Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Beautiful Dawn -- Revised ❯ 7 ( Chapter 8 )

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

I make no claim to any of the Gundam Wing characters. This story is written for my, and hopefully others' enjoyment and not for monetary profit. Note: This chapter is not yet betaed and therefore subject to change. Please excuse any mistakes you find! They are my own. Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn Part Seven

"Here, have some tea." Milliardo offered Heero a mug and waited as the younger man downed the hot mixture. "Do you think you might talk about it, now?"

Heero, who seemed to have come back to himself and taken the full measure of his surroundings frowned but did not speak.

Milliardo settled himself on the couch so that Heero was forced to make room on the cushion next to him. He could see the rigidity of Heero's spine and the bruising grip he had on the mug; it was a wonder he did not burn himself.

"Heero."

Reaching over and unclenching Heero's fingers from around the hot ceramic, Milliardo set the mug on the coffee table. He cupped Heero's palm, rubbing the soft webbing between thumb and forefinger before pulling the younger man close. Heero lay like a weight of lead against his chest, heavy and awkward. There was none of the natural molding of one body to the warmth of another, and Milliardo wondered how much of it was due to discomfort, and how much to the simple fact of Heero's inexperience. Heero kept his limbs close to his body as if somehow afraid that a single movement might shatter them. At the same time, he seemed not to know where to place his hands or how to rest his neck; his head was tilted, the weight of it pressed sharply against Milliardo's collarbones.

Milliardo caressed Heero's back in soothing circles. When the stiffness of Heero's body thawed a little, he repositioned them so that they fit more naturally together. He could sense Heero's surprise at the difference the change had wrought and was touched.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk? I'm not saying I have any answers, but I've found that it often helps to not have one's troubles bottled up within. I can sense something is not quite right here, Heero, and I think it might be taking its toll. How can I help you? I would like to think we're at least friends," Milliardo met Heero's solemn gaze; his smile was hopeful, "aren't we?"

Heero's frown intensified as he stared up at Milliardo. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Milliardo murmured, brushing back Heero's damp hair; his thumb traced the soft bloom of the younger man's mouth, "that I'm concerned about you and I want to help you. Won't you give me the chance?"

Heero's brows were lowered ominously and his teeth pressed against his bottom lip until blood welled beneath the surface. Milliardo smoothed it out with a shake of his head.

"No more abuse, remember? Why do you treat yourself so roughly? Countering every caress with a blow does not somehow make you invincible. What makes you despise gentleness?" Milliardo studied Heero. "Perhaps you simply have not had enough of it?"

Heero seemed truly puzzled by Milliardo's mutterings and it was the evidence of that confusion, which, finally convinced Milliardo to abandon his tack as useless. Open hostility would have at least pointed to willful denial on Heero's part and consequently, some knowledge of the joys he kept from himself. That Heero was baffled by his talk of gentleness only emphasized the extent of his neglect. More troubling to Milliardo, he found himself confronted once again with Heero's nebulous past and the conditions of a life so oppressive that they would deny Heero something as simple as human touch. Milliardo sighed.

"Heero, would you share a little about yourself with me? If there's anything you're curious about, as well, please don't be shy." Heero turned to look at him.

"What do you want from me?"

Milliardo shook his head. "Must I have an ulterior motive? Isn't it enough to want to be with you?"

Heero did not seem to think so. His gaze was distinctly wary as it lighted over Milliardo's features. Still, he did not pull away.

"I see no logical benefit to be derived from *"being with me"*, and so, I cannot accept your proposition. I do not understand you," he reiterated. "I think you require something of me but will not disclose it."

Amazement was too mild a word to describe Milliardo's feelings. "What could I possibly be hiding from you? I want you to be able to trust in me, Heero. If you've never been able to count on anyone before, you can count on me. I won't betray you."

When Heero's frown did not lessen, Milliardo made a dismissive gesture. He smiled.

"Well, never mind that. Let's not worry about what we won't have to, eh? Forgive me for asking but ... it seemed pretty quiet when I stopped by your place this morning. Do you live alone?"

The real question of course, loomed unspoken between them. Milliardo was in fact, curious about the nurse who showed him into Heero's living room. He did not, however, want to seem too presumptuous, so he settled on asking Heero about family instead. Though, when Milliardo was honest with himself, he knew the two questions were one and the same since the answer to the first inevitably led to the one left unsaid.

Heero's mouth tightened subtly, the look he spared Milliardo warning him he was aware of the territory Milliardo was delving into and he did not appreciate it in the least.

Still....

Call him persistent, call him a fool, but Milliardo couldn't give up. If he didn't coax, if he did not prod *just a little*, would Heero ever open up to him? Of course, part of him was quick to point out that Heero should *want* to offer these details on his own, but Milliardo found himself noticeably deaf to this. Deaf, but not quite immune. If Heero's reluctance underscored anything, it was that he did not trust Milliardo, and that for all Milliardo's good intentions, he had done nothing to *earn* that trust. He was more likely to aggravate Heero than woo him, and when (most wondrous of all) he was entrusted with Heero's body -- with Heero's living heat right beneath his fingers -- Milliardo had only succeeded in frightening the younger man.

Then what was he good for besides bumbling about? Shouldn't he just cut his losses? He should, Milliardo reasoned. Except what if ... what if he was right and Heero's shyness was really low self esteem, his curtness, grief. If he did not speak about himself much maybe it was because no one had ever appreciated what he had to say. Maybe Heero didn't know he was worth listening to. What if that were the case? Would Milliardo be so wrong in trying to tease these little tidbits out of him?

He wanted Heero to know he found pleasure in the sound of his voice. For him, Heero needed no *logical justification* for his existence. That he was here at all, most especially, that he was here by Milliardo's side was cause enough for happiness. How could he show Heero these things *and more* if they did not start with simple conversation?

Heero's walls were so high and it was *vexing, vexing vexing*, not the least because Milliardo had no context to refer it to. The crucial *why* of it was missing. Heero had a penchant for self-punishment; well, he wanted to know what had caused it. If Heero did not know human warmth, then who had denied it to him? Some face, some name to explain Heero's rebuffs would make Milliardo's failures a little easier to bear. He was convinced the clue to Heero's problems lay in that nurse and whoever she was responsible for. If only he could find out a little *more*. He wondered if.... Milliardo's stomach lurched as another possibility suddenly occurred to him.

Unless *Heero* was sick?

Heero might be a little solemn but he had never seemed anything but the picture of health. Even now his cheeks glowed with ruddy color, reminding Milliardo of their first meeting. He remembered especially the way the Heero's hair shone in the afternoon light and the clamor that arose in himself at the discovery of the younger man's innocence. But who could tell in these things? At the time, he'd had no inkling of what a troubled soul Heero was, though the signs were clearly there. What if Heero had been sick all this time and Milliardo never realized? He spun, grabbing Heero's shoulders.

"Heero, is it you? Gods, tell me you're all right."

"I don't--"

"That nurse, is she taking care of *you*?" Milliardo demanded, his eyes darting over Heero's features, searching for any symptoms of malaise. "Are you suffering?"

Heero turned to Milliardo with a grimace. "No. She is attending to my father."

"Your father?"

"Yes. Last year he suffered a stroke; as a result, he has lost mobility on the right side of his body and can no longer speak."

Milliardo bowed his head, feeling like a cad for his insistence. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

"But you have help?" Milliardo raised his eyes. "Apart from the nurse, do your relatives stop by often?"

"There are no relatives," Heero replied woodenly.

Milliardo was puzzled. "But--"

"J is my responsibility. I will not abandon him to any one else."

"Heero, that is all quite valiant, but it seems I'm missing something here." Milliardo rubbed at his forehead. "Forgive me for being so dense, but perhaps you can clear things up for me. You're a college student, working part-time and making at best little more than minimum wage." He met Heero's eyes, seeking confirmation. "Am I right?"

Heero nodded.

"Then tell me, how on earth is it possible for you to manage your studies while single-handedly taking care of a convalescent, not to mention affording the health care he requires? I'm assuming you are also responsible for everyday household expenses? My god," Milliardo blurted as something else dawned on him. "Don't tell me you've also got to come up with rent?"

"Yes." Heero leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He stared at the abandoned mug on the coffee table. "What I mean is, I am responsible for most of the things you mentioned but not all of them. The house we live in is old. I inherited it from J who inherited it from his father. Whatever mortgage payments there might have been were paid long ago. I see only to utilities. Well ... that and the property tax."

Milliardo thought of Relena. Young people of her and Heero's age who were just starting out, most with none of burdens Heero was juggling and certainly with far more help than he, still found themselves living on noodles and powdered drinks. Milliardo was particularly proud of how well his sister was managing things but even then he was never surprised to check his email and find the occasional cry for help. And as big brother, Milliardo dutifully sent whatever Relena needed. By now, he and the agent at the local supermarket's money transfer counter were so used to seeing each other, they had become friends.

Heero had no such safety net. No wonder he was so tense! Any sane person coping with *half* of Heero's responsibilities was bound to become unstable. It tore at Milliardo's conscience even as it gave him hope. Thus far, he had been unsuccessful in satisfying Heero's emotional needs, but there were other, more concrete things Milliardo was more than happy to provide if Heero would allow him. Things like groceries, maybe even more intimate items like clothes. These were delicate matters but he wondered when was the last time Heero could afford to buy anything substantial from even the supermarket where he worked. There was something terribly heartbreaking in the irony of it all. Milliardo frowned remembering something Heero had told him when they first met.

"Is that why you took a year off from school to work? You needed the money to pay for those expenses and your father's ... did you call him 'J''?"

"That is correct. I call him J because he is not my biological father. Still, he left me a sizeable inheritance, which I came into when I reached my majority. I have depended on it to cover most of the bills."

Heero was adopted? Milliardo stared at the younger man's bent head. Well, that added an entirely new layer to the situation. Heero's past was like some great, Gordian knot: the more Milliardo unraveled, the more tangles he was confronted with.

"J owned a computer retail business until it fell upon hard times after an investment in microchip technologies turned sour. I was too young to help." Heero's fists were clenched. "We lost the business. Things became more difficult for us, afterwards."

"And what of the rest of your adopted family: aunts, uncles -- your mom? Was no one there to help?"

Heero's face spasmed. "My mother is dead. I do not wish to speak of this any more, Milliardo."

Milliardo blanched. "Heero--"

"No."

Denial, simple and categorical. Milliardo knew when to back off. Their conversation here was finished. Heero was standing and the look of wildness was creeping back into his features. He was expecting an attack, but Milliardo would not give it to him. Before Heero could do anything destructive, Milliardo stepped forward and tentatively folded him in his arms. He risked a kiss to Heero's temple.

"Thank you for sharing as much as you did with me, Heero." Milliardo stared down into Heero's confused gaze.

"It means more than I can say."

_______________________________________

Well, at least he is sleeping, now.

Milliardo saw Heero's dark head against the pillow and was overcome by a wave of tenderness. Grappling with these issues seemed physically exhausting to Heero, he was so out of his element. Milliardo had stepped into the kitchen to begin preparing dinner and returned to find Heero curled up on the couch.

He had carried him to the bed where he could rest more peacefully.

A plan was slowly forming in his head that he was not sure he had any right to initiate, but he hoped the gods would not judge him too harshly for his interference. After all, it was done out of-- No, he would not name the feeling burning in his chest. Best not to dwell on that. Heero was here with him and it was enough. It felt good having another person in the house again.

Now that Milliardo was sure of Heero's poverty, however, how could he not be moved? Perhaps poverty was too strong a word but Milliardo was aware of his own careless lifestyle and how vastly it differed from Heero's experience. Careless, not because Milliardo was irresponsible but because he was he was heir to a great deal of wealth that he frequently took for granted. He had been oblivious to it, but Milliardo now realized how much of Heero's discomfort might stem from the disparity between their fortunes.

What should he do? After the trials of his youth, Milliardo supposed he had come to live a rather insulated life, cushioned from the jabs of fate. Following their parents' death, he and Relena had known a wracking period of uncertainty that was quickly swept away when they were adopted by his aunt and uncle. He wondered what would have become of them if they were not children of wealth. For him and Relena, the question had never been if, or even how they would be taken care of, but who could be trusted to not have their eyes on the bigger prize.

Heero's story was tragic enough on the surface, but Milliardo suspected none of it compared to the darker undercurrents he sensed beneath Heero's straightforward words. Certain things simply did not add up: What had happened to Heero's parents, for example and why had he been adopted by this 'J'? Further, wasn't it odd that this man should have no family a young boy could depend on in times of need? And how *does* a man of comparative wealth remain so isolated that his care is left in the hands of an eighteen year old boy? Milliardo frowned. What kind of man is victim to such a fate? Most importantly, what must it have meant for Heero's childhood?

Milliardo's instincts told him the answers were not good. Everything he had seen of Heero suggested confusion and scars deeply hidden.

So here they were. Heero was in pain and Milliardo could not simply stand by and watch. Was he being too arrogant in his assumptions? He very well might. It was distinctly possible he was overstepping boundaries he had no business crossing. Did he think it was worth the risk? Milliardo left the bedroom to retrieve his cell phone.

Hell, yes.
__________________________________________

"Heero!"

Wufei was waving to him from across the cafeteria. Heero watched as, lifting his tray to avoid the crush of the lunch-time crowd, Wufei weaved through the maze of bodies and came over to his table. He was accompanied by a slim young man who looked about their age, though it was hard to tell due to his height and the seriousness of his expression.

"Hi." Wufei slid into the seat next to Heero; his friend moved to the other side of the table. "Have you met Trowa?"

Heero shook his head.

"Hey there," Trowa extended his palm. "Wufei tells me you and Milliardo are friends."

Heero sprinkled soy sauce over his chicken. *Was that what they were?* Milliardo had used that word as well. The thing between them seemed far more dangerous to Heero but he refrained from saying so. Perhaps it was best to let others define it for him. Everything seemed so much simpler that way.

"We met a few weeks ago."

"Did you?" Trowa smiled as he began to unwrap a sandwich. "He's a nice guy isn't he? Quatre and I met him last semester, but I believe he and Wufei have been friends for a bit longer than that." He nodded to Wufei, "Is that right, Chang?"

"Yes," Wufei dabbed his mouth with a napkin. "Treize introduced us." He paused, seeming to ponder for a moment.

"Wufei?"

"Pardon?" Wufei looked up at Trowa's prodding.

"You just looked like you were about to say something." It seemed that way to Heero as well, though he didn't know why he should notice it.

Wufei gave a soft laugh. "Oh no, this day has just been somewhat hectic for me; I have a lot on my mind," he trailed off, staring at his plate.

"Ah." Trowa crumpled the paper from his sandwich. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I can't stay too long. I've got two hours of theater right after this and I need to run some errands first. It was nice meeting you, though, Heero. I was telling Wufei that Quatre and I are having movie night tomorrow to kick off the weekend. Why don't you come along? I'll mention it to Milliardo as well. It will be fun."

Wufei nodded as Heero temporized. "You should come. Treize and I will be there and Quatre is a good friend; I believe you will like him."

"I second that, though I am somewhat biased." Trowa laughed quietly.

"Somewhat?" Wufei snorted.

Heero looked between the two men, sensing something unspoken between them. He saw Trowa's features soften at Wufei's joke and he realized that Trowa and this Quatre, like Wufei and Treize, must be lovers. That automatically divided them into three couples for the evening: the other four ... and himself and Milliardo. Heero frowned.

Movie night: The very idea was foreign; as foreign to Heero as this sudden group of new friends. Since their first meeting, he and Wufei had spent a considerable amount of time together, mostly for studies, but for other things as well. They often met for lunch and just last week Wufei had invited Heero to accompany him to the local Chinese autumn festival. It was strange to Heero who had always had difficulty making friends, but he and Wufei got along quite well. He even found that he was grateful for the other man's friendship. It was pleasant having a like-minded person to talk to and Trowa did not seem very different. He was quiet and unintrusive, enough to approve him in Heero's books. If both Trowa and Wufei were at this 'movie night' then Heero supposed it was okay for him to attend. There was always Milliardo to consider but even with the older man's confounding presence, Heero did not think he would have any trouble maintaining his control in the midst of such a large group.

"We should expect you, then?" Trowa asked.

"Yes." Heero nodded.

"Great, then I'll see you both tomorrow." Trowa gathered up his books, disappearing amidst the crowd with a backward wave. Wufei turned to Heero.

"I thought we'd review the conjugations you emailed me, today. Do you have afternoon classes?"

Heero shook his head.

"Neither do I. Why don't we head out?" Wufei offered. "You can have dinner with me and Treize."

"I do not wish to impose...."

"Nonsense, Yuy." They left the cafeteria and Wufei led them to where his car, a red two-door German model, was parked. "It's no trouble at all. Besides, didn't you work this morning? Surely there is nothing pressing keeping you. You have no excuse not to join us. It's open," Wufei called as he flipped his seat over to deposit his books and school bag on the backseat. "Do you want to put your things here?"

Heero shook his head. "I'll hold onto them."

Wufei started up. "It is fortunate that I did not take my motorcycle today." He gave Heero a small smile. "This is much more convenient for us, isn't it?"

Heero agreed as Wufei navigated through the mid-afternoon traffic. They stopped at the local drugstore to pick up some allergy medicine and Heero accompanied Wufei, following him through the aisles and making light conversation as they waited at the register. It never ceased to surprise Heero how easily their interaction came. "Have I changed," he wondered, "Or does the answer lie with Wufei?" It must, for surely he had not become more sociable. "I am the same as I have always been," Heero murmured to himself. The same as I have always.... His step faltered.

But was it wrong to change?

The skies rumbled and a sudden wind whipped through the trees. Wufei pointed to the mottled clouds on the horizon.

"It looks like it might storm this evening. We better get going. Only a fool would be stuck in this weather without a roof over his head."

__________________________________

Treize greeted Wufei at the door with a kiss, enfolding the younger man in his arms. "Welcome home, my love. Hello there, Heero. Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?"

Heero nodded as he followed the two men inside. Treize was smiling. He sent a questioning look over to Wufei who nodded.

"Well I'm very glad you decided to join us, Heero, since you're the first person we get to tell our good news."

"Good news?" Heero repeated, toeing off his shoes near the entryway.

Wufei colored. "Ah, yes, I was planning on telling you over dinner, but I suppose there is no harm in spilling the beans, as they say, right now."

Heero looked from one man to the other. "Oh?"

Wufei cleared his throat; he moved closer to Treize. "Treize and I are engaged," he said softly.

Engaged? Heero stared, noticing for the first time the slim band encircling Wufei's finger. It puzzled him. He did not understand the need to join two lives so intimately and had expected Wufei of all people to insist upon relying on his own strength. What could Treize offer that Wufei could not provide for himself?How did such a thing come to be? What did that band, so thin and fragile, promise that Wufei would risk so much?

Treize's arm was curled about Wufei's waist and Heero could see the subtle way their bodies leaned into each other. Wufei did not fight it; instead his own fingers tightened as Treize laced their hands together.

It came upon Heero then.

Touch.

The same touch Milliardo had used to overcome him. Logically, Heero knew it; it was as unavoidable as this home Treize and Wufei shared together, yet he only truly grasped in that moment that Wufei and Treize shared a bed. For that could be the only source of all this love-weakness: Surrender and yielding to damnable touch. J had warned Heero against it. How strange these two men did not know its perils.

Heero saw Wufei's expression, tight around the mouth as though he was anxious Heero might not give his blessing. It must mean a lot to him, Heero realized with wonder. He could not understand it, but if it was important to Wufei then it was his duty to support him.

Heero reached out and pressed his fingers hesitantly against Wufei's shoulder.

"Congratulations, my friend."
______________

Treize frowned as he returned the receiver to its cradle.

"Something wrong?" Wufei asked. He and Heero were retrieving the utensils from the cabinet.

"No, I was just trying to get hold of Milliardo again. It seems he's out. Heero, have you seen him lately?"

"No," Heero shook his head, "not since a few days ago."

Treize's expression was thoughtful. "Hmm ... I see. Oh well, I suppose it's not important; I'm sure I'll have a chance to tell him tomorrow. Dinner's getting cold." Treize smiled as he gestured toward the dining room.

"Shall we?"