Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn -- Revised ❯ 5 ( Chapter 6 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Part Five

Heero gripped the pricing gun. His heart was pounding again and he wanted to escape. What was he doing here? Milliardo's expression as he stared was inscrutible and Heero wished with everything in him they had never met. He was once again confronted with Milliardo's overwhelming presence: strange, compelling and frightening for the weakness it inspired in him. The nervous, fluttery feeling was back in the pit of his stomach and his palms were clammy-cold. This time, though, Heero was determined to stand his ground. He set the jar he was holding on the shelf and rested the gun on the floor. Their gazes met.

"Welcome to Huang's. How may I help you?"

"Heero--" Milliardo spread his hands. He began to say something, then stepped forward, seemingly at a loss. "Surely you remember me?"

"I--"

"Heero, please ... since we met I ... I.... You must remember me."

Heero trembled. How could he forget?

"Yes ... I remember."

A smile like sunrise broke over Milliardo's face. "Oh, good ... good ... I knew it had to be. I thought--" He stopped, laughing. "How have you been?"

"All right."

"Good, good ... that's wonderful ... great ... really great."

"Yes."

Heero's fingers curled into his palm. How badly he wanted to be away from here! His life had been in upheaval ever since that time in the cafe: He was restless but Heero did not know what for. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get back the ordered life he was used to. Heero stared at Milliardo, his palms hurting under the pressure of his fingernails. How was he going to get rid of him?

Milliardo flicked his hair over his shoulder and rested against the shelf, his elbow poking a tomato-soup can Heero had packed not an hour ago. As Heero stared, he crossed one ankle over the other with languid roll of his hips as if to say "I'm staying".

Heero's stomach churned. He should have known it would not be that easy. Nothing in his life ever was. It occurred to him that till now, his strategy had always been to push Milliardo away. Perhaps it was time to try something different.

Heero forced his mouth into what he hoped was smile. He was so unused to it his lips felt odd and rubbery; his mouth stretched and not at all in a pleasant way, but he pinned it in place and hoped for the best.

"Are you all right?" Milliardo stepped forward in alarm. "You look rather ill."

Heero flushed, quickly dropping his smile. "No."

"No? Do you think you should sit? I saw a bench somewhere."

"No! I am fine."

"Are you sure?" Milliardo leaned forward and blinked owl-like at him. "Heero, if something is wrong--"

Heero looked up from his study of the linoleum, exasperated. "Was there something I could help you with?"

"What? Oh ... I was looking for some ginger, then I saw you and--"

"Milliardo what on earth is taking you so long?"

"Treize! Treize, this is Heero. Heero--Treize. I suppose you can blame him for our encounter the other day. He stood me up and I ran into you."

Heero looked at the sandy-haired stranger and frowned. Yet another foe.

"Hello," The man flashed a set of perfect teeth. He had blue eyes like Milliardo, but they danced with mischief when he smiled, like he knew some secret they did not. "So you are Heero? Enchantez."

Heero grunted.

Treize's grin broadened. "Still waters run deep eh, Milliardo?"

Milliardo laughed but his eyes flickered over to Heero. "Did we lose Wufei?"

There was a third member to this disruptive party? Heero fought a surge of panic: Order, he needed order. That's why he liked his computers and equations best. At the end of the day, they were predictable, controllable--safe. But this.... Heero looked from Milliardo to Treize. He had calculated wrong somewhere. There was a variable--something--he had not accounted for that day in the library that had precipitated this result. Then why couldn't he see it? How was he supposed to fix things if he did not know where to start?

But that was always his problem, wasn't it? Losing control. J would say--

"I must get back to work." Heero announced, more to himself than anyone else.

Milliardo looked at him in surprise. "I'm sorry, Heero. I keep forgetting you're doing a job here. Could you just spare us a few more seconds? I really want you to meet Wufei."

Heero's fists tightened. Why must Milliardo always demand what he could not give? He with his charming friends and sunflower presence--his insistence... Didn't he realize there could never be anything between them? They were from two separate worlds. Milliardo was sunlight where Heero was a dark, mossy thing. Why couldn't he just leave it be?

"No. My shift--"

"There he is!" Milliardo waved, "Wufei, over here!"

A slim youth about Heero's age came towards them, carrying a small basket. His clothes were casual, but in the traditional Chinese style and his dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. He nodded to Heero. "Well, I think I've found everything. Milliardo did you get the ginger?"

Milliardo coughed, "Not ... ah ... quite."

"I'm afraid Milliardo was a bit distracted. "Treize winked conspiratorially at Heero like they were in league together. Like Heero had encouraged Milliardo somehow.

Wufei blinked. "Is that so?"

Treize nodded. "Love, this is Heero."

Heero looked from Treize to Wufei. They were...?

Color rose in Wufei's cheeks when he noticed Heero's stare, but he stepped forward and offered his hand, "Nice to meet you, Heero. I am Wufei."

Heero nodded, studying the fine embroidery on Wufei's vest. "Do ... do you speak Mandarin?"

Wufei smiled, "Na dahng ren*"

//"I have been studying it for three years now,"// Heero said haltingly. He fiddled with his apron, suddenly unsure of his pronunciation and how Wufei might recieve him. He felt a wave of disgust. Why had he even revealed his interest? Why should Wufei care?

To his surprise, Wufei's eyes lit up and his smile broadened. //"You are quite good."//

"I ... thank you."

"Treize has been trying to learn, but quite frankly he's horrible, mostly because he does not put in anywhere near the effort he should." Wufei glared at Treize who laughed.

"I do try. It just doesn't seem to do me any good."

Wufei snorted. "Well Heero, I am very glad to have met you. Perhaps we could meet again some time? It would be nice to have someone to talk with."

"I ... well ... yes ...." Heero didn't quite know what to feel.

Wufei shifted his basket to his other arm. "Here, let me write my number and email so we can keep in touch. Treize, do you have a paper?"

Treize rummaged through his pockets and produced a crumpled receipt. "Will this do?"

"Yes, here you go, Heero."

"Thanks." Taking the pen clipped to his apron, Heero wrote his email address on the other side of an old label he had picked up on his way to the trash. He handed it to Wufei who began folding it into four, precise sections.

"Thank you, Heero. I'll probably send you something soon."

"But--"

"Something wrong, Milliardo?" Treize was wearing a rather puzzled smile. Heero was confused too.

Milliardo's eyes followed the label as it disappeared into Wufei's back pocket. He laughed and it sounded nervous. "Ah ... nothing."

Heero frowned. He would never begin to understand Milliardo. Not that it mattered, anyway. It wasn't as if Heero wanted to get to know him. "I still have three hours left on my shift. My boss will be angry if I do not get back to work."

Wufei shook his head. "Then why didn't you say so? We'll be on our way."

"Three hours?" Milliardo checked his watch, "Won't you be getting home rather late? How far do you live from here?"

Heero pursed his lips. "It is my job; I must work late. It takes me about an hour by bus to get home."

Milliardo looked from Treize to Wufei. "We're going to have dinner, but I doubt it'd take us past nine. I could give you a ride home."

"That won't be necessary." To be alone with him-- He just couldn't. Heero bit his lip, willing Milliardo to let the matter drop.

"It is nothing. Come now, don't tell me you prefer taking the bus? At the very least I'd save you a couple of bucks."

The words were like a fist to the stomach. Heero stiffened. He could argue anything but that. He bent to retrieve the pricing gun. "Well," he bowed his head, "I will meet you outside at 10:00."

Milliardo grinned. "Great."

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"I brought you some dinner. That is, if you're hungry."

"No thank you."

Milliardo down-shifted and the car sped forward. Heero found himself slouching on the slippery leather seats. He pulled himself upright and watched as they sped past an old delivery truck.

"You're sure? Why don't you take it home? Who knows, your appetite may return." Milliardo blinked at him from beneath long lashes.

Heero cast a wistful glance at the bag. He was hungry and it smelled good. Like steamed dumplings and chicken broth and ... was that sweet and sour cabbage? Not microwaved or instant or refried. Hot and fresh -- like a mother would make it. Real food. Good food . Probably better than he deserved. Heero forced the thick wad of saliva past his throat. His stomach gurgled and he sucked it in. It gave a tiny rumble of protest before surrendering and Heero prayed Milliardo had not heard it.

"So, I didn't know you worked at Huang's."

"You don't know me at all," Heero thought, but instead he said: "Yes, I do" and Milliardo laughed like he had said the funniest thing in the world.

"So I noticed."

Heero really did not understand him.

He only wanted to get home, but Milliardo kept asking him questions, like did he like their university and had he made any friends yet? Prodding, prodding, like he was searching for that rotting wound within Heero to press on. To have him in his power ... to hurt him .... Nevermind his bright eyes and smiling voice. Milliardo knew it was there. Heero had to be careful, or else he would find it. And where would that leave him? Heero could not afford another failure.

A jazzy-bluesy tune was wafting from the stereo and a whiskey-voiced singer moaned above the saxophone about needing to hold his baby so he could fill the place in his heart. It sounded really sad and Heero thought it was a good thing he didn't have a heart if it caused so much trouble.

Milliardo's hair was blowing in the breeze and the moon was shining on his profile just so. It highlighted his nose and the curves of his lips. He looked ... Heero didn't have a word for it, but it made him feel ... odd.

"What are you thinking?"

"What? Nothing."

"Are you always this quiet?"

A puff of air exploded past Heero's lips. He hunched his shoulders. "Are you always this nosy? "

"Touche. And no, I'm not always this nosy. You must inspire my curiosity, Heero." Milliardo's soft, throaty tone rumbled across Heero's nerves like thunder.

"Me?" Heero flushed. He fiddled with the apron folded in his lap.

"Yes, you."

"But--"

"But what? Is that so hard for you to believe?" Milliardo smiled. "Well, I think you're very interesting, Heero."

Why would anyone be interested in him? Or maybe what Milliardo meant was Heero was curious --odd. That he could believe. He looked at Milliardo in all his glorious virilty and compared him to himself. Heero nodded. Well, he was right.

Heero frowned. "Take the next turn."

Milliardo switched on the blinker with a sigh, "No problem."

Heero took him round the side of the house where the guttering was not so mangled and he was grateful for the way the shadows concealed the scabby paint on the verandah. Still, as they emerged from the porsche , it was obvious the convertible's sleek design and chrome finish were at odds with the looming bulk and crumbling wood of his home. Milliardo followed silently behind him, no doubt taking everything in. Heero quickened his pace, eager to get inside.

"Thank you for the ride." Heero stopped and turned around.

Milliardo's broad shoulders blocked Heero's view of the car as he stepped forward. "You're very welcome."

He could smell Milliardo's woodsy cologne and Heero didn't know why but his heart was suddenly beating very fast. His back was to the door and Milliardo was towering over him. His eyes were luminous; Heero would have almost said they sparkled except what he saw in them was nothing so tame. Quite the opposite: Milliardo looked ... well ... predatory and Heero thought "This is it. He will finally expose me for weakling for the that I am " but Milliardo just pressed the bag of food into Heero's palm. He was leaning so close his hair brushed against Heero's shoulders.

"Heero, would you mind terribly if I came to pick you up tomorrow?" His voice had a strange husky note to it that made Heero quiver.

Heero knew his answer already. It crystallized so quickly in his mind he didn't even have to think about it: Yes.

He looked at the silver glint of Milliardo's hair in the moonlight, the way his mouth was parted, the pulse throbbing at his throat ... and somehow Heero's lips said "No."

Heero didn't know how it happened; it was really quite strange. Then Milliardo did something even stranger: He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Heero's cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he'd been wanting to do it for a very long time. Milliardo murmured something but the blood was rushing too loudly in Heero's ears for him to hear it. He felt the warmth of Milliardo's breath and the movement of his lips against his skin. They were soft, moist and when they brushed Heero's earlobe he felt strangely weak and drifting. He had to clutch the food tighter or else it would have fallen.

Milliardo's fingers pressed into his shoulder and then were gone. "Good night, Heero."

"Good ... good night."

"Tomorrow then."

Heero couldn't speak. His cheek was burning and He closed the door behind him on trembling knees. As he walked through the house, he was scarcely aware of the movement of his limbs. In a trance, he put the food on the fridge, read Hilde's note about buying more diapers, turned off the lights and went up to check on J.

He was sleeping deeply, an occasional snore rattling from his chest. The lumps of his pillows gleamed like two fat marshmallows in the light coming from the window and Heero sat there at the side of his bed for a long time, watching the pillows and the way J's head sank into them, so that they seemed almost to envelop it. Heero touched the papery skin of that forehead and his hand trembled.

What was happening to him?

J's forehead furrowed under his palm and a sharp, incoherent sound burst from his lips.

Accusing him.

Heero snatched his hand away, afraid. He ran to his room and collapsed onto the bed without changing out of his clothes. Rolling himself in the covers he lay there, panting. J's voice reverberated in his head and Heero stared hard into the darkness around him, trying to forget. His eyelids drooped and he did not fight it. He was drifting to sleep and for once, that was good. Heero did not want to think about tomorrow.

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< i>
It was cold behind the dumpster and the air was ripe with the sickly-sweet stench of things in various stages of decay. A furry body rushed along Heero's thigh and he stifled a scream. He knew better than to cry out. Mama had told him to be very quiet.

There was another one with her today. He was big and scary with hairy arms and his bulging eyes were stitched through with red.

Heero didn't like any of them or the things they did to his Mama. Mama said it wasn't anything a little boy should worry about and didn't he like going to that place down the street and eating the meals with the toys inside? And didn't Heero know that his Mama loved him and would be with him always? Well, Heero really liked those meals and he loved his Mama even more so he tried to be brave. But he was always so, so scared....

He heard the clinking of the man's belt and saw his filthy hand reach under to lift his Mama's dress. He was squeezing her thigh so hard her soft, white flesh bulged through his fingers.

It was starting.

Heero scrunched his eyes shut and drew his legs close to his body. Arms wrapped tight about his knees he rocked back and forth as the man's grunts echoed around him. There was a steady thump, thump, thump with each clink of the belt and Heero knew it was his Mama's head knocking against the wall as the bad man hurt her. How he wished he was bigger and not only four years old. He would make the bad man stop hurting Mama. Heero wished they had a real house and not that smelly room they lived in so his Mama wouldn't have to do this because Heero was a bad boy and his tummy hurt even when he tried his hardest to not be hungry.

The grunting stopped.

Heero cracked an eye open and peered around the side of the dumpster. He saw his mother fixing her dress and the man pulling up his pants. They started arguing. Mama was asking for the money and the man ... the man was calling her names Heero did not understand but he knew they were bad.

Mama was crying now and Heero was more afraid than he had ever been. The fear gripped him and his breath came fast, shuddering in his chest. His heartbeat filled his ears and the sound reminded him of the flapping wings of the black birds in the park that always scared him.

The man was walking away and Mama was hanging onto his shirt. Suddenly the monster whirled. He hit Mama and she fell, sprawling right at Heero's feet. He started to get up then. He wanted to go to her. He had to help her before the terrible stranger hurt her even more.... But her large, blue eyes held Heero in place. She mouthed silently, pleading for him to stay put. Heero's hands squeezed into fists, tears streamed down his face. He wanted to help his Mama! He could not live without her!

The dark wings beat louder.

Her eyes were locked with his the whole time. Even when the monster yanked her up and cuffed her about the neck and shoulders, and at the very last when the gun seemed to appear out of nowhere and the monster jabbed it against the side of her head -- against the soft place where her hair curled away from her scalp. The place Heero liked to kiss as she held him in his arms so he could sleep.

There was a soft click.

Heero bolted awake.

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Notes:

* Na dahng ren : ( Mandarin) "Well, of course"