERAL OF YOUR CENTURIES.

Duo wasn’t quite sure he got it, but one fact stood out. “So you come from another world.”

The upper portion of the hooded form moved forward slightly in what Duo read as a nod. MY PRIMARY PERSONIFICATION TOOK PLACE IN A DIFFERENT CONTINUUM. BUT BECAUSE MY VISUAL MANIFESTATION CORRESPONDS SO CLOSELY WITH CERTAIN TRADITIONAL IMAGERY ASSOCIATED WITH DEATH IN A SUFFICIENT PERCENTAGE OF YOUR POPULATION, I HAVE BEEN TEMPORARILY ENGAGED TO TEST THE RECEPTIVENESS OF THIS WORLD TO THE REINSTATEMENT OF A PERSONIFICATION.

Duo raised a hand to scratch at the back of his head, unsatisfying as the gesture was. “So… you’re doing a sort of… working interview?”

The tall figure was perfectly still for a moment, as if considering — perhaps searching an impossibly long memory for the phrase in question and deciding whether it fit. Finally, YOU COULD SAY THAT, the sepulchral voice allowed. BUT I BELIEVE “ANTIGEN” MIGHT BE A BETTER TERM. THE RESULT OF A POSITIVE ASSESSMENT IS LIKELY TO BE THAT THIS WORLD REACTS TO MY DEPARTURE BY REGENERATING ITS OWN PERSONIFICATION OF DEATH.

“And where would that come from?” Duo wondered, extremely interested; intellectual processes, though largely divorced from emotion, seemed still intact. “Just out of nowhere? Or could it be, maybe, a person who already existed who happened to have died? Maybe someone who always believed in Death even more than he believed in God?”

The hooded head turned specifically toward him for the first time, and Duo definitely made out the gleam of blue eyes in the darkness. He met the gaze without fear, and not merely because fear seemed irrelevant here and now; his interest facilitated his confidence. He met the gaze that seemed to be reading him — looking, perhaps, into his past, seeking out the truth of his words and the qualifications he’d been hinting at — and in his turn he read.

He saw a spirit that wanted to understand humanity, perhaps even wanted to join it, but thought — even feared — it never could. He saw a mind that believed itself entirely separate from emotion — not in disdainful aloofness, considering itself exalted into logic and above emotion, but in something much more like naiveté. The Order Of Things was all this being knew… or, at least, The Order Of Things was all that had ever been taught, which had led to an understanding at once supernaturally deep and pitifully shallow.

And yet this was a being that desired, that believed, that feared. Duo thought it was a being that knew joy and sorrow and love… but probably did not begin to understand them, or perhaps even to recognize their presence. It was captivatingly pathetic… instantly endearing… or would have been if pity and fondness hadn’t been so muffled and distant at the moment.

Duo was the first to blink. Of course he was pretty sure there weren’t eyelids in the shadow beneath the hood, and his own remembered need to periodically shutter his eyeballs did him a disservice. He wasn’t cowed, however; rather, he was wondering at the detail of his own assessment. Was he making things up? Or, if it was true, how did he think he knew all of that?

Then, with a jolt — or what might have been a jolt back on the other side — he realized abruptly that this wasn’t the first time he’d looked into blue eyes and seen that kind of spirit, that kind of mind.

It seemed ironic, somehow, that, when Duo was the one to claim for himself the title of God of Death, this actual specter of Death should remind him more of–

I CAN MENTION YOUR NAME, the figure said at last.

Letting go, for now, of his previous thoughts, Duo said in relative heartiness, “Thanks!”

DON’T MENTION IT. And the dark form turned back to its apparent scrutiny of Heero performing CPCR on Duo’s body.

Duo followed the line of focus and watched as his fellow pilot tried to bring him back. “But I’m already dead, right?” he wondered aloud. He really should have been experiencing a greater level of concern about this, but just couldn’t seem to muster it.

TECHNICALLY, said the hooded figure. FOR THE MOMENT. BUT THIS FRANTIC YOUNG MAN MAY BE ABLE TO RESUSCITATE YOU.

From somewhere in the currently hazy center of Duo’s mind where he cared about what went on in life, he was informed that, on that side of things, it would be very significant to him that the usually implacable Heero was so frantic in his attempts to revive Duo — that he appeared, as he compressed Duo’s chest, to be experiencing real desperation and terror… emotions he perhaps did not comprehend or even recognize. At the moment, ‘here,’ this only almost mattered, almost meant something. Some emotion on the life side wasn’t quite developed enough to reach into Duo’s placid state of death. He wondered whether that would change if he went back; he wondered how qualified he was to judge anyone’s emotionality when he was in such an uncertain condition himself.

The likelihood of going back seemed, he thought, fairly good. Anything Heero knew how to do he knew how to do perfectly, and first aid was no exception. And Duo’s body didn’t seem to have been too desperately damaged, only given a pretty hard shock.

He felt this theory confirmed when the figure at his side presently remarked, THERE ARE NO GUARANTEES, BUT CONSIDER YOURSELF UNDER OBSERVATION FROM NOW ON.

“Sweet,” said Duo.

The robed form turned toward him again, this time in a movement that seemed slightly puzzled. EVEN ALLOWING FOR A PSYCHOLOGICAL PERCEPTION OF FLAVOR, I SHOULD THINK THERE IS NOTHING TO TASTE AT THE MOMENT.

“Oh, sorry,” Duo grinned. “I mean, that’s good. I like that.”

AH, OF COURSE. A SLANG EXPRESSION. He said this in a tone that suggested he was filing the term away for future reference or perhaps use. Then he turned back toward the living scene — where, Duo noticed, Heero seemed to have calmed down a bit, though he hadn’t quite returned yet to his usual stoniness.

Simultaneously, Duo was aware of a sudden increase to a sensation that had previously been so sluggish as to go largely unnoticed. If he’d had to describe it (and for one pointless instant he was considering how to), he would have said it felt as if something in his chest, fluttering only feebly before, had abruptly resumed a stronger rhythmic movement by which it was forcing some kind of fluid to circulate throughout his entire body. And being currently disembodied made this very strange. Actually, the fact that he found it very strange was, compared with his previous lack of concern, rather strange. “Am I going back?”

IT WOULD APPEAR SO. YOU WON’T REMEMBER ANY OF THIS, NATURALLY.

“What?” The startled Duo began to turn. “But then how can I–” But at that moment, once again, everything went black.


So, yeah, surprise crossover here, in the form of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld Death. Canon crossovers are not something in which I typically indulge (as a matter of fact, this’ll be the first one around this place), but I think it works well enough here. As a matter of fact, I kiiinda freaked out with joy when I thought of that Heero/Death comparison.

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


Commonality


Kaoru had just started on lunch, dropping a few grumbling hints that Sano could get up and help rather than lying around waiting for her to do all the work on a meal he was only going to complain about eventually anyway, when Megumi appeared.

After greeting the doctor, looking immediately back to the seasonings she was measuring out, Kaoru added, “Kenshin’s not here right now.”

“Jou-chan sent him out for the usual shit-ton of groceries she doesn’t actually need yet,” Sano elaborated from his prone position on the floor.

“I see!” Megumi gave that amused-with-everyone-for-no-reason-she-would-ever-divulge smile, and, stepping to the stove, lifted the lid on the rice just a fraction and peered in. Expression unchanged, she said, “I might as well give you a hand with this, then,” and crouched to poke at the fire with an immediacy suggesting she thought dire things were or would be happening to the rice at the current temperature.

Appearing somewhat torn, Kaoru said nothing. Sano continued to lift no finger to join in the cooking endeavor.

Finally, after a lengthy silence during which the look on Megumi’s face had gradually shifted to one more pensive as she kept it mostly hidden from the others in attending to the stove fire, she remarked in a tone lighter than her expression, “It’s a shame Ken-san isn’t here… I was going to ask his opinion on something.”

In concert the others protested that this comment seemed to dismiss their opinions as not worth the asking, and Kaoru went on with, “And it isn’t as if you can’t stay until Kenshin comes back!”

Megumi laughed. “I feel so much more welcome around here than I used to!”

Perhaps Kaoru appeared torn again, but she’d bent so far over the fish she was seasoning that it was impossible to tell. At any rate, she said nothing.

“Well, I suppose I will ask your opinions, then,” Megumi said. She went on at once as if it were no great matter, “I feel like someone has been watching me lately.”

Not only did Kaoru’s face snap up in response to this, but Sano propped himself onto an elbow to look at Megumi. Their expressions were startled, but where Kaoru’s had also a touch of concern, Sano’s seemed more annoyed or even angry. “Seriously?” he wondered, in a dark tone as if this confirmed some fear.

“Are you sure?” Kaoru said at the same time.

“No,” Megumi admitted, answering one rather than the other (and possibly ignoring the other entirely, for all the attention she paid him). “I’m not a warrior of any description, of course, but I’ve had a… unique living situation for a while now, and…” She shrugged, still easy even if she had become a little more serious. “You start to pick things up. Or maybe just become paranoid. That’s what I wanted to consult with Ken-san about.”

“But I’ve thought the same thing!” Kaoru gripped the board before her knees as she stared up at Megumi intensely. “That someone’s spying on me or something… I never actually see anyone or anything suspicious, but I can’t shake the feeling!”

Megumi returned her surprise, and now there was some of the same concern in her eyes that already lay in Kaoru’s.

“Me too,” Sano put in before either of them could say anything more, sitting up completely and adding the concentration of his gaze to the one they were sharing. “I’ve been having that same experience for the last week or so.”

Megumi let out a breath. “Then I suppose I haven’t been imagining things.”

“But who is it?” Kaoru demanded. “And why? What do they want? Does Kenshin know? Is he being watched too?”

“I hate to admit it–” and, indeed, Sano sounded reluctant and irritated to be doing so– “but Kenshin would have noticed way before we did.”

The others nodded. “And done something about it,” Kaoru added.

“It could be the type of thing he might not have said anything about to the rest of us,” Megumi mused, “but he would certainly be aware of it if someone were spying on him.”

More nods. “I think he’s gotten over that not-including-us-in-important-dangerous-shit bullshit, though… Seems more likely we’re being spied on and he’s not.”

There was a moment of silence before Kaoru said, “The biggest thing the three of us have in common is…”

“…Ken-san himself,” Megumi finished. “Our friendship with him.”

“Um, and maybe more specifically…” Now Kaoru was visibly flustered as she again stared down at the fish and herbs on the preparation board in front of her. “I think maybe all three of us…”

Another brief silence passed before Sano, clearing his throat, took his turn finishing for her: “…thought we were in love with him for a fucking long time? Uh, yeah.”

Without bothering to deny it, Megumi said, “I doubt that has anything to do with whoever’s spying on us, though; I think it’s common enough among Ken-san’s acquaintances.”

“Do you?” Kaoru looked relieved at this, as if it at least began to lessen the embarrassment of having misunderstood her own heart for, as Sano put it, ‘a fucking long time.’

Appearing a little embarrassed herself, Megumi sought out the vegetables lying nearby, then began looking for a knife. “Ken-san has a tendency to rescue people from whatever is the worst thing in their lives when he meets them.”

“Or at least he’s so damn different from everyone…” Sano scratched his head as if struggling to put his thoughts into words. “People just get this kick in the balls all of a sudden — not literally, I mean — by this guy who’s like nothing they’ve ever met before.”

“He makes such a profound first impression,” Megumi went on, once again almost as if she hadn’t heard Sano’s input, “that I think nearly everyone who becomes his friend believes themselves in love with him for a while at first.”

“I don’t think they even have to become his friend. You guys’ve probably never heard houki-atama over at the police station talk about him.”

Kaoru broke in to clarify. “You mean that Juppongatana guy with the silly hair?”

“Yeah, him. Every time I’m at the police station — I mean, not like I’m there a lot or anything; I just sometimes happen to wander over there for no reason, you know? Anyway, houki’s always talking about Kenshin like… well, he’s always acting all pissed that Kenshin beat him so hard, and going on about how he’d love to have a rematch some time… but it’s totally obvious that Kenshin impressed the hell out of him, maybe even more than he annoyed him… and maybe he wants to meet up with Kenshin again way more than makes sense for just a rematch.”

“He can’t have much hope, though,” Kaoru said dubiously. “Kenshin would never look twice in his direction! Would he? Do you think?”

“Hmm,” was Megumi’s ambiguous opinion.

“I don’t know…” Again Sano sounded reluctant and even annoyed to admit this. “Chou’s a fucking idiot, but the police investigation shit is pretty cool. Something you can admire, you know? He’s on the right side now, doing a job that helps people and shit…”

“Hmm,” said Megumi again.

“No, I just can’t see it,” Kaoru decided, returning to her fish-seasoning endeavor with vigor as if to make up for time lost staring and being surprised. “Not a murderous jerk like that guy. But I think you’re exactly right, Megumi-san–” with a quick and perhaps somewhat appreciative glance in Megumi’s direction as if to congratulate her fleetingly on her excellent assessment– “about people getting the wrong idea about how they feel about Kenshin.

“I never thought about it before, but now that I do… It does seem like everyone who meets him kinda becomes obsessed with him. It’s easy to mistake that for love, especially if he lives with you…” Again she bent her head over her work, possibly to hide a blush, and her next words came out hastily as if she wanted to segue quickly. “Even his master, when we met him in Kyoto, acted a little like a resentful ex… like Kenshin had dumped him and he’d nobly forgiven him but was still a little bitter about it.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Sano gave a surprised laugh, then grinned widely as he evidently thought back to what memories he had on the subject. “He fucking did!”

“I didn’t spend much time with Hiko-san,” Megumi said a little doubtfully. “Do you think he and Ken-san ever did actually…?”

“I don’t know.” Kaoru’s quick statement was accompanied by a definite blush this time. “Kenshin would have been awfully young…”

“I could see the attraction,” Megumi admitted. “Someone who teaches kenjutsu, who works with students and prepares them for the future, is much more impressive than just some brute warrior.” Now she was perhaps coloring a bit herself as she continued with the vegetables. “But, yes, Ken-san would have been very young, wouldn’t he?”

Sano coughed. “Normally I wouldn’t say it’d be a big problem a guy in his teens with a guy in his thirties, but with Kenshin I kinda can’t picture it.”

“And I think Kenshin was fourteen,” Kaoru grimaced. “That’s a little different from seventeen or nineteen…”

There ensued an awkward wordless period wherein total silence was prevented only by the chopping and crunching sounds from the boards. Finally, as if reminded by food and wanting to shift the subject again, Kaoru said, “You know, Tae-san has always been kinda silly about Kenshin too… and she never came to gossip with me nearly as much at the Akabeko before he showed up.”

Megumi appeared happy to have something new to talk about. “I haven’t seen that Ken-san has ever taken any particular notice of her, though.”

“Well, she’s so…” Sano seemed to consider this dangerous territory, and to be wording his sentiment with appropriate care. “Normal, I guess? Don’t get me wrong — she’s a nice girl, and she’s got good business sense and all, but if Kenshin’s going to go for a lady, he’s got you guys around, and you’re way more interesting.”

“Sanosuke!” Megumi’s surprised pleasure might have been genuine, but the degree to which she displayed it was certainly deliberately exaggerated. “That sounded like a compliment!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get used to it,” was the gruff reply.

“Tae-san is an excellent cook, though,” Kaoru said, blushing harder than before. “And she’s good at that right in the middle of the other work she does… That’s certainly attractive…”

“Well, I don’t think Ken-san is aware of her in that light.” This veto from Megumi was just as decisive as Kaoru’s of Chou had been earlier. “But as long as we’re on the topic of the Akabeko…” Abruptly, startling the other two a bit, she raised her voice. “Yahiko! Yahiko, are you inside?”

Footsteps pounded along the passage, and Yahiko appeared with evident haste. Kaoru looked as if she didn’t know whether to be more resentful that Yahiko was so much more attentive to Megumi’s call than her own or admiring that Megumi commanded her recalcitrant pupil so well.

“Yeah?” he asked as he came in. “What’s up?”

“Hey, kid.” Sano got bluntly to the point before the women could approach the issue with any sort of tact. “Were you ever in love with Kenshin at all?”

Yahiko’s face, ears, and neck went far redder than anyone’s in the room had been thus far, and he stiffened as if someone had run a cold finger up his spine. “What?!”

“Sanosuke, is that any way to ask?” Megumi demanded. “You’ve just lost any credit I gave you for complimenting us before.”

Sano stuck out his tongue. “I don’t talk to get credit from you, you know!”

“Yahiko,” said Kaoru, turning from her work to face her student, “what we mean is… well, actually, what we mean is exactly what Sano said, but… I’ve noticed you and Tsubame-chan definitely like each other, and it’s been a really long time you haven’t done anything about it, and I thought maybe there was some reason for that–”

“Wh-why should I ‘do anything about it?'” Yahiko broke in, still blushing as if his nose might start gushing red at any moment. “Tsubame and me are none of your business, and neither is anything else like that — why would you even ask? What a stupid question!” His fists were clenched, but his entire reaction seemed far more embarrassed than angry. “Kenshin’s a-a hero! He’s someone I want to be like, not– You guys are the ones who– I’m not even old enough for stuff like that! Why would you ask me something so stupid?!” And abruptly he spun and ran from the room as quickly as he’d entered it.

“Well, I think we have our answer there,” said Megumi into a silence that, this time, wasn’t even broken by cooking sounds.

“I’m afraid he’s going to feel a bit betrayed by us for a while,” Kaoru said with some apparent regret, “for prying like that.”

“He may say it’s none of your business,” Megumi replied critically, “but you’re like a mother to him — of course it’s your business!”

“I might have said a sister,” mumbled Kaoru, blushing yet again.

I was the one who asked, anyway,” Sano reminded them.

“Yes, like a complete lout!” Megumi shook her head with an annoyed sigh and went back to dicing vegetables. “Kaoru-chan, you were much kinder, but you were right… Yahiko hasn’t gotten involved with the girl at the Akabeko, and I think there is a specific reason for it.”

Kaoru nodded. “It’s… it’s really hard to consider even trying to get involved with someone… even admitting there might be someone, after…” And she trailed off.

“Hell,” Sano picked up in a tone of agreement, “it was hard enough thinking for a while you wanted Kenshin and wondering what the hell to do about it, and then realizing that wasn’t true and trying to be just friends with Kenshin after you thought you were in love with him. The whole thing’s just really, really…”

“Awkward,” Megumi finished, summing up the group predicament.

After yet another long pause in the conversation, it was Sano’s turn to shake his head as if shaking off the previous subject. With a wry grin he said, “Wow, we really got away from the point, didn’t we? Who the hell is stalking all of us? That’s what we were talking about, wasn’t it?”

Megumi laughed. “Well, we’ve at least determined what we have most in common… and I think it’s been good to get this all out into the open.” She gave Kaoru a smile that looked almost shy, and another touch of color came into her cheeks — a rare look for her — before she reached for a pan and some oil for the final stage of lunch preparation.

“Y-yes,” Kaoru stammered. “I agree. I mean, who the hell is stalking all of us? It can’t have anything to do with us all thinking we were in love with Kenshin, can it?”

“Seems as likely as any other reason…” Sano scratched at the back of his neck. “People either want to kill Kenshin or fuck him.”

Kaoru tittered at the blatant sexual reference. Megumi said sardonically, “Usually both. Not necessarily in that order.”

“But if someone is spying on us because they want to–” Kaoru proved unable to repeat Sano’s wording– “to be with Kenshin, and they think we’re in the way or something… that could be anyone! We just went over a few people off the top of our heads who probably think they’re in love with him, and there could be dozens more!”

“Or it could be a totally different reason,” Sano reminded.

“Yes, it could be the ‘kill’ option,” agreed Megumi. “This could be someone trying to gage the strength of his allies before they attack.”

“Dammit!” Kaoru cried. “I may not be in love with Kenshin, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love Kenshin! I don’t want to see him attacked again!”

The other two nodded.

At this moment the door into the room slid open, and Yahiko reappeared. Everyone gave him a startled look — they hadn’t expected to see him again so soon — especially as they noted his face hadn’t really returned to its usual color.

“Um, this guy…” Yahiko muttered, and stepped aside. From the shadows of the hall another figure emerged, greatly increasing the surprise of everyone present.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Sano demanded, jumping hastily to his feet and taking a step forward. The two women, though they did not speak and their demeanors were not as completely innervated as his, seemed to be wondering the same thing.

“I came to discuss something with Himura,” replied Saitou, tone mild and bearing entirely noncombative.

“He’s not here,” said Kaoru warily.

“So the young man told me.” Saitou gestured briefly at Yahiko, who had retreated into the shadowed doorway. “It may actually be more convenient this way,” he added with a faint smirk, “since the three of you may be better able to decide what to do with this information.”

“You know who’s stalking us,” Megumi guessed.

“Well done, doctor.” Saitou stepped farther into the room (causing Sano to become, evidently, even more tense and energized than before) and glanced at the lunch preparations as if assessing the Kaoru-Megumi teamwork based on what he saw around the kitchen. “Yes, an old acquaintance, after spying on a number of people in Kyoto apparently to his satisfaction, according to my sources there, has traveled to Tokyo to keep up this antisocial behavior. His targets here are you three and a few random others that nonsensically include myself and my assistant. What his reasons for this or his specific choice of victims are, I can’t begin to guess–” Here Saitou looked back and forth between Kaoru and Megumi, then transferred his sardonic gaze to Sano, where it remained– “but the only person he does not appear to be taking any interest in is your Himura Kenshin.”

“Shit, it’s Aoshi, isn’t it,” Sano muttered, half at a growl, as if trying to decide whether he thought this news was acceptable or something to get angry and worried over. “Shinomori fucking Aoshi.”

“A spark of deductive reasoning.” Like Megumi’s surprise earlier, Saitou’s was clearly deliberately exaggerated.

“We were just talking about this. We knew someone was– wait.” Sano, whose eyes had fallen from Saitou’s, now met his gaze again with a look in which suspicion was trying to deny the presence of concern. “Did you say he’s been watching you?”

“Again, I can’t imagine why,” Saitou replied blandly. And again, when he denied having any idea what might be the motive for Aoshi’s strange behavior, it seemed like a blatant lie. “But since everyone he’s been spying on is either a friend of Himura’s or someone Himura has fought sometime in the last year or so, and since it’s impossible to believe that’s a coincidence, I thought it best that Himura — or at least the inner circle of his fanclub — be apprised of the situation.”

The silence that now fell was more awkward than any previous, probably because of the presence of Saitou, who watched them all with a surface impassivity that didn’t entirely mask his amusement and disdain about the entire situation.

“So, what,” Sano finally demanded belligerently of the cop, “are you waiting around for us to thank you?”

Some gesture of thanks might be appropriate,” replied Saitou easily, “but a police officer learns not to expect it — especially from an idiot like you.”

“Well, thank you anyway.” There was a lilt of amused appreciation in Megumi’s tone, as if hearing Sano insulted lifted her spirits. “We will certainly put this information to good use.”

“I’ll leave the matter to you, then.” With an ironic smile, Saitou turned to depart without any further goodbye. It was probable he would have to escort himself out, since Yahiko was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Sano made a jerky movement toward the door and opened his mouth as if to protest, but eventually said nothing and stopped himself short; so the officer went unhindered.

Presently, “Aoshi…” Megumi murmured. “We should have seen that coming.”

“Yeah, we really should have.” Sano sounded annoyed as he tore himself from his scrutiny of the recently closed door. “He was obsessed with Kenshin from day one. And I could see him taking this long to decide to do something about it. Figure out who his real rivals are and shit, you know?”

Suddenly Kaoru started making an almost frantic gesture of hand as if to request silence and attention for what she was trying to find words to say. “And… and… and you know what?” she finally managed. “I never thought about it before, but Kenshin talks about him more than — more than anyone else I can think of. Definitely more than he talks about anyone else he’s defeated who isn’t around. Like Aoshi is more than just someone he had a conflict with for a while.”

The other two seemed to be rethinking memories, sorting through scenes with Kenshin seeking confirmation of Kaoru’s words. Sano was still frowning. “You know, I think you’re right.”

“Ken-san is so subtle about this sort of thing, but… yes…”

“And it wouldn’t be totally stupid… Aoshi does have that tall, dark, and handsome badass spy thing going on.” With this reluctant statement Sano glanced into the shadows of the doorway again, perhaps expecting to find Aoshi hiding darkly and handsomely there.

“He does have beautiful blue eyes…” Megumi sounded dubious, as if this concession was the greatest she was willing to make.

“I guess I can see it… a little…” Kaoru frowned. “I don’t know him very well, but while we were in Kyoto, he made it obvious that he was going to try to follow Kenshin’s advice and work to atone for what he’d done by living in the best way he could from now on — like Kenshin does — instead of dying, like he’d planned before. That kind of strength is definitely… something I could see being attracted to… But, even so, in Aoshi’s case, he’s tried to kill Kenshin twice!”

“That’s not exactly…” Sano shrugged a little awkwardly, reaching a hand into his gi to scratch an itch on his shoulder. “You live in a warrior’s world, you get used to things like that. It’s not such a big deal anymore, you know?”

“No, I don’t know! Kenshin may have forgiven him, but that should always be a barrier between them!”

“Nah, not really… I mean, I don’t think Kenshin would think of it that way. You get into these big conflicts and shit, and… suddenly it’s like… someone stabbing you or whatever? It’s less serious than it would be otherwise. Like you’re all on a different level, so that kind of shit just doesn’t count like it would for anyone else.”

“I guess you can’t really hang onto every time someone tries to hit you,” Kaoru murmured thoughtfully, as if lost in a memory. “And just because you were rivals at one point doesn’t mean… And with Kenshin… you’re right, I guess he does operate on a more serious level…”

“No, don’t put the vegetables in just yet,” Megumi advised. “Wait until you’ve turned the fish a few times.” She guided Kaoru’s hand — perhaps somewhat unnecessarily — toward the action specified, and remarked as she did so, “There’s one area where Ken-san is on exactly the same level we are — he isn’t pursuing any romance either.” When Kaoru remained uncharacteristically silent in response to this, she went on, “If he is interested in Aoshi, he’s done absolutely nothing about it.”

“That’s ’cause he’s too damn nice,” grumbled Sano. “That’s always been his problem. He probably knows — at least on the inside, even if he doesn’t know consciously or whatever — he knows how people around him think about him, and he feels like it would make him a total asshole to everyone who thinks they’re in love with him if he went and found someone of his own and crushed all their hopes.”

“That does sound like Ken-san…” It was possibly the most seriously Megumi had taken any statement of Sano’s during this entire conversation. “He grasps so firmly at the first decent, unselfish response he sees to a problem… He doesn’t realize there might be a better way.”

Kaoru, having recovered her tongue, agreed critically, “He always thinks the best solution is whatever’s the most inconvenient for him. It would be like him to just assume that denying himself his own romance is doing what’s best for everyone else.”

“…not realizing that if he were to find someone of his own, he would set the rest of us free to do the same.”

“Yeah, that would make things way less awkward, if Kenshin got with someone finally.”

“But…” Kaoru took a deep breath, and her face, in contrast to its previous redness, now paled. “Isn’t it maybe a little selfish to wait around for Kenshin to set us free? When the whole problem came from the fact that we were wrong about how we felt in the first place?”

Sano stared at her, parts of his face shifting in and out of a variety of expression components so that no single emotion showed clearly. “Are you saying we should all go after — I mean, not saying there’s necessarily anyone to go after — but if there was, you think we should all go for it so Kenshin will get the message?”

“It might solve the problem…” Megumi’s voice, which was directed toward the frying fish rather than either of the other two, was quiet and a little hoarse. “It probably couldn’t,” she added, lifting her eyes at last and looking steadily at Kaoru, “have any negative effect.”

“It would show Aoshi-san we’re not his rivals.” Kaoru’s voice was just as hoarse as Megumi’s as she returned the intent gaze. “And it would show Kenshin he wouldn’t be hurting any of us if he went after his own happiness…”

“And our happiness… if we were brave enough to reach for it…” Megumi didn’t seem to intend this as an immediate continuation of Kaoru’s thought, but rather as the beginning of another she didn’t need to finish.

Watching Kaoru’s paleness after her daring suggestion darken back to its prior redness, Sano didn’t bother to point out that the fish seemed to be crackling rather alarmingly in the pan during the wordless few moments that followed. He just waited out that time with his expression still shifting as it had before until finally it settled into one of determination. “I’ll leave the matter to you, then,” he eventually said, and, without further goodbye, headed for the dark doorway behind him with a speed and vigor of movement probably a little excessive for simply vacating the room and perhaps the dojo.

And the two women remained behind in silence, but for the sounds of their lunch starting to burn, staring at each other, wondering whether they had the courage to reach for their own happiness.


I’ve rated this story .

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


His Own Humanity: Get Used To That

He supposed he could safely say he felt a bit nervous. These sensations weren’t precisely what he would have called nervousness, under most circumstances and especially if taken out of context; but the fact that sensations existed at all, that his mind kept returning to the project throughout the day, seemed a positive enough sign that he was, in fact, nervous.

Not that Quatre had never before had a day during which he thought more about Trowa than about work; but he had considered himself mostly on top of that by now. It was June… he and Trowa had been together for more than two months… all that new-relationship distraction should be about over.

But this relationship had so many steps to be taken. And just as he sometimes found himself, at home, unable to escape what occupied him at work, it wasn’t really too surprising to find something that meant so much more to him so fixedly on his mind at moments when it probably shouldn’t have been.

He’d planned today carefully, or at least with a great deal of anticipation. Though he hadn’t quite been able to bring himself to enter it in his calendar, the app for that purpose on his phone had a ‘sticker’ function he didn’t frequently use that allowed him to put a little heart on the day without affixing any sort of label and thereby putting his intention in writing. Not that he wasn’t committed; it just wasn’t the type of thing he could stand to have spelled out staring him in the face every time he checked his schedule. And what if someone else had seen it? Impossible.

Having thus been looking forward to this for quite a few days prior, he felt he had prepared about as well as he could for what he planned. The problem was that little could be done to prepare Trowa. The best Quatre could hope for was trying to keep Trowa comfortable and at ease during all their interactions that evening, being sure to ask of him (or even hint at) nothing difficult or intimidating.

Upon his arrival shortly after work, he made it casually clear that he planned on staying the night, in order that, though this was nothing unusual on a Friday, any lingering awkwardness Trowa might feel about such things — and Quatre knew a touch of that remained — would hopefully have faded by the time questions came up. Then, instead of inflicting something microwaveable on his boyfriend, he’d called a relatively nice restaurant for take-out and stopped for it on his way home. This was no time to ignore potential snags, and Quatre admitted to his culinary weakness. Trowa knew that weakness as well, but, ever the gentleman, made no fuss about it… but if he didn’t have to suffer a mediocre dinner tonight, so much the better.

The stage thus set, Quatre had a pleasant meal at his boyfriend’s 50’s table and pleasant conversation with his much more extensively decaded boyfriend, and only hoped he spoke naturally and engagingly and not like someone with a devious scheme for later that night. Then, as a sort of final preparatory touch, he brought up a couple of specific questions about magic that necessitated a lecture and a demonstration — which had the dual benefit of making Trowa feel like the confident expert he was, and being something Quatre happened to enjoy quite a bit for its own sake.

The grandfather clock in the entry declared it just past midnight when, the interesting magical discussion finished, they settled into the ugly chair as they so often did, and their talk became aimless and diffuse. This stage of proceedings often lasted for an hour or more before bed finally called them, especially if Quatre dozed while Trowa got distracted by the various engrossing things in his study, but tonight Quatre simply awaited his moment. And when he judged it had come, he didn’t hesitate to make his move:

“How would you feel about topping tonight?”

“About… what?”

“Being on top. Penetrating. Fucking me.”

In no way could he have missed the abrupt stiffening of Trowa’s entire frame in response to the question, but what he caught less easily (though still in time to see it) was the look of near-panic that briefly crossed Trowa’s previously complacent face. However, all Trowa said, in an admirable imitation of calm, was, “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

‘Afraid,’ Quatre thought, was the key word. Trowa feared hurting him, feared doing something wrong that might push Quatre away, feared not being spectacularly good at something for once and losing something he cared about as a result.

“And I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” Quatre replied, in a tone he hoped would reassure despite its lightness.

“I wouldn’t have any idea how.”

Quatre restrained himself from laughing. “It isn’t difficult,” he said solemnly. “I promise.”

Hesitantly Trowa smiled a little. “No, I suppose not. But…”

“And I know you’ll enjoy it.”

Trowa’s smile, though still reluctant, grew. “It isn’t my enjoyment I’m worried about.”

If it hadn’t been for that little smile, or if Trowa had made any more serious objections, Quatre wouldn’t have pushed — all careful forethought, calendar stickers, and anticipation notwithstanding. As it was, he believed only Trowa’s self-doubt stood in the way here and only needed to be brazened through.

Trowa had been improving in recent weeks at taking initiative — quite a bit, in fact: ever since the curse had broken, Quatre might have been able to chart a steady upward line on a graph to represent his progress. One day recently, in fact, Trowa had taken him completely and beautifully by surprise when out of the blue he’d suggested a walk through his own town, where he’d kissed Quatre almost three times in relatively public places of his own volition. But he’d never indicated interest in any sort of role reversal in bed, or even seemed to be aware such a possibility existed. And while Quatre was perfectly happy to do all the penetrating if Trowa preferred him to, he feared Trowa was missing out on that enjoyable experience simply because he hesitated, for various reasons, to make any kind of change in arrangements.

“You’re worrying over nothing,” he said, “since I’m pretty sure I would enjoy lying still and watching paint dry with you.”

“I’d be a lot more sure of myself watching paint dry,” replied Trowa. “I could make paint dry by–”

Quatre cut him off with a laugh, which made his, “Seriously, Trowa,” seem a little incongruous. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Trowa didn’t look entirely convinced, and Quatre decided to pull out the big guns. Not the puppy-dog eyes this time, either; he would skip that and go straight to what he hoped would put a quick and decisive end to the debate. Shifting in the chair, running one hand up Trowa’s neck and into his hair and putting his lips against Trowa’s ear, he murmured, “You know, ever since our first time, I’ve been dying to feel you inside me.” Briefly he mouthed the cartilage and closed his teeth gently on the lobe before applying his final persuasive statement: “You don’t even have to use a condom.”

Trowa’s eyes were wide when Quatre pulled back far enough to see them. “You always use a condom.”

“Yes, but I just got tested, and everything’s fine… and I was your first.”

“You’re sure I wasn’t lying about that?”

Quatre raised an eyebrow. “Why would you lie about that?”

Even in the midst of his continual wide-eyed state at Quatre’s epic pronouncement, Trowa looked thoughtful. “I can think of half a dozen reasons offhand.”

“And I’m sure they’re all very silly.” Annoyed that his big guns hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped and expected, Quatre yet attempted to keep it out of his voice. If Trowa really didn’t want to try this tonight, there was nothing Quatre could do about it. Not that he would give up in the long term… but he would be disappointed this evening.

Faintly, perhaps a little nervously, Trowa chuckled. Then, after several silent moments during which he took as many deep breaths impossible to hide from Quatre, who’d settled down against him again, he said all at once, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whenever you want me to.”

Again Quatre sat up, drawing back and looking into Trowa’s face. He’d learned not to question his lover’s made-up mind, but he couldn’t help searching the now-relatively-impassive features for signs Trowa might already be regretting those words. He found none; he hadn’t really expected any, but still he’d had to check.

“Well,” he said, licking his lips as he pulled back a little in preparation for moving from the chair, “let’s go.”

“Now?” It wasn’t the same level of panic as before, and Trowa quelled it much more quickly, but it remained quite visible.

“You just said, ‘whenever I wanted you to,'” Quatre replied, both smile and tone a mixture of kindness and suggestivity. “And the truth is, I always want you to. It’s just less likely to happen, say, at work, or while I’m out jogging, or something.”

“Always?” At this, Trowa seemed slightly less intimidated, and even moved more or less willingly when Quatre pulled him to his feet out of the chair.

“Always,” reiterated Quatre into his ear. “You have no idea how much I enjoy prostate stimulation.” It was, quite possibly, his favorite physical sensation, but he would save that revelation for next time.

With a blush that turned his freckles a deep burgundy, Trowa admitted, “I certainly won’t deny that I enjoy that…”

Quatre raised a brow. “Then don’t you think I deserve a turn?”

And that did it. Though Quatre’s voice had been facetious, still definitely in the realm of flirtation and lightness so as not to make Trowa feel unduly pressured, even just the hint of an accusation of unfairness apparently tipped Trowa’s mental scales.

“Yes,” Trowa said determinedly, “you do.” And he didn’t even add, as Quatre had been more than half expecting, some nonsense about Quatre deserving it better than Trowa could give it to him. He only accompanied Quatre into the bedroom with the air of one ready to do his best regardless, at least for the moment, of whether or not it would be good enough.

*

Trowa had a fairly rigid set of superlatives, and felt himself in a decent position to consider them unlikely to change. Having lived over a hundred years, having endured decades of crushing remorse and despair, having felt that burden lifted in a blinding moment beyond all hope, it was no difficult task to assign best and worst to various experiences he’d had. And therefore he couldn’t say this had been the best night of his life, or even the best hour of his life.

But it had been pretty damn close.

After a period much longer than usual of sweaty entanglement and calming breaths that in their turn retained a hint of voice much longer than usual, Quatre had risen for his accustomed tidying and preparations for sleep, and Trowa watched him with a greater or at least more minute attention than on most nights. He couldn’t help noticing Quatre moving differently, walking perhaps a little stiffly; and that couldn’t be anything but Trowa’s fault. Quatre had promised it wasn’t difficult, which had turned out to be essentially the case, but perhaps Trowa had done something wrong after all.

But a tight and anxious expression had barely begun to elbow its way past what he’d been wearing (‘dazed euphoria’) when he also began to notice that Quatre’s altered movements included a sort of continual stretching or shifting seemingly aimed at recapturing certain lost or fading sensations; and that his face, when visible between having his back to the bed and having turned off all the lights, bore an intense look of weary ecstasy, even triumph, that seemed to declare inarguably all was well.

Despite this, Trowa couldn’t be certain what he should say as Quatre returned to his side and started arranging bedding and body parts to his own satisfaction and comfort. Something should be said to let Quatre know he’d been right, that Trowa really had enjoyed this as much as Quatre had believed he would… and if Trowa could work up the nerve, there was even some teasing he’d like to enact… but how to begin?

Quatre, however, didn’t give him time. “Normally,” he started before even completely settled against Trowa, “I don’t take things guys say in the middle of sex too seriously, especially that particular thing, but I can’t help asking…” He finished in a quieter tone that sounded simultaneously pleased and hopeful, and yet surprisingly questioning and tentative: “You said you love me?”

“Was that a bad moment for it?”

Quatre seemed to be attempting to restrain his laughter, but it didn’t work. Finally he remarked, “You know, sometimes I’m pretty sure at least some of your lack of self-confidence is put on, because I think that’s the most ridiculous question you’ve ever asked me.”

It interested Trowa to hear his lover laughing at him, essentially making fun of him, and to have it be nevertheless so completely without sting. And Quatre had such a pleasant laugh… Trowa smiled a little as he began sheepishly, “Well, I haven’t–”

But Quatre interrupted him with, “Did you not notice that orgasm I had because you said that? Not that I wouldn’t have come eventually — because damn, Trowa — but, yes, I’d say that was a very good moment to say it.”

Trowa liked all of that very much. “‘Damn?'” he said. “Really?”

With grinning impatience Quatre replied, “Yes, damn, but don’t change the subject. You said you love me.”

“I did,” Trowa agreed gravely. He was teasing Quatre by hedging, but he was also giving himself time to think.

He saw the wisdom in disregarding, to some extent, something someone said during sex. His statement had indeed been born of physical ecstasy, and his mind had been more than a bit of a jumble at the time. However, it took only a moment’s uncomplicated reflection to decide it hadn’t been at all inaccurate. Of course he loved Quatre.

“And I do.” He would have thought it might be difficult to say aloud, this statement that bound him so much more closely to another person than he’d ever been, this declaration he had never made to anyone, even back when it might have been called for; but it turned out to be remarkably easy. “I do love you.”

“Oh, good,” Quatre breathed, sounding for a moment very childlike and squeezing Trowa tightly. “I don’t know what I would have said otherwise. It’s always awkward to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.”

The multiform implications of this statement at first too greatly overwhelmed Trowa for him to say anything, but since one of them was that Quatre loved him in return, he tightened his embrace and buried his face in Quatre’s hair. He knew by now precisely what kind of hair products Quatre used, since various bottles had aggregated in his bathroom for those times (more and more frequent) when Quatre didn’t feel like going to his own house… but he was never prepared for the way they mixed together with Quatre’s natural scents. And that lovely smell combined with the headiness of the exchange they’d just had — not to mention the afterglow nowhere near fading yet — rendered Trowa about as dizzy as he thought it possible to be while lying flat and still. Here was, perhaps, another superlative, though he wasn’t in any state to categorize it at the moment.

Quatre murmured something incoherent against the skin of Trowa’s chest, sounding very content.

After a short period, however, another implication of the latest statement prompted Trowa to ask what he’d been wondering since: “How often, exactly, have you been in love with someone who didn’t love you back?”

“Only a couple of times,” Quatre said, and faint suspicion sounded in his tone. “Why?”

Trowa still felt nervous at the thought that Quatre had been with many other men in the past and could at any given moment be comparing his current boyfriend unfavorably with previous, more experienced lovers — but he planned not to admit it. Even if Quatre didn’t already know about this insecurity in him (and Trowa was sure he did), Trowa didn’t want him to have to deal with it. He wanted to move beyond needing Quatre’s reassurance on every little thing, wanted to be able to overcome emotional failings on his own. Quatre had given every indication of being perfectly satisfied with the current arrangements, so why should Trowa assume any kind of unflattering comparison was or would ever be occurring in his head?

So Trowa gave a much more light-hearted answer in response to the question. “Maybe I’m a little jealous of anyone else you’ve ever been in love with.”

“Mmm,” Quatre said, “jealous, are you?” He sounded unexpectedly pleased with this. “Even after the way you blew my mind a few minutes ago?”

Trowa blushed.

Quatre went on more quietly, more seriously. “You might like to know, though… this isn’t like any relationship I’ve been in before, and the way I feel about you isn’t like how I’ve felt about anyone else.”

Blush growing hotter, in conjunction with a burning sensation in his chest and an increase in heart-rate he believed Quatre must also be able to feel, Trowa shuffled vaguely through a number of responses that came to mind. Most of them were self-deprecating, and perhaps he didn’t entirely believe those anymore, so he just said, in perfect honesty, “Thank you; I do like to know that.”

After nuzzling Trowa briefly with face and shoulders, Quatre lay still, and neither of them said anything for a while. Trowa didn’t think they were making any significant progress toward sleep, though; there was too much to ponder. Too many thoughts that set him on fire for sleep. He was in love, and, as far as he could tell, doing it right this time — or, at the very least, better than before (though, honestly, it would have been difficult to do it worse than before).

And he also hadn’t lost track of the need to give his boyfriend a hard time on one particular subject.

“Now you can check this off,” he finally said into the darkness.

“What?”

“‘Have Trowa say he loves me.’ I’m sure it must have been on your list.”

Quatre gave a very sheepish laugh and cleared his throat. “Actually it wasn’t. You took me completely by surprise.” And without bothering to deny that he did, in fact, have a list, he added, “But ‘Get Trowa to top’ definitely was.”

“You could add it just for the sake of checking it off. Or are all the list items sexual in nature?”

“Only some of them. The real problem is that it isn’t a written list, exactly.”

“I’d like to know what’s on it, though,” Trowa mused, “if only to brace myself for what else I have to do.”

In a tone that clearly said, I can’t believe you’re teasing me about this, Quatre replied, “I’ll try to give you fair warning. We can discuss items when they appear.”

“In scheduled meetings,” was Trowa’s solemn elaboration on this formal-sounding idea, “where hopefully I’m allowed to make suggestions as well.”

“Of course you are!” Quatre seemed simultaneously embarrassed that he’d been called out on having an active list of ways to improve Trowa and their relationship, and appalled at the suggestion Trowa might not be allowed to contribute.

“Then how about ‘Have Trowa say he loves me twice in one day?'”

Sounding suddenly very relieved, though not yet entirely free of guilt, Quatre said, “That one I would be happy to put on there just for the sake of crossing it off.”

“Well, I love you.” Not for the first time, Trowa wondered at the circumstance of being the one to offer rather than receive reassurance, regardless of the fact that he’d been the one to bring up the troublesome topic. “Even if you’re trying to run my life. Perhaps because you’re trying to run my life.”

“I do that to people,” Quatre half sighed. “It’s a good thing I’m a manager at work, because otherwise I’d be fired for trying to act like one anyway.”

“Please don’t change on my account. In fact, just don’t change. I think we were in this same spot when you told me not to change certain things you liked about me, so let me return the compliment: you’re wonderful exactly as you are.”

Quatre laughed and rubbed affectionately against Trowa again, but there remained some protest in his tone as he said, “But it’s a little unfair.” Then after a moment of thoughtful silence he added, “Maybe you should have a turn at that too.”

“At trying to run my life?” Trowa wondered, surprised and amused. “Or trying to run yours?”

“I expect you to run your own life,” Quatre said sternly, “with or without my meddling. No, I meant mine. Why don’t you suggest something? Right now. Tell me something to do with myself.” Though these last few statements sounded mostly playful, an underlying sincerity to Quatre’s tone indicated Trowa shouldn’t dismiss this as meaningless banter.

So he made the first suggestion he could think of: “Why don’t we take a cooking class together?”

There followed a longer period of differently flavored silence, as if Quatre had been completely blindsided by the idea. Of course this raised immediate consternation in Trowa; it had been a dangerous position Quatre had put him in, and he should have given more consideration to how he responded. But then Quatre rolled over and started laughing uncontrollably into the pillow.

This muffled uproar didn’t last very long, but it was enough for Trowa to relax and smile. Quatre truly had a charming laugh, regardless of how much bedding it was filtered through.

Then Quatre turned again and slid right up against Trowa, wrapping his arms back around him. “Yes,” he gasped, “yes, I think we should definitely take a cooking class together. I love you. Heero will be jealous.”

Assuming he meant Heero would be jealous about the cooking class, not that Heero would be jealous because Quatre loved Trowa, the latter nevertheless replied a little aloofly, “Heero can find his own.”

“Mmm,” said Quatre appreciatively. “So authoritative of you.”

“Hmm,” Trowa replied, pulling Quatre closer in his appreciation of Quatre’s appreciation. “Maybe I could get used to that.”

“I know I could.” Now Quatre’s tone had changed, and the motion of the hand that had previously lain still on Trowa’s chest indicated the direction things would go if he had his way. Against the skin just beneath Trowa’s ear he murmured, “What about ‘Have Trowa top twice in one day?'”

Loving both the vibrations of Quatre’s voice and the movement of his hand, but not entirely sure about the words, Trowa hesitated. “Go ahead and add that to the list,” he said slowly. “But don’t count on crossing it off right now.”

“Well, it’s always nice to have something to work on.” Quatre didn’t sound at all perturbed, despite the obvious interest with which he’d made the proposal. “It keeps away boredom.”

Perfectly recognizing the facetiousness of this statement, Trowa absolutely refused to grant entry to a sudden new worry that Quatre might get bored with him. There, he really was improving. A month ago, that thought would have haunted him all night.

Tonight, as they moved away from the cerebral exchange toward a more physical one, and in so doing essentially managed to confirm or at least supplement everything that had previously been said, Trowa couldn’t help thinking — when he could think at all — that Quatre, as usual, was right: things didn’t have to be perfect yet; just having something to work on was nearly as satisfying as a superlative.



His Own Humanity is an AU series set in modern-day America (plus magic) featuring characters from Rurouni Kenshin (primarily Saitou and Sano) and Gundam Wing (primarily Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Quatre). In chronological order (generally), the stories currently available are:

Sano enlists the help of exorcist Hajime in discovering the nature of the unusual angry shade that's haunting him.

Best friends Heero and Quatre have their work cut out for them assisting longtime curse victims Duo and Trowa.

During Plastic (part 80), Cairo thinks about thinking and other recent changes in his life.

A look at how Hajime and Sano are doing.

A look at how Trowa and Quatre are doing.

A look at how Heero and Duo are doing.

A meeting between Kamatari and Wufei.

Couple analysis among Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Quatre.

Quatre undergoes an unpleasant magical change; Heero, Duo, and Trowa are forced to face unpleasant truths; and Hajime and Sano may get involved.

During La Confrérie de la Lune Révéré (parts 33-35), Sano's 178-day wait is over as what Hajime has been fearing comes to pass.

During Guest Room Soap Opera (part 3), Cathy learns a lot of interesting facts and Trowa is not happy.

A few days before the epilogue of La Confrérie de la Lune Révéré, Duo and Sano get together to watch football and discuss relationships and magical experiences; Heero listens in on multiple levels.

I’ve rated this story .



His Own Humanity: Reciprocity

It defied logic for an object lacking voice or facial features to express emotions, but somehow, looking at it, Heero read annoyance and frustration pretty clearly without needing a human face to read them in. He couldn’t help smiling; hand-held can openers were a bit of a bother before you figured them out. He’d found the electric kind so unreliable, though, that he’d sworn them off years ago. Duo would simply have to get used to it.

He hadn’t heard a sound since entering the apartment, but considered it unlikely Duo would be out; so he recovered the can opener from where it had evidently been tossed down with some force into the corner at the far side of the counter, and started his search. Before he could even peek into any of the rooms down the hall, though, he caught sight of what he sought on the balcony at the end.

As he drew nearer, he observed that Duo, seated against the outside wall beside the glass door, was eating black olives from a can, which solved that mystery. A G.E.D. study guide, only a couple of weeks old yet already somewhat ragged-edged, lay across his lap, and his new sparkly green iPod sat on top of that. His bare feet, down at the end of long, full-stretched legs, twitched rhythmically back and forth, presumably to the beat of whatever he was listening to — he’d been downloading anything and everything in the last few weeks — and as Heero opened the door Duo added to this time-keeping operation by tapping out the rhythm on his book with the highlighter in his hand.

“Oh, hey!” Duo looked up with a surprised smile as Heero stepped onto the balcony. He pulled the headphones from his ears, and would have risen if Heero hadn’t dropped down beside him as he closed the door. “Is it that late?” Duo added, sounding pleased, after which his mouth was busy and he couldn’t say anything more for several long moments. He tasted like olives.

Finally Heero sat back from the hello kiss and remarked, gesturing at the can, “You got them open eventually, I see.”

With magic,” replied Duo belligerently. “That goddamned torture device was not cooperating.”

“This one?” Heero held up the can opener.

“Yes!” Duo yelped. “Can I throw it?”

Heero laughed. “No. Here, let me show you…” He pulled the olives closer, then slowly demonstrated how the can opener worked — incompletely, of course, since this particular can already showed a clean open edge.

Duo watched with suspicious eyes, and eventually remarked dubiously, “It kinda crawls along there, doesn’t it? Sorta eats its way around the top of the can.” He sounded as if he wanted to give the device another chance, but had been too wounded by its betrayal to trust again so soon.

“Now you try,” Heero urged, reaching for one of Duo’s hands to place it on the rubber-coated handles of the can opener.

Grumbling and still suspicious, Duo nevertheless allowed Heero to guide his fingers through the process a couple of times. He seemed to develop some reluctant admiration for the object’s design, but obviously remained a little wary of it even when the tutoring session had ended.

“I may keep opening stuff with magic for a while,” he said, and for a few tense moments followed the can opener with his eyes as Heero set it aside next to the nearly-depleted olives. “Speaking of which…” Relaxing, Duo leaned to move the two items entirely out of the space between himself and his boyfriend — his touch on the can opener, the amused Heero noted, still gingerly — and gestured. “Now come here.” And he tugged at Heero’s arm.

Heero obeyed, and found himself, at Duo’s direction, leaning close against him. When Duo said, “I’ll show you something,” Heero could feel the vibrations of his speech through the hand that Duo had pulled to his chest.

“All right.” It came out in a murmur, which seemed somehow to fit the snugness of their new position.

Duo went on, now no longer speaking English. “Let me say, everyone who’s got magical abilities has a magical or psychic center ’round about here.”

Heero had no problem at all understanding the magical language, and as Duo spoke he could sense something a little different than before through his palm and fingers. It resembled the vibrations of Duo’s regular speech, but Heero thought he felt them on another, deeper level.

“Let me say, if you can find that center in yourself and sorta talk through it, it’ll come out in the magical language, and anyone with magical abilities will be able to understand you.”

It made him shiver, and, as Duo continued, Heero couldn’t help feeling as if they two were connected on a new and deeper level as well. He remembered ascribing a certain intimacy to the idea that Duo had been the one to awaken his magical abilities; evidently he hadn’t been too far off the mark.

“Let me say, you have to speak through your magical center to cast spells, too, so finding it’s pretty important if you’re going to be doing magic.”

Heero dropped his head to rest against Duo’s shoulder and closed his eyes. He thought he could feel a faint resonance inside his own chest responding to that in Duo’s; it fascinated and excited and disconcerted him.

“Let me say, can you feel that?”

“Why do you keep starting all your sentences like that?” Heero wondered quietly, eyes still closed.

“Let me say, to make sure I don’t cast any actual spells by accident. Let me say, this way I’m structuring my sentences so they’re pretty much just a spell commanding me to say what I’m saying.”

Heero nodded minutely. “Why is the magical center in the chest?” he asked next. “Is it associated with a particular organ?”

In English this time, Duo answered, “You’d have to ask Trowa about that one.”

Heero raised his head again to look Duo in the eye with a slight smile. “I prefer learning from you,” he said, and kissed him.

Some time later, still in English, Duo echoed Heero’s earlier suggestion: “Now you try it.”

“Do what, exactly?” It didn’t sound in his voice, but Heero couldn’t be 100% comfortable about this. He had, after all, recently witnessed the tail-end of a conspicuous example of magic gone very, very wrong. That Duo himself wasn’t more wary of amateur magic use at this point might have been a surprise if Heero hadn’t already become perfectly accustomed to his attitude.

“Just try to feel your magical center,” Duo replied somewhat vaguely, “and see if you can talk through it.”

“All right…” Heero closed his eyes again and concentrated, simultaneously silently predicting that his nervousness would render him completely unable to pull this off. He thought he retained awareness of the not-entirely-physical area of his chest he’d felt vibrating in response to Duo’s earlier words, but he couldn’t quite get mental hold of what it would take to ‘talk through it.’ “Say something else,” he requested of Duo, who complied.

And as Duo started to ‘Let me say’ through the lyrics of some absurd song that was popular at the moment, which sounded even more idiotic when chanted in the magical language, and placed a hand over Heero’s heart to mirror the one of Heero’s that lay atop his own, Heero found that nervousness was not the emotion likely to get in the way here. He tried to concentrate again on the resonance Duo’s speech caused within him, but Duo’s voice and his warm hand were simply too distracting.

Finally Heero gave a faint, helpless laugh. “I don’t think this is going to work right now.”

Duo broke off his lyric recitation and wondered, “Oh?”

“Because it’s making me want you like mad,” Heero confessed.

“Justin Bieber?” said Duo skeptically. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Heero chuckled. “Let’s just say even he couldn’t make me not want you.”

“Oh, well done!” Duo complimented this statement with a laugh. Then he asked slyly, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Heero said with a sigh. “We’ll have to try this again later when we have more time.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Duo recollected in disappointment: “suits.”

Heero nodded against Duo’s shoulder; then, because he simply couldn’t help it, he turned to mouth Duo’s neck.

Duo let out a pleased breath and said in a tone half serious, half silly, and all suggestive, “We’ll put off the magic ’til tonight, then.”

Less than a month remained before Relena’s wedding, and Heero and Duo had fittings scheduled today for the necessary attire. Tempting though it was to forget all about that and pursue, as Duo had said, magic of various types, Heero knew his mother would go into meltdown if she found out he’d put off reserving his tux.

“Consider yourself booked for tonight, then,” he said, withdrawing reluctantly from his comfortable position against his boyfriend and moving to rise.

Duo groped him on the way up. “Consider it considered.” After which, thankfully, they managed to get Duo shod and the both of them out of the apartment without too much more Justin Bieber, though Heero had a sinking suspicion he hadn’t heard the last of that.

A preference for jewel tones had already been established on Duo’s part, and Heero began to suspect him of a preference for the jewels themselves as well as Duo oohed and ahhed over a line of shirts with sparkly decorated collar points. Finished with his own fitting, which had been quick and easy, Heero watched Duo’s with a smile but without a word. He wouldn’t try to talk Duo out of the blingy shirt he had his eye on (nor the tie and vest with glittery stripes to match), and in fact was ready to buy him whatever he wanted.

Duo looked so damn good in everything, and watching him try things on was a wonderful experience — and not just because Heero adored every detail of his body. Duo struck poses for the mirrors and quoted movie lines he thought were appropriate (though they usually weren’t) and generally made an adorable goof of himself. And the dawning realization displayed by the employee helping him that he had a gay couple in his dressing room was amusing too — in a different, tiresome sort of way.

Near the end of the process, oddly enough, Billy Joel’s My Life began playing from Heero’s pocket. In some confusion he fished out his phone while Duo tried for a straight face as he said, “That’s one of your parents.”

Heero did remember eventually that Duo had been playing with his phone the other night, and admired what a quick learner his boyfriend had proven. Duo had once said he didn’t think he’d ever get used to cell phones, and now here he was assigning custom ringtones.

Despite its unexpected trappings, the call itself came as no surprise. Mrs. Yuy considered all wedding preparations as her immediate jurisdiction, and the acquisition of suits was no exception even though it technically had nothing to do with her. Naturally she would want to check to make sure this phase of the operation proceeded according to plan.

“Hello, mama,” Heero greeted her, more or less amiably.

“Heero? Hello. How are you doing?”

“Great,” he replied truthfully. “How are you?”

“We’re well. Your father has decided to take up golfing. Are you getting your tuxedo today?”

Unfazed by her topic roulette, nothing atypical of her, Heero informed her of his current location.

“No problems getting the same style as your father’s?”

“No.” They’d only been over this a dozen times.

“And your friend is there too? Getting his suit?” She rarely used Duo’s name, and the term ‘boyfriend’ was absolutely beyond her, but that she acknowledged his existence at all was something of a miracle.

“That’s right.”

“Good. You wrote down the colors to match?”

“Yes, mama. There won’t be any problems.”

“Good. And you two are coming to dinner on Sunday, aren’t you?”

There was an even bigger miracle. Heero marveled at how happily he could give an affirmative when just two months before it had made him cringe. So far it turned out the steady-boyfriend theory had been correct, and things had progressed very much as Relena had predicted: stiff and awkward, though not necessarily antagonistic, at first, and then (more quickly than he would have dared hope) increasingly easy.

Whether it was because his parents were charmed by Duo’s persistently ingratiating and entertaining ways, or because they saw how happy he’d made Heero, or because they simply didn’t have the energy to hold out in the face of Heero’s determination to live the way he thought appropriate (not to mention the support of those around him), or some combination of these, things were gradually, miraculously getting better. And now they’d even reached the point where Mrs. Yuy would declare it “Good” in her sharply friendly tone that he and Duo were coming to dinner.

Of course it would have been impossible for them not to like Duo himself, so that was nothing spectacular; and they still seemed to avoid thinking of him as Heero’s boyfriend as much as they could, treating him rather as if he were merely a good friend of both their children, which was less than ideal… but there was no denying things were getting better.

Duo could tell, too. When Heero hung up from the conversation with his mother, he found him grinning, and clearly not solely because of the sneakily altered ringtone. As usual, Duo had been able to pick up the mood of the discussion despite its being in Japanese and only half audible, and approved of what he’d heard.

Heero smiled back. His gratitude to Duo for this circumstance just added another item to a growing list of reasons he rejoiced at having Duo in his life. The former doll hadn’t exactly done it as a favor — except as far as Duo went out of his way to be even more likeable than usual around the Yuy parents — but that didn’t lessen Heero’s appreciation. He would share all of this with Duo one of these days, but not yet — at least not in these terms — since he feared it would correspond undesirably with an unfortunate attitude he already thought he perceived in Duo.

That perception only strengthened when he paid the bill at the outfitters. Heero was renting his tux, since he had no routine need for it; but a nice suit was something useful to own, so he’d bought one for Duo… and Duo was making the same face he always did when Heero spent money on him or assisted him in some aspect of human life, be it as significant as helping him get registered as a patient at a doctor’s office or as small as demonstrating proper handling of a can opener.

The expression displayed displeasure, almost disapproval, that overrode Duo’s simultaneous gratitude and fondness and seemed to be immediately calculating how to shift the balance of the situation. And if the setting had been right he would have tried: shown Heero something magical or volunteered for some household chore… actions not at all objectionable in themselves, but the motives behind which Heero had begun to question.

It was time they did something about this.

*

Heero was onto him.

Even after a month and a half, Duo had not yet readjusted to humanity, and having facial expressions, and all that, and he hadn’t been able to hide it, and Heero had noticed. He got this impression, anyway, based on the look Heero gave him on the way out of the store. But instead of commenting, at least for the moment, Heero paused outside and glanced around.

“You’ve never had bubble tea,” he declared. He didn’t have to ask; to a certain extent — particularly when it came to food — he was familiar with Duo’s entire range of human experiences.

“Nope. Never heard of it.”

Heero pointed to the strip mall’s next business over, which, indeed, bore a sign reading ‘Bubble Tea’ in puffy colorful lettering. “Want to try it?”

“Yes,” replied Duo at once. “What is it?”

Heero began walking in the direction of the adjacent shop. “It’s weird,” he said unhelpfully. “I think you’ll like it.”

The little store, decorated in an eclectic style Duo associated with Chinese restaurants, featured a complicated list of flavors that occupied him for several minutes. Though he didn’t know yet what precisely he would be ordering, he eventually chose strawberry-banana, and the lady behind the counter set to work making some kind of smoothie for him in addition to the avocado-vanilla one Heero had already requested. He and Heero were discussing weddings, not terribly intensively, while the woman worked, until Duo suddenly broke off what he was saying to hiss, wide-eyed, at his boyfriend, “What is she putting in there? What is that stuff?”

Heero just smiled enigmatically.

The cup he eventually received had a thin sheet of plastic sealed across the top, which made it possible for Duo to turn it all around, peering suspiciously inside, without worrying about spilling. This didn’t prevent him from pouting a bit (for all he tried not to) as he watched Heero pay for the drinks, but soon he returned his attention to the mysterious objects at the bottom of the smoothie. They looked like black marbles.

After offering Duo a hugely wide, green-striped straw, Heero headed out the door into the warm June dusk once again. Duo nearly tripped on the mat and ran into someone as he followed, so riveted was he on the drink in his hand. Once outside (and out of the path of other customers), they paused so Heero could demonstrate how to puncture the plastic covering with the pointed end of the straw. Then he stood still sipping his own drink and watching Duo expectantly.

It tasted like strawberry… strawberry-banana… banana… and then…! Duo choked, trying to drink, chew, and laugh through his surprise at the same time. This only made him laugh (and choke) more, which induced a nearly similar reaction in Heero as the latter handed over a couple of napkins he’d had the prescience to obtain inside.

“They’re… squishy… what the hell…” Without looking, Duo mopped up what he’d spewed down his front, still laughing and coughing.

“You missed some,” Heero grinned, pointing.

It was a good thing they’d already gotten the fitting-room portion of the day out of the way. As he entered a second round of napkin application to his newly-spotted shirt, Duo finally managed a complete sentence. “What are those?”

“It’s tapioca.”

“Like in pudding?” Duo laughed. “Whose idea was it to put that in a drink?” And he looked askance down his straw; now he recognized the reason for its diameter.

Heero shrugged. “Do you not like it?”

Thoughtfully Duo took another drink, at the same moment tossing the napkins into a trash can by the door. And after a very intense and serious assessment, he laughed again, less disastrously this time, and commented, “Yes, I like it! It’s hilarious! But I think ‘weird’ wasn’t quite strong enough, before.”

“Good,” Heero said with a smile. Then he gestured to stop Duo from taking a seat at the little table just outside the shop. “Let’s go sit in the car.”

Duo tried not to wince as he agreed. Mr. Privacy would only want to go sit in the car for the sake of a personal conversation. Which meant he really had noticed. And Duo wouldn’t try to keep anything from him; he probably shouldn’t have kept it to himself to begin with — they’d had enough of that back in April.

Despite bracing himself, as they crossed the parking lot, for a discussion in which he would probably have to disclose feelings that might bother or even hurt his boyfriend, Duo simply could not help laughing every time he got another of the tapioca balls in his mouth. Severely amusing beverage additives didn’t balance quite equally against potentially uncomfortable conversation — though, admittedly, for someone that only a couple of months before had been unable to enjoy any kind of beverage, it came closer than it might for anyone else — but the tapioca was very present, while the conversation was only pending as yet. So in an oddly mixed frame of mind, he slid into the passenger seat and closed the door behind him.

And as Heero did the same on the driver’s side, Duo asked, mostly facetiously, “Am I in trouble?”

Heero smiled briefly and took Duo’s free hand. “No,” was his serious answer. “I’ve just noticed something you’ve been doing more and more since the curse was broken, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“I am in trouble,” Duo grimaced.

Squeezing the hand he held, Heero said, “I promise you’re not. It’s just that…” He took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Duo knew by now that Heero was neither accustomed to nor terribly expert at saying this phrase aloud; if you counted as a single instance the repetitions Duo had dragged out of him the night after the first time, this made the second time he’d managed it in this relationship.

“And I’m happy having you around,” Heero went on, blushing faintly. “Having you living with me. But I can tell you feel bad about me supporting you. I want you to know you don’t have to. You don’t need to feel like it’s inconvenient for me, or like you have to try to pay me back.”

This might be a little awkward no matter how it went, and therefore Duo didn’t at all regret starting out his end of it by waggling an eyebrow and asking in a exaggerated suggestive tone, “Not even with sex?”

Heero grinned. “Sex with you is wonderful,” he said sincerely, “but if I thought you were actually doing it because you thought you had to to pay me back for anything, I would be extremely uncomfortable.”

Duo returned the grin. “Well, don’t be, ’cause I’m not.” Then he sobered entirely as he faced down the explanation he needed to give. “The thing is… I still don’t feel much like a real person yet. I mean, physically I do — and it’s great — but socially, I guess, not so much. It’s not something I ever expected; I thought once the curse was broken and I could feel and smell and taste, I’d be able to consider myself a human being again… but I don’t, really. And a big part of that is the fact that you’re still taking care of me so completely.

“Don’t think I resent that or anything! Because I totally love you too, and I love living with you… but it’s not like I would have much of a choice at this point even if I didn’t. I might as well still be a doll, because you’re still practically carrying me around.”

Swiveling his cup at an oblique angle in his hands, Duo watched the remainder of the tapioca balls at the bottom swish through the melting smoothie as he continued. “And I know I got excited about you buying me things right at first, because I could own things and use things again instead of being one; and having them meant a lot, because it was so different from before and they were such a strong proof that I’m human again. I don’t want you to think I don’t like you buying me things. It’s just that if you didn’t, I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to buy them for myself.

“And you do a lot of things for me that I can’t do for myself, because I don’t know how yet or because it’s something that takes money that I don’t have yet. It’s like I’m a little kid; I’m having to totally rely on you for everything.”

At the sight of Heero’s expression of perturbation and concern, Duo hastened on. “Don’t look like that! I really don’t want you to feel bad about this. It’s nobody’s fault; it’s just the way things have to be after the curse. Just… if I do act like I’m trying to pay you back a little for everything you do for me, it’s not so much because I feel like I owe you as because it makes me feel more like a real person who has a choice about what he does and where his life is going.”

Heero sat in silence for several moments, and looked as if he was turning this over thoroughly in his head. Finally he nodded. “I see what you’re saying,” he assured Duo seriously. “At least I think I do. And of course I want you to do whatever you need to to feel better, about everything and yourself. Don’t let me make you feel like you can’t… tell me if I ever do, OK?”

Now it was Duo’s turn to squeeze Heero’s hand.

“But also,” Heero added with a solemn smile, “don’t get into the habit of trying to find some way to pay me back for every little thing, or thinking you have a debt piling up. I take care of you because I love you, not because you’re then obligated to do something in return. We’re not business partners.”

That was two I love you‘s in one conversation; Duo wondered how he’d so lucked out. Actually, on a larger scale, he wondered yet again how he’d so lucked out as to find someone like Heero — someone that could, after only what Duo considered a very imperfect explanation of his feelings under these circumstances, comprehend what he was going through, or at least act as if he did, and someone he loved so very much.

He felt he did owe Heero, more than he could ever repay, for what Heero had done to break his curse. He knew perfectly well Heero hadn’t done it in the expectation of a reward of any kind, but he didn’t think his own resulting desire to give Heero everything, do everything he could for Heero — not because he had to but because he wanted to, out of gratitude and love — was at all unhealthy or inappropriate. But he certainly wouldn’t say that now, since it would undoubtedly be counterproductive in this discussion.

Instead he said, “You’re the best, you know that?” He took another drink of the hilarious smoothie and added, “And so is this stuff.”

Heero smiled.

Duo hadn’t quite finished with the previous topic, though, much as he would like to be done. “Of course the real next step toward being a real person is to get that test taken so I can get a job. I think I’m about ready… hopefully the grammar parts won’t kill me…”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Heero reassured. “Even on the grammar parts. You’ve been studying that book until it’s falling apart, and highlighting half of every page.”

“That,” Duo admitted sheepishly, “may be just because I like the highlighter colors.”

“I knew that.” Fondly Heero grinned at him. “Why do you think I bought them for you?” At Duo’s faint wince his smile turned rueful, but his follow-up statement came more or less smoothly: “And once you have a job, you can buy your own highlighters, in every color you can think of. But for now, do you want to go practice driving?”

Heero really was the best; his suggesting they work on something that furthered the cause of Duo’s autonomy (not to mention something Duo thoroughly enjoyed in itself) indicated both that he really did understand and that he wasn’t hurt by what Duo had told him. “Yes, please!” Duo said heartily.

As Heero navigated toward the large, usually empty parking lot where he’d been teaching Duo to drive in spare moments, Duo concentrated on finishing his drink so as to have both hands free. At the bottom, he had to suck up the weird little squishy balls deliberately one at a time, which was extremely entertaining. Once again, Heero had treated him to a marvelous experience, and Duo was cheerfully grateful.

By the time he’d fished out the last of the tapioca from the floor of the cup, they were parked and idling at their destination. And after a quick but very sincere kiss that constituted a strange blending of flavors after their respective smoothies, they left their seats in order to switch places and give Duo a turn at the wheel.



His Own Humanity is an AU series set in modern-day America (plus magic) featuring characters from Rurouni Kenshin (primarily Saitou and Sano) and Gundam Wing (primarily Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Quatre). In chronological order (generally), the stories currently available are:

Sano enlists the help of exorcist Hajime in discovering the nature of the unusual angry shade that's haunting him.

Best friends Heero and Quatre have their work cut out for them assisting longtime curse victims Duo and Trowa.

During Plastic (part 80), Cairo thinks about thinking and other recent changes in his life.

A look at how Hajime and Sano are doing.

A look at how Trowa and Quatre are doing.

A look at how Heero and Duo are doing.

A meeting between Kamatari and Wufei.

Couple analysis among Heero, Duo, Trowa, and Quatre.

Quatre undergoes an unpleasant magical change; Heero, Duo, and Trowa are forced to face unpleasant truths; and Hajime and Sano may get involved.

During La Confrérie de la Lune Révéré (parts 33-35), Sano's 178-day wait is over as what Hajime has been fearing comes to pass.

During Guest Room Soap Opera (part 3), Cathy learns a lot of interesting facts and Trowa is not happy.

A few days before the epilogue of La Confrérie de la Lune Révéré, Duo and Sano get together to watch football and discuss relationships and magical experiences; Heero listens in on multiple levels.



I’ve rated this story .



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).


Helpless


It was stupid and crazy and he knew it. After a day of chaos and a night of worry and little rest, he was barely cleaned and patched up, and decidedly exhausted. Beyond that, he had to evade a doctor, several concerned friends, and a house full of fucking onmitsu just to get to the door. And that was all before taking into account his terrible sense of direction. But despite everything, here he was sneaking from the half-ruined Aoiya, pockets stuffed with spare bandages, heading out of town.

There wasn’t much he could do to deny the reasons for this foolishness, but he didn’t really want to think about it, so he concentrated on walking, on the physical pain, on not thinking about too much of anything. One foot in front of the other, don’t stumble, try to keep to a relatively straight line.

But a burning image was seared across the insides of his eyelids every time he blinked, and an unusually ambiguous rage tore at his heart. He might have identified that anger if he’d wanted to; might have associated it with memories, with missed opportunities — none of them from too long ago, yet all bearing the mental stamp of circumstances deliberately distanced from associated recollection because they were too painful to consider.

He would have stayed if he’d been the only one, or even if Kenshin hadn’t needed him quite so desperately.

Walking. Physical pain. Not thinking about anything. Not getting lost.

Smoke rose from the site; it was visible from the edge of town, but soon hidden again by trees. His progress was slow, and he found himself pushing, frustrated, for greater speed, as if there were something up there that couldn’t wait. As if there were anything up there at all.

He couldn’t be sure, after not too long, that this was the right direction, but he kept moving. The sun was high and the path bright between the trees’ shadows: the perfect day for a nap, something Sano was certainly in a condition to appreciate… but instead here he was plodding up a mountain, probably killing himself, looking for…

…nothing.

Eventually he lost track of how long he’d been walking; awareness of a lot of things was fading, actually, and it was perhaps this general dimness that prompted the worried voice in the back of his head that vaguely suggested he stop. Or perhaps it was something else. For, slowing to a standstill as he rounded a bend, he raised his gaze from where it had preceded his footsteps along the ground and saw before him, among the mountain foliage and the imaginary gloom created by his own weakness, what he took at first to be a hallucination. For a while he merely stared. It was almost as if he’d been expecting it, for there was no surprise at the sight… no surprise, only a slow, magnificent fury.

How could he make an ambiguous exit like that and then get out just fine? Finally play the hero and then just walk away??

“Asshole,” Sano growled. Everything about Saitou was so maddening, from the indifferent expression to the slow way he stood straight from the tree he’d been leaning against as if Sano was barely worth his attention, that the young man could not restrain himself. He would show that arrogant bastard…

Saitou twisted so Sano’s arm passed over his shoulder, and unexpectedly met him chest to chest, his weight driving them both back a pace. Thus Sano’s fist barely brushed the bark of the tree, and his eyes went wide. If Saitou had answered his attack any other way, a very solid trunk would have met the very sensitive hand about which Sano himself had, in the ire of the moment, almost forgotten.

“I doubt that’s the way you want to fight me,” Saitou murmured.

Sano could find no answer. This guy knew everything; he’d been unconscious when Shishio had crushed Sano’s hand, yet had noticed at some point and now had the presence of mind to spare Sano further injury.

Also, he was still pressed against Sano for some reason, seeming almost limp.

“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Sano, nonplussed.

“Didn’t you know?” Saitou replied in what was barely an echo of his usual tone. “This is my new hobby.”

This was the first intimation that Saitou might not be fine, and at that thought Sano’s rage drained instantly away. Returning common sense seconded the supposition: Saitou had been wounded in the fortress; getting out of the fortress, through that inferno, couldn’t have improved his condition. In a movement almost panicky, arms rose to clutch at Saitou’s form. Now that Sano was paying attention, he could smell charred clothing and flesh, and he thought something wet was soaking through Saitou’s jacket onto his chest. For half a moment he had no idea what to do.

“Make yourself useful, ahou,” Saitou commanded faintly.

Annoyance restored Sano’s presence of mind. “I’m waiting to see if you’re gonna die before I waste my time on you,” he retorted, though his voice sounded nearly as weak as Saitou’s. Honestly, just supporting the other man’s weight as well as his own was almost more than he could handle. Trying to remember how far back along his path lay the nearest potential place of rest and medical care was futile; he could barely remember how far he’d come from the city, let alone what he’d passed along the way. “How far can you walk?” he asked doubtfully.

“If I could still walk, do you really think I’d be leaning on you?” Saitou’s sarcasm was distinctly blunted under these circumstances.

Sano snorted. “Fine,” he muttered, looking around for a decent place to… what? Make camp? Play doctor? Preferably not in the middle of the path.

Eventually he chose a somewhat clear spot among the trees to their left and helped Saitou to the ground. The officer really didn’t look good. Beyond merely wondering, Sano was baffled as to why he hadn’t noticed at first. His emotional response at finding Saitou still alive at all might have been some explanation — if he wanted to think about that.

Before he could do anything else, he had to take some rest himself. Both of his hands hurt desperately, the pain in his skull was steadily growing again, and his entire body ached. He felt he could sleep for a year — and probably would, forgetting Saitou and everything else in the world, if he lay down. But, though there were times when it seemed forgetting Saitou would make his life a good deal easier, that didn’t strike him as the best plan at the moment. So he leaned against a tree and drew an arm across his face, closing his eyes in search of comfortable darkness.

His breathing, which he hadn’t realized was so uneven, became gradually more regular, and the sounds of the wooded mountain were soothing — until he felt himself tilting, succumbing to gravity, falling asleep on his feet. Straightening, dropping his protective arm, he opened his eyes to the somewhat jarring day. Surprisingly, he did actually feel rested — readier, at least, for the task at hand. His steps weren’t as steady as he could have wished, however, as he made his way back to Saitou.

The officer’s eyes had closed, but Sano thought he was still conscious. And at least he didn’t seem to have any respiratory problems. “Any idea what’s worst here?” Sano asked almost conversationally as he knelt at Saitou’s side and began unbuttoning the man’s jacket. It was almost a pointless exercise — the front of the thing was a mess, the dexterity of Sano’s fingers far from its usual level — but he didn’t want to start destroying clothes before he had to.

Saitou took a breath as if to answer, but then let it out without a word; Sano guessed he’d had some unhelpful sarcastic impulse that he’d thought better of, and had nothing to say in its place. He did open his eyes, though, and these seemed alert enough for the moment.

“Holy fuck,” was Sano’s next remark. He was taking in the extent of the wounds on Saitou’s chest as he started to peel the jacket away from them. “How’d you even make it this far?”

“Good question,” Saitou replied, and it was nearly a whisper; Sano thought he was perhaps trying to cover up his hiss of pain as torn, bloody cloth that was already hardening onto similar bloody tears in his flesh tugged at the latter.

“Water…” Sano muttered. He wasn’t going to get much farther without it.

“Listen,” admonished the officer, and just in that single, weary word the implication was strong: “You should have thought of that earlier.”

It was true, and there was no purpose getting annoyed about it now. Sano closed his eyes, alert this time and concentrating. His head was pounding, and it interfered somewhat with the pursuit of distant sound, but he forced himself to perceive past it, and restrained his breathing until he felt he must faint; never in his life had he listened so hard. And Saitou was right, of course: he did hear water, some way ahead and to the left — whatever direction that actually was.

It took him longer to physically locate his goal than it had to perceive it, and by the time he reached the little stream he was frustrated and tired. But the thoughts of rest he entertained as he sank again to his knees were dispelled when he glanced down and saw Saitou’s blood patterned across his borrowed gi. Having no container of any kind, after some thought he pulled off the garment and held it in the water until it was entirely soaked. Then, wadding it up and trying to keep it as much as possible from dripping, he rose and returned (after a few false starts in wrong directions) to where he’d left the other man.

Although Saitou’s eyes were again closed, he was still obviously awake, and Sano grudgingly had to admire that; lying flat, Sano would long ago have been out cold. The officer even went so far as to grunt and speak an entire sentence when Sano wrung out one corner of the waterlogged gi over his chest: “Do you have… any idea… what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” Sano replied indignantly. “Any decent street-fighter knows how to treat wounds… basically.”

“‘Decent…'” Saitou muttered, eyes still closed.

“Hey, fuck you,” Sano shot back, responding to the disdain he assumed Saitou intended; “I could just leave you here.” But somehow, facetiously as he’d meant it, this was a disturbing idea, so he added more seriously, “But don’t worry. After I get you cleaned up and you have some rest, we’ll get you down to a real doctor. In the meantime, I’ve got all sorts of bandages.”

Now one of Saitou’s eyes cracked open, but it seemed all he could manage was a very faint expression of skepticism and consternation. “I’m not sharing your dirty bandages, ahou.”

“No,” protested Sano, piqued again, “I grabbed a bunch from the Aoiya before I left, just in case–” He broke off, his face heating for some reason.

Saitou, even in his present state, didn’t miss it. “‘In case–?'”

Choosing to ignore this, a luxury he didn’t often have with Saitou, Sano bent his full attention to the duty before him. His stupid blush was undoubtedly answer enough anyway.

It was a laborious process conducted mostly in silence. Sano was forced, after all, to use the nihontou from the officer’s belt to cut free the front sections of shirt and jacket, and getting these out of the clotting wounds was an ordeal for both of them. Sano’s hands didn’t fancy the exertion, and obviously it was a good deal less pleasant for Saitou. But eventually it was done, and the newly-cleaned cuts were beginning to ooze fresh blood, which, after the mélange of blackening cloth, looked positively healthy.

Sano hastened to empty his pockets of the various rolls of bandages he’d managed to pick up on his way out on this absurd quest. Presently he found that he’d either overestimated the amount he’d brought or underestimated how much length was required to treat any significant hurt, for by the time he got Saitou’s chest sufficiently wrapped, very little remained. He could only hope, as he turned his attention to Saitou’s lower half, that the officer had no other severe injuries. The hastily tended wounds on his thighs were obvious and should probably be re-wrapped, but other than that he couldn’t tell.

“Don’t,” Saitou murmured as Sano’s hand touched his belt. Glancing back at the wolf’s slitted eyes, Sano got the impression Saitou’s struggle against unconsciousness was nearly lost.

To see Saitou like that, vulnerable and hurting, gave Sano the oddest feeling and the oddest impulses. His bandaged fingers had reached out and grazed the harsh face before he even realized what he was doing. “Just checking for other shit you might die from,” he replied softly, trying to fight off another blush at his own foolishness. “Didn’t figure you for the modest type.”

Saitou’s answering twitch of lips was a far cry from his usual smirk, and faded quickly. “I just don’t think… you need another reason… to be jealous of me,” he whispered. Then with a slight sigh he closed his eyes, this time clearly abandoning wakefulness.

Reflecting that Saitou would be sarcastic even on his deathbed, Sano continued with his planned course of action. Saitou was probably right; removing an unconscious man’s pants was always an awkward procedure, and given the lack of large bloodstains on them it was to be assumed he didn’t have any life-threatening wounds below the waist… but Sano would be perverse even on his deathbed, and Saitou’s parting shot was an indomitable inducement at least to look.

He bit back a… remark. Figured Saitou would be right about that too. Though it wasn’t exactly jealousy Sano felt.

Of course he really had only given himself unnecessary work by disturbing the bandages on the officer’s thighs. But he persevered until he had those wounds cleaned and re-wrapped (simply rotating the same bandages, unfortunately) and had at least wrung the last of the water he could from his now very bloody gi onto the burns that covered Saitou’s legs in painful-looking patches from the knees down. Then it was even more awkward to get the pants back on, but finally his work seemed finished.

Almost without another thought, he stretched out on the ground beside the other man and went to sleep.

***

Saitou awoke, cold and in pain, in an unfamiliar and decidedly outdoor setting, and wondered for a long, disoriented moment why this didn’t bother him more.

Concentrating first on the physicality of his situation, the sensations of the ground beneath him and the pain throughout his body, he determined in what position he lay and recalled each of his wounds in succession, and the world seemed a bit less nonsensical. What he couldn’t quite make sense of was the warmth all along his left side. But as the events preceding his period of unconsciousness slowly, vaguely returned to him, he realized what it must be.

His mind was almost blank; he didn’t know what to think, and it was easier just to hurt. The one solid reflection he was able to entertain was that he’d been helpless: truly helpless, with only an extraneous factor standing between him and a variety of possible causes of death, the circumstances entirely beyond his control; a state he hadn’t been in since… he couldn’t remember when. Though trying to remember did awaken his cognitive faculties somewhat.

He didn’t think he would have made it more than a few steps further on his own. Whether he would have survived his inevitable collapse, he didn’t know — but even if the idiot hadn’t saved his life, he had certainly saved him from complications and greater discomfort. Sagara Sanosuke, of all people.

Though Saitou knew perfectly well why Sano had done it. It was the same reason Sano was huddled up against him now, rendering imperfect the chill that had settled across his body.

Slowly and with a great deal of discomfort, Saitou sat up. His next breath was a gasp as the wounds on his chest flared with a burst of pain, and he had to lean heavily on his hand to keep from falling back to the ground. Once it had died down (or he’d become accustomed to it), he assessed his condition. It took only a brief examination to see that Sano had done an unexpectedly good job with his ‘just in case’ bandages. Saitou was still in rather dire shape, but he wouldn’t die and might not get infected.

Next the officer turned his eyes to his companion. Sano lay on his side, curled up, shirtless, shivering occasionally but untroubled by Saitou’s movement in the deep sleep of exhaustion. Saitou stared at him for a long time — until weariness and pain dragged him back to the ground and his eyes closed, in fact. What kept his gaze riveted until that extremity was the unfamiliar and unanticipated reaction he had to seeing the young man there like that: far from clinical indifference, or even the vague tolerance he would have expected if he’d thought about it at all, the sudden rush of emotion he experienced was, rather, something discernibly positive… something that went beyond fondness, even, and held traces of possessiveness and sympathy.

When had that started?

At some point while Saitou had been in the aforementioned rare helpless state, undoubtedly. Helpless, evidently, in more ways than one, if, as it seemed, the big brown eyes and stupid remarks had finally gotten to him. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now but let it run its course, whatever that might be. It wasn’t entirely unexpected, anyway. Himura had predicted it. Saitou himself had not ignored the possibility in his calculations for the future — he just hadn’t thought it a very probable possibility. And here it was.

He could already hear Tokio’s comment: “So you just woke up one day” — it was a phrase she used consistently, which was why it crossed his mind at all — “and decided you liked this kid?” And when he replied that, yes, that was exactly how it had happened, she would say… but he didn’t have the energy to play out that hypothetical but inevitable conversation, entertaining as it was and would be.

A burning sensation lay just beneath his flesh throughout his body, and he thought illness might be the greatest danger to him at this point. In direct contrast, the surface of his skin was uncomfortably cool, and sweat stood clammy across his form. Though the day was warm, the sun’s light, diluted by the trees, did little to comfort him. And at his side he thought Sano shared his condition. But there was nothing to be done about it; he wasn’t yet rested enough to finish the walk back to Kyoto — and because of his wounds, he couldn’t even find a better position to lie in for shared body heat. He did, however, seek out Sano’s wrist, in lieu of a broken hand, and hold onto it as he fell asleep again.

When next he woke, he felt, if not exactly better, more like he might be able to stand and walk. Sano still slept soundly at his side, now with Saitou’s hand lying between both of his — which, though unclenched, yet managed to seem tenacious. When Saitou pulled his away as he sat up, Sano gave an angry-sounding mutter but did not stir. It was dusk, and getting steadily colder; Saitou thought that was what had awakened him. High time to get back to civilization.

“Sano,” he said, but his voice came out weak and faint. Bending, awkward and painful, until his lips brushed Sano’s ear, he repeated the hoarse call.

Sano stirred slowly, mumbling, as Saitou drew away, and eventually opened his eyes. Disorientation seemed to last about twice as long for him as it had for Saitou, but when on sitting up he caught sight of the older man, recollection flashed in his face. “Shit, how long–” He broke off as he looked around at the evening shadows.

“Long enough,” Saitou replied quietly.

“How’re you feeling?” was Sano’s next query. It was made with some abashment, but the young man seemed to have gained greater mastery over the apparent embarrassment of having come up this mountain in this state specifically to find Saitou, and the blush from earlier did not reappear.

Saitou pondered a moment on what reply was most likely to recall that blush, and decided honesty would probably do the trick. “Grateful,” he said. “You may have saved my life.”

It worked, for which victory the concession was only a small discomfort in exchange. “Well… I wasn’t…” Sano’s tone was amusingly defensive, as if Saitou’s statement had been one of accusation rather than gratitude. “I couldn’t just…”

“I know,” said Saitou, and his tone only served to intensify the blush. He smirked, albeit faintly.

“Look…” Sano began, but hesitated, evidently unsure how to continue.

Unfortunately, this was not the best moment for the wavering idiot to work himself up to a confession, so Saitou changed the subject. “Let’s go.”

At this Sano seemed to return to reality. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, and scrambled to his feet. Saitou noted his expression when his hands touched the ground; and, thinking Sano in this mood might want to try to help his companion up and hurt himself in so doing — he was reckless like that — Saitou made his own way to a standing position.

Immediately he foresaw difficulties: his legs were very stiff and reluctant to move, and a nearly overwhelming wave of pain, originating in his chest, swept through him with every breath the instant he was upright. “I’m going to need your help.” His voice grated out in a whisper once more, but Sano was at his side in half an instant, literally almost tripping over himself. Saitou smirked again. “You’re just the right height for this,” he remarked, still very softly, as Sano supported him. Sano seemed to overlook the possible offensively objectifying interpretation of this statement, for it threw him into another dither of abashment as they set off.

So the first time they ever had their arms around each other, it was because Saitou could barely walk. It made for a long and awkward trip back to Kyoto, but at least Sano’s warmth at his side was a comfort in the growing dark; and, though his thoughts became hazier with every moment he spent perpendicular, he used the time to accustom himself to the idea of seeing a lot more of Sano’s from now on.

They did not speak until they’d entered town, and it was Sano who broke the lengthy silence. “Where now?”

Saitou’s energy was almost entirely gone, and his answer, “Police station,” was a barely intelligible mumble.

“Are you insane?” Sano demanded. “I go to all this trouble to get you back here alive, and you want to kill yourself going to work?”

“Ahou…” He was about to continue with an explanation about police doctors in as few words as he could condense the idea into, but Sano cut him off at the epithet:

“‘Sides, the police station’s gone. Juppongatana destroyed it.”

This news was so startling, it seemed somehow to put up a wall in the officer’s brain. He couldn’t get his thoughts past it, and they ran in circles at its foot. At a complete loss, near the end of coherent reflection, he couldn’t speak.

“Aoiya, then,” Sano pronounced, sounding at once dogmatic and concerned.

This, at least, Saitou was aware he didn’t want, and it roused him somewhat. “No,” he whispered, and with a great struggle managed to come up with the name of one of the doctors that answered to the precinct. And that was the real end of his logic for the day; he was content thereafter to lean increasingly heavily on Sano and let him take charge. In the fog of confusion that seemed to have fallen over Kyoto, relying on someone that was confused under normal circumstances didn’t even seem strange.

The next thing he knew was waking up alone. Though not as disorienting as waking up on the forested mountain, this was also more jarring than that unusual occurrence had been. Why did finding himself lying beside Sano feel so natural where in a similar condition finding himself in a clinic bed felt somehow off? Well, the answer to that must be obvious… if a somewhat alien concept.

Noting simultaneously the improved state of his various wounds and his lower level of pain, he looked around languidly at his sterile but comfortable environment, taking in details but not straining himself. He didn’t remember and couldn’t really imagine how Sano had managed to find the right place. Actually, he wasn’t even sure this was the right place. But it was obviously the right type of place, and not that ninja inn, and for the moment that must be enough. Though he didn’t feel significantly better, it was now a placid discomfort aware of drugs and a soft bed and the promise of as much rest as he needed. His mind still wasn’t entirely clear either, but at least now this didn’t result from him being about to collapse.

The end of last night’s events at first completely eluded his recollection, and, content to drift in and out of a half-sleeping state, he didn’t fight for it. But finally the thought of Sano’s face and voice managed to conjure up certain expressions and statements that he was fairly sure had been made during the period in question. He knew he’d spoken to Sano as well, replying to his remarks, and that there had been a doctor and possibly a doctor’s assistant that had also probably had something to say… but he still couldn’t remember most of it. In his struggle for recollection, all he heard was Sano.

“I’d stay, but I kinda feel like shit too, and they’re probably having fits about me being gone this long.”

Saitou reflected with a slight smirk that they would probably have fits when they realized why he’d gone, too. Himura would understand… but would he approve? That was a question for another time.

“But I’ll come by tomorrow if I can and make sure you’re not dead, all right?”

This had been spoken in such an odd tone… as if Sano had been more than a little anxious to reassure him. What had Saitou said or otherwise indicated to have prompted that? He simply couldn’t recall. And then…

Then Sano had kissed him. Right in front of the doctor and god knew who else.

Saitou sighed, rolling his eyes, but found he also wore a small smile. It was an inevitable result of being helpless in Sano’s hands… and conceivably an inevitable result of involvement with Sano in general. He might as well get used to it.

The effort of remembering had tired him, so he closed his eyes and drifted again, musing vaguely, speculatively, and not entirely unpleasantly about the future.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

He wondered how long Sano would keep him waiting.


This story, which I’ve rated , was for 30_kisses theme #20 “The road home.”

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