Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Fever ❯ Chapter 1

Fever

Pairings : 1x5, (4+2)
Rating : PG-13
Warnings : Yaoi, mild angst/lime/humour/romance
Disclaimer : Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu, Sunrise and associated affiliates, not me.
Summary : Heero and Wufei are feuding. Right-as-always Heero isn't relenting...until Wufei falls miserably sick.

A/N : I wanted an unrepentantly 1x5 fic, so...here it is. ^_^' I make no apologies though! Feedback most appreciated!

"And so I was saying - " Duo paused in mid-chatter, head whipping around. "Hey, Fei, you're back! I'm gonna be crashing over at, so - "

The Chinese man, looking the worse for wear in his crumpled uniform and strands of his dark hair falling about his neck where they had escaped from his usual immaculate ponytail, didn't even look up.

Duo and Quatre stared at each other in complete mystification. Chang Wufei was many things, but he wasn't as stoic as most thought he was. For the better part, he would *always* respond when points of conversation or question or even a *look* were directed at him. The fact that he responded mostly in retaliation, notwithstanding.

"Wufei - " Quatre tried, and could only wince when the Chinese man disappeared into his room slammed the door so hard the house practically shook.

"What the hell was - " Duo was cut off for the second time when the front door flew open to emit Heero Yuy. "That." The word dropped from Duo's mouth even as he readied himself for another Maxwell-patented welcome-home greeting. "Hey, Heero, Quatre said I could crash over so - "

Heero's reaction was only a whisker warmer than Wufei's sunny response. The Japanese man nodded tersely as he stalked into the room. He didn't look any better than Wufei however, with his face so grim it seemed cast in stone and his eyes like cobalt *ice* behind his bangs. He paused at the intersection, jaw grinding silently; one hallway led to the study, and the other to where Wufei's recently abused bedroom door.

By now thoroughly pissed at being silenced so unceremoniously, Duo was ready to rip into Heero, when he saw Quatre's signal. The Arabian man was shaking his head, one finger to his lips. Subsiding grudgingly, Duo dropped back onto his folded arms. "Hi Heero, it's great to see you too," he muttered.

Not seeming to have heard, Heero lingered for a moment as if he simply could not make up his mind which hallway to take. Then, his lips tightened further and he did a crisp about-turn, striding in the direction of his own room.

When peace reigned once again, Quatre breathed a sigh of relief. "That wasn't so bad, was it, Duo?"

"You're shittin' me, right?" Duo rejoined sourly. He lived apart from them, and this was the first time he was actually staying over. "I'm surprised you hadn't killed someone, Q." See there was a good reason why Duo didn't volunteer to live under the same roof as *both* Heero Yuy and Chang Wufei. The numerous horror stories of daily battles and raging verbal wars were just the tip of the iceberg.

Quatre just smiled his Quatre smile, all twinkling cornflower-blue eyes and sweet cheer. "They're not so bad." His head tilted thoughtfully. "In fact, they're actually big softies."

There was a moment's silence, before Duo literally exploded off his seat. "Whu-what?! I sure as hell don't believe THAT!"

Quatre just sighed as he watched Duo's over-reaction. "Well, they are. In recent times, anyway."

"How so?" Animated violet eyes glinted challengingly.

"Well, for starters, the fact that they're on their way to becoming a great pair - " Quatre caught himself abruptly, but without missing a beat, took up his unfinished line again. "Partners."

One of Duo's chestnut brows was still raised, uncertainty and suspicion doing battle in his gaze. He was sharper than his brash exterior gave him credit for. He might, or might not have detected Quatre's almost-slip. "Partners, huh."

"Well."

Shivering, Wufei picked at the bandages on his forearm. The gash had been nothing, just a cut and in no way comparable to the kinds of injuries he had racked up when he was still a boy terrorist in the wars. Certainly this little gash didn't warrant the kind of attention it had received from the hands that had treated it. So careful, almost delicate in their task.

Wufei's heart swelled a little at that memory, but just as soon, he recalled the absolute *shelling* he had gotten afterward. Heero had been *furious*. After dragging Wufei into the car where they would be alone and away from curious eyes, Heero had all but lighted into him.

From the fact *only* Heero was supposed to be involved in the mission, to the utterly astonishing event of Wufei showing up unexpectedly and getting himself cut while trying to shield an upraised blade that would have caught Heero instead, Heero didn't missed a *single* detail as he gave Wufei the dressing down of his life.

Wufei had taken it all unwaveringly and silently, knowing that he had breached protocol, while his insides churned with the indignation of it all. He certainly didn't expect Heero to be grateful, but a little more restraint with the tongue-lashing would be appreciated. Besides, it wasn't as if Wufei had too much of a choice! If only Heero Yuy was just a *tad* more concerned about his own life when he was on missions, or a *tad* more aware that of the concern from the people around him, then -

He froze, hand dropping by his side. Chang Wufei, you utter fool. You're getting emotional over *him*. In a fit of confused anger, Wufei slammed on the dial and let the freezing cold water cascade over his body. God, it was cold, the water running like a thrum of icy needles all over his skin. He lifted his arm and stared at the bandage again. His injury, Heero's livid reprimanding, none of this was probably going to stop him from future similarly-acquired wounds. An almost-sheepish smirk tugged on his lips. He was getting so stubborn that he was starting to realise it himself.

Wufei turned up the volume of the water, letting the coldness seep right into his bones and numb his brain from thinking.

"...Wufei?"

His wet dark head rose as Wufei tried to decipher the soft knock on his bathroom door. "Who's there?"

"It's me, Quatre. Sorry for letting myself into your room like this. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Wufei called out. "I'm just showering."

"Duo and I made chicken casserole. There's quite a bit left, if you want."

"Fine." Wufei said and instantly regretted his curtness. He could sense Quatre's presence still hovering outside. "Quatre, I'm..." He re-composed himself. "I apologise for earlier."

"Apology accepted!" Duo's voice suddenly rang out merrily.

Wufei was stunned for a moment, then he recovered with a growl. "Maxwell! You devious - "

"Aw, chill." Duo laughed unrepentantly. "We're gonna try this on Heero in a moment, so don't go telling him about it - hey, you kicked me!"

The noises of Quatre hauling a protesting Duo out of the room were rather satisfying. Quatre...knew. Understood. And thankfully, was an expert in handling people in general. Duo's unwitting Heero-related comment had re-opened the soreness that Wufei had barely stemmed earlier. He stayed in the shower longer than usual, before finally stirring himself to step out of it.

As he reached for his towel and robe, Wufei noted absently his shaking hands. His skin seemed almost bluish. Wufei pulled the robe around himself, shivering as he did. He'd probably stayed too long in the shower - as usual. His hair plastered to his head in dripping wet locks and he scrubbed at them half-heartedly with the towel. Now that he was clean and refreshed, he was suddenly very sleepy.

Was Quatre saying something about chicken earlier?

Wufei couldn't really put his mind to it as he trudged to his bed and collapsed into it. He hadn't realised just how stressed he was until now when he could actually rest. Every aching kink and joint in his body sank gratefully into the soft mattress. He really was so tired, and he was still angry with everything, mostly himself.

With that last thought, his eyes slipped closed and he sank into slumber.

"Why am I getting the feeling like I'm missing something?" Duo railed as he caught himself from stumbling. Thank God for fast reflexes. Duo didn't relish the thought of falling flat on his face. "Hold it right there, Quatre."

The Arabian man halted in his tracks, and Duo could already imagine him rolling his eyes. When Quatre turned, there was an expression of long-suffering patience in his gentle blue gaze.

"Is something wrong with Wufei? Earlier? And Heero too?"

Quatre shrugged carefully.

"Ok, so what's really going on?"

This time Quatre didn't even bother to react, except for the strange flicker across his face.

Duo straightened, crossing his arms. With his violet eyes now narrowed in unusual seriousness and the obstinacy creeping into his stance, he was not going to let things slide, Quatre could tell that much. Duo never let it on intentionally, but he was always serious when it came to his friends, even if they were the very prickly and barbed Chang Wufei and Heero Yuy.

"You really want to find out?" Quatre smiled suddenly, beginning to move again. This time, in the direction of Heero's room. "Then watch and learn." His smile curled, and the normally angelic composition of Quatre's face took on an almost-devilish slant.

Duo could feel his jaw dropping, and possibly hitting the floor, but his legs were already moving out of their own accord, rushing to follow Quatre.

By the time they had reached Heero's room, the serenity was back on Quatre's face and voice. "Heero?" He knocked gently on the door.

The silenced stretched for more than ten seconds and Duo was beginning to be convinced that Heero was going to do his silent-treatment routine for the rest of the night. Then, amazingly, the familiar toneless quiet of Heero's voice floated through the door.

"Yes?"

"If you're hungry, Heero," Quatre said in that motherly fashion that only he could take on and get away with. "We made chicken casserole."

Yeah, the hell? There was no difference between the way Quatre had approached Wufei, and now Heero. Duo cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.

Then... "Heero, I saw Wufei with that bandage on his arm, but he wasn't very careful with it. You know how he is. He was holed up in the shower as usual, trying to drown himself apparently." Quatre looked perfectly at home with chatting to a door. "But anyway, I digress. Remember to eat if you're hungry."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Quatre ended brightly stepping away and pulling Duo along with him.

To Duo's credit, he only began his raving when they were safely out of earshot. "How is that supposed to resolve anything? I don't get it!"

"It'd work." Quatre's smile had just the slightest trace of smugness in it. "It always works."

Duo fell silent. "I'm missing a lot, aren't I?" He finally managed at length.

The whole room *spun*. The faint light from the window merging with the shadows in the room and whirling like a strange whirlpool of shades and colours all around him. They made his brain ache as he struggled to orient himself.

Casting a hand about, Wufei barely managed to get a solid grip on the dresser next to him. He lifted himself onto one elbow, and immediately felt his stomach roll. Why... Grimacing, Wufei squeezed his eyes shut and sank his head into his free hand. His skin burned. Now truly awoken to his own condition, Wufei laid his own hand against his forehead. If he had the energy to howl, he probably would. He had just dragged himself home from a mission only to earn himself a fever!

As if in abject agreement, goosebumps rose on his skin as the chilly draughts finally registered on his fogged senses. The unlatched windows had edged open to allow the cold spring winds to gust his room. There is no end to my stupidity, Wufei thought reproachfully as he levered himself out of bed. His knees almost gave way and he slumped heavily onto the dresser. A tired glance at the clock informed him that it was nearly one in the morning.

The winds were unrelenting even as he tugged the windows closed. He was starting to shiver, uncontrollably, the robe he had fallen asleep in offering little protection. He should change out of it, into something much warmer. But first...Wufei swallowed thickly, and instantly wished he hadn't. His throat felt like someone was shoving a poker into it, and then twisting. Water...He would have to trek all the way to the kitchen.

Gathering the weary fragments of his mind *and* limbs back together, Wufei managed to make himself move, putting one foot carefully in front of the other.

The dim lights were enough to let Wufei navigate towards the kitchen. Some part of him was thankful he had lived long enough under this roof to do this blind, if he have to. Leaning embarrassingly heavily against the walls as he picked his way, Wufei found the kitchen and threw on the lights.

The blinding flash made him wince, but the figure that his eyes settled on made him want to turn and stomp back into his room. "Heero," he grated out.

The Japanese man half-turned from where he was standing, silently and practically ghost-like against the counter. He was cradling a mug in one hand and seemed in the process of finishing up his drink just when Wufei had interrupted him. Wufei found himself noting rather bitterly, the mussed state of Heero's hair and his sleep-hazy eyes. At least *one* of them was sleeping well.

"Wufei." Those cobalt eyes sharpened as Heero finally seemed to register his presence. "What - " He cut himself off, brows drawing together in a growing frown. "Your bandage."

Bandage? Wufei stared down at his own arm. He hadn't noticed that the bandage had slipped off. Not that he was caring much about it right now. He needed the water, and there was a nasty ache tripping up and down his spine. Ignoring Heero's comment, he moved towards the pitcher.

Heero stood his ground squarely as Wufei rounded him, and from the way his shoulders were stiffening, he was probably still stuck on the mission that day.

Grasping the pitcher with both hands, Wufei had to stay still for a moment, just trying to get his shaking hands under control. The sickness was worse than he had self-diagnosed. He had little problem with pain and injury and even trauma, as did all of them who had survived the wars, but falling sick like this, when the lethargy and aches seemed to take root in his every nerve...He quickly poured the pitcher, peeved when water still sloshed out from the sides, then lifted the glass to his lips. The water was momentary balm to his burning throat.

"You should be resting." Heero remarked, in that insistent, painfully pointed way of his.

Right. He had almost forgotten Heero was also in the kitchen. "What about you?" Wufei retaliated, annoyed when his voice came out like a hoarse croak.

"I did." Heero continued blithely. "Even though I was not the one who got myself unnecessarily wounded."

Again, that issue! Wufei set down the glass viciously hard. Anger lent him brief strength. "We have had that discussion already, Heero."

"We had." Heero's voice was much closer; he must have moved nearer, but Wufei hadn't heard him. "You did not offer any valid explanation for your actions."

Nausea rose thick in Wufei's chest as his body protested. Now he remembered he had barely eaten the entire day, on top of the lack of sleep and his own foolishness in catching a cold...Behind him, Heero was still speaking, quietly and brusquely. Wufei closed his eyes, tasting bile in his mouth. Not now...

"...without my authorisation. I want to see your report - "

"Heero." Wufei wheeled around. Too quickly. He swallowed the surge of dizziness, tried to steady his breathing. "You want the report, I'd hand it you first thing in the morning."

Heero's face was stony, not the barest of emotions allowed to surface. He regarded Wufei for a moment, before pronouncing flatly, "As a veteran, you should not be allowing emotions to cloud your judgement. It's...unlike you."

A soft snicker escaped Wufei. To hell with his fever. Maybe his mind was already delirious, but Wufei was past caring. The coldness in Heero's tone had...stung in a way that angered Wufei. "Unlike me? Acting on emotion is my forte, Heero Yuy. Are you not aware of that by now?"

"Should I be?" Heero's voice rose above his usual monotony. He stepped forward, an involuntary movement. "Is there anything else I should be aware - of - Wufei?" Heero's voice trailed off uncertainly.

It was loud, the harsh sounds ringing in Wufei's ears, and he realised it was his own breathing. His vision swum; he tightened his fingers on the counter till the whites of his knuckles shone. He...needed to get back to his bedroom...before Heero saw...

"Wufei." Heero's voice was just above his ears, so close Wufei could feel the heat from his body. Was that worry Wufei was hearing in the man's words? He laughed, and the sound came out a wheezing gasp.

"I'm still alive." Wufei snapped hoarsely. He grabbed at the counter, using it as support as he pushed past the other man. If Heero was not done lecturing him, that'd have to wait, and too bad for it.

Heero refused to budge, that persistent bastard, planting himself more firmly as he finally touched Wufei for the first time since they got back. He caught Wufei's uninjured arm in an uncompromising grip. "You look sick."

The ache had spread from Wufei's back to his guts, making them churn. His throat was hurting again, eyes clouding as he tried to focus on Heero's face before him. All he saw was the grim line of Heero's mouth...he was still angry? Wufei wrenched his arm away. "Why do you...care..." Darkness was beginning to bleed into his vision. "Let go of..."

Wufei felt the floor disappear as his legs buckled.

Heero snapped forward and caught Wufei as he collapsed. The Chinese man sagged like a string-cut puppet into his chest, head lolling. Cobalt eyes widened, then narrowed just as sharply. Wufei was burning up.

The sounds of running footfalls tore his attention away. He looked up, in time to see both Quatre and Duo bursting into the kitchen.

"Heero?" Quatre began. "What happ - Wufei!" He dropped to his knees before them and raised a palm to Wufei's forehead. "Fever."

"Shit." Duo hovered behind Quatre, worry twisting his mouth. "Should we - "

"No..." The word was a whisper, but the protest in it was loud. Wufei coughed, then shook his head weakly.

Still holding Wufei, Heero was paralysed with uncharacteristic indecision. Wufei was actually still conscious, just barely, even if the grey cast of his skin was unsettling. One of his hands was wound tightly into the front of Heero's tank-top, as if resisting the very idea of being dragged to the infirmary. By rights, he should be packed up to a doctor and shackled into bed to force him to rest if necessary. But then, this was Chang Wufei.

"I'll take him back to his room." Heero said with finality, putting an end to any debate, and going against his own better judgement.

"You sure?" Duo shook his head. "He doesn't look too good." Beside him, Quatre's face was clearly disapproving.

Heero wasn't listening. "I know what to do." Sliding one arm around Wufei's waist and pulling Wufei's arm around his shoulders, Heero mostly-supported and hoisted the man to his feet. Wufei would probably rather die than be carried like a baby. So this would have to do. Slowly, with Wufei lurching into Heero at every step, they made their way back to the bedroom. The other two men followed behind, Duo chewing on his lip and Quatre ready to lend a hand.

When they reached the doorway, a hand stopped Heero. The Japanese man turned his head.

Quatre was speaking, in a low voice. "No more yelling at him. At least, until he's better. You *know* who he got injured for. You should be *aware* of that."

Heero's mouth twitched as he held Quatre's unflinching gaze. Quatre had overheard. Finally, Heero looked away and nodded gruffly. "I am."

The moment the door slid close behind them and they were alone, Heero focused on the near-comatose man in his arms. The first traces of worry cracked Heero's schooled expression. Without further preamble, he settled the man onto the bed. Wufei made a soft, wretched sound as he curled into a ball.

As he rummaged through Wufei's closet, Heero pulled out thick pyjamas bottoms, something else he recognised. It was the T-shirt that they, all four of them, had bought and practically forced on Wufei to celebrate his cracking his mission in record time. It was also oversized, cottony and had garishly-bright prints of multi-coloured balloons *all* over it. Wufei had given all of them the most murderous glare they had seen yet, but he kept the T-shirt anyway.

Heero returned to his sick colleague, and tried to lift him into a sitting position. Wufei resisted, incoherent murmuring spilling from his lips, that Heero made out to be, "Let me sleep" or something to that effect. Undeterred, he slid his arms under Wufei and hauled him up, letting Wufei's head rest against his shoulder.

"...don't need...your help..."

Heero raised an eyebrow at that ambitious claim. "Try stopping me." He offered, unceremoniously peeling the robe off Wufei's torso. Wufei's shivering intensified, and Heero hurried to yank the T-shirt over him.

"...bastard..."

Heero was unable to stop the smile from curling his lips. Even sick like this, Wufei could manage to curse at him. Good. He laid the man back down on the bed, and stood up to pull the robe off fully. The pyjamas bottoms took its place, as Heero finished re-dressing Wufei in what should be warmer than that ridiculously flimsy robe. Heero pulled the sheets over him, and realised suddenly this was the first time he had seen Wufei dressed in anything but mission gear or casual attire. The pyjamas made Wufei look so vulnerable, and very, very miserable.

Wufei still seemed terribly cold, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. This decision took a little longer to decide, but Heero acceded. Lifting the sheets, he slid under them, and very tentatively, laid a hand on Wufei. The Chinese man flinched from the contact, and Heero almost recoiled. If Wufei was still angry with him...Well, like Quatre said, that could wait until Wufei was better. Heero wrapped an arm around Wufei and pulled him back against himself. The combined body heat seemed to help as Wufei's trembling subsided.

Waiting until Wufei's shallow breathing grew regular, Heero shifted, tucking his head into both pillow and raven hair, before finally allowing himself to sleep.

Whether morning or night, he couldn't tell in the brief moments his eyes lifted. The blinds were drawn, muting all lights and casting the room into perpetual shade. He was glad for that, the way his eyes felt burned into his face when he blinked.

Time seemed to have slowed to odd starts and breaks, and reality disconnected from his mind as he slept and awoke in fits. He'd feel hands pulling him up, applying something wet and bitingly cold all over him. He'd try to protest but couldn't really move as he slumped against something solid and warm. Then the same hands coaxed his mouth open, feeding him whether liquid or something small and hard, and he swallowed reflexively. He didn't resist even, when he was allowed to sink back into sleep and he was cradled against the same solid and warm mass. It was warm and he felt less cold, and that was what mattered.

He wasn't sure for how long he was awake now. He stared at the ceiling, then slowly slid his gaze down the walls, around him...His mind seemed clearer than it had in days, lucidity creeping in as he recognised his own room and bed. Was it ever this warm before? He raised his head just a little, glad that the dizziness was minimal. The sheets were clinging around him and these he tugged away, but the chest he was lying on...

Blinking owlishly, Wufei stared at the hard, muscled and black-fabric-covered chest he had raised his head from.

"You're awake?" The body under Wufei shifted as Heero sat up slightly. He looked tired, the dark rings under his eyes standing out starkly.

"Heero..." Wufei breathed, the realisation that he had been practically curled into Heero starting to sink in. He blinked again when Heero brushed a hand over his forehead.

"Still hot." The Japanese man pronounced with a frown.

"It's the blankets..." Wufei muttered, beginning to squirm as he tried to roll over to a less...compromising position. Had Heero been taking care of him all this time? Didn't he need to work?

"Don't move." Heero solved the problem for him as he slid out under Wufei. Swinging his legs over the bed, he got up and stretched, one hand kneading at his other arm, grimacing as the blood rushed back into that arm.

Wufei looked away, face burning, possibly feeling even more feverish. Just how long had he been sleeping on Heero?

"I'd bring you something to eat. You need the nourishment." Heero said, watching him as he moved to the door. His deep-blue gaze was laced with unmistakable concern. "Don't move." He made that last warning, before leaving the room silently.

That was...Wufei's eyes slid closed as he laid his head back down. If Heero...had been the one with him all the time he was sick...then why? It was just one of those questions that had been steadily adding layers to the already thick tension between them. The alternating spats and inexplicable concern that had been taking up all their recent time certainly didn't help. He lifted his arm, studying the plaster over his cut. It was starting to itch already as it healed. It really *was* a mere scratch, like he had argued.

He was almost asleep when the door opened again and Heero came into the room. "Don't sleep yet." He chided as he set aside on the table the bowl of something he was cradling in his hands. "Can you sit up by yourself?"

"Of course." Not. But Wufei was too proud to ask for help as he tried to rise on unsteady arms.

Heero spared him a second of non-interference, before bending down and helping to lift the Chinese man into a sitting position. There was no objection as expected from Wufei. His face was strained and he took in deep, shaky breaths, chest heaving as he tried to choke down the nausea. He shook his head when Heero moved towards him again. "Just...dizzy. It's nothing."

"This might help." Heero carefully took up the bowl again, and held it up to Wufei. "You haven't eaten in a while, but I think your stomach can tolerate this."

Wufei found himself scrutinising the contents of the bowl. The pale liquid, with bits of stock and whatever else floating in it. It smelt good, the broth, and Wufei's stomach growled in agreement.

Heero raised an eyebrow, and Wufei's cheeks did a slow burn. "Hunger's good." Heero remarked as a matter-of-factly. "Here."

A scowl was already beginning to gather between dark brows as Wufei watched Heero lifting a spoonful of broth to his lips, blowing on it, and then offering him the cooled result. It was hard maintaining any semblance of dignity when Heero was only being concerned, but Wufei was *not* going to be fed like this.

Relenting and possibly understanding his struggle, Heero handed the spoon to him instead. "Try eating it yourself." The moment Wufei's still-shaking grasp closed on it, Heero re-clasped his hand around Wufei's to steady it. It was an illusion of self-sufficiency but it'd work.

The first mouthful disappeared as Wufei slowly swallowed. "It's good." He eyed Heero in surprise. "You made it?"

"Quatre." Still guiding Wufei's hand, Heero scooped up another spoonful and lifted it to Wufei. "I don't cook in general."

It was such a casual comment, and uttered with such un-Heero-like sheepishness that it drew a smirk from Wufei. "You mean you can't cook in general."

For a moment, Heero actually looked wounded at that conclusion, but at length, he managed a gruff admittance. "I won't deny that."

The laugh was right on the tip of his tongue, but then Wufei remembered suddenly the whole situation, and he looked away instead. The awkwardness crept back into the air. He settled for trying to down a few more swallows of the nourishing broth, while Heero over-concentrated on half-feeding him. Between them, Wufei actually managed to finish a third of the broth. The warmth of the fluid trailing down his insides felt good.

"Sleepy?"

Heero's voice sounded like it was floating. Trying to eat had taken more effort than anticipated. Wufei nodded muzzily, too tired to formulate a reply. He sank further down into the bed, glad to ease his yet-recovering body into the comforting mattress. As his eyelids began to droop, he vaguely felt fingers threading through his loose hair. That...felt nice.

Duo paused in the middle of channel-surfing, and Quatre looked up from his novel, just as Heero emerged from the hallway. "How is he?" They both chimed in immediately.

Heero was balancing the bowl on one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. He looked like a wreck and it was hardly surprising. After taking leave from work, he had almost the next twenty-four hours doing nothing but tending to a very sick Wufei. "He's much better. Still warm, but the fever's broke. And he ate a reasonable amount..."

The stunned look on Duo's face made Heero pause. "Heero..." The American began incredulously. "Do you actually smile like this usually?"

Like magic, the said smile on Heero's face disappeared. Turning on his heels, he headed straight for the kitchen.

"And what do you know," Duo grinned irrepressibly. "That man actually talks."

Quatre snorted. "That depends on *who* he's talking about."

Duo was still grinning, until Quatre's *look* stretched into seconds, and the suggestion in it grew obvious. The American faltered. "What - are you saying - you mean - oh! " His eyes grew impossibly round. "Ohh..."

Quatre had to fight from giggling.

The other two men were out for work, and Heero took the brief moment of peace to contact the headquarters. He leaned his head onto one hand, finally feeling the real strain of the lack of sleep and worry.

"Just...business." Heero spoke into the communicator. "I will be back by tomorrow morning."

The feminine voice on the other hand was sympathetic. "Wufei's really sick, huh?"

Heero froze, then levelled a black glare on the receiver. This was the nth time he was getting all these 'Wufei-right?' responses, never mind if Heero hadn't actually mentioned the Chinese man. He ended the call curtly. "I will take responsibility for all my unfinished assignments. And I *will* be back by tomorrow morning."

It was amazing how phone calls could actually make his head ache the way it was right now. Just as he was raising a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, Heero felt the extra presence behind him. He turned quickly. His mouth opened, then closed again.

"It seems I am constantly surprising you in the kitchen," Wufei commented shortly as he hovered at the doorway. He was still pale and he had one hand propped against the doorframe, but there was something else in his eyes. It looked like...

"How are you feeling?" Heero asked pointedly, trapped in the limbo of wanting to move forward to help, and kept at bay by the palpable hostility from Wufei.

"I feel fine." Wufei moved towards the tabletop. His gait was stiff, completely at odds with the fluid grace of his normal bearing, and he still had to use the counter as support, no matter how discreet about it he was trying to be. But as he said, he *did* look fine, compared to his condition just a night ago. "You should go back to your work. Don't let me keep you from your assignments."

The realisation hit Heero like a sledgehammer. It was bitterness that he was both seeing and hearing from Wufei. "You're not keeping me from my assignments." Heero rejoined benignly. Before he had thrown together a damage-control plan, it was best to keep himself out of firing range first. "You were listening just now?"

Wufei turned his face, but not before Heero caught the deep flush that had risen on his cheeks, and focused instead, on the dish of mixed vegetables on the table. "Quatre?"

"I made that."

Obsidian eyes widened in unconcealed surprise. "You did? But why - " Wufei stopped suddenly, looking away in confused frustration. "I don't need your pity."

Pity? That was the last thing he would ever feel about the fiery and spirited Chinese man. "It's not...pity." Heero fairly growled.

"Then it's guilt."

"It's not guilt."

"Charity."

"I don't practise charity."

"Then what is it! Why are you doing all this?"

It felt like déjà vu. Wufei with his white-knuckled death grip on the counter and Heero silent as he simply stared. Except right now, Wufei was much more lucid, even with the sheen of sweat across his temples. His gaze, no longer fever-bright, was sharp and accusatory.

"Why did you appear at my last mission?"

Wufei was speechless for a moment, before he shook his head in disbelief. "How many times - "

"Why." Heero said again, his voice lower.

Wufei shut his mouth with an audible clamp. He was suddenly looking much paler than moments earlier as he leaned sideways into the counter. And he looked stricken by Heero's question.

Visibly alarmed, Heero stalked forward and held Wufei by the shoulders until the man had gotten the dizziness under control. "You don't have to answer," he said quietly. Then he added something that made Wufei glance up sharply. "I'm sorry."

The Chinese man only shook his head in response, one hand coming to clutch at Heero. His fingers tightened convulsively, as if he just wasn't sure what to do with Heero now they were suddenly just in each other's space again. Then, so softly Heero almost didn't catch it, Wufei spoke. "I knew it was a high-risk mission." He closed his eyes wearily. "I also knew I wasn't going to let you die."

Unsure of just what to say to that, Heero concentrated on contours of Wufei's face. The several days of sickness had lent lines of strain and fatigue around the eyes and mouth, and the copper skin looked white-washed. Even then, the sickness could not mask the fineness of Wufei's features. A closer look only highlighted the thickness of his lashes and the chiselled curves of his lips. These were all things that he had very carefully noted and filed away deep in the back of his mind. Now the details jumped out at him.

Heero's mouth went very dry.

Wufei chose that inopportune moment to hitch closer. "Would this be counted as letting emotions cloud one's judgement? " He gestured at the table. Or rather, at the lonely dish of vegetables that was the culmination point of Heero's throwing aside his work and his tireless efforts at tending to a sick colleague for the past three days.

Heero cringed inwardly at having his own words thrown back at him, but in a way, he probably did deserve it.

"I'm asking you again. Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want to."

"Not good enough."

Wufei was very warm. What had registered as a passing observation in Heero's mind was suddenly magnified by Wufei's dangerously close proximity. The heat emanating from Wufei's barely fever-recovered body felt like sensuous fingers on Heero's skin. Heero was starting to think that *he* was the one with the fever. The exhausting vigil by Wufei's bed and before that, the fights they had and the weight of the unanswered questions and unspoken longing were taking their toll on him. He could feel the strange snapping sensation deep in his gut that mean that his control was swiftly breaking.

"I don't have any other explanation." Heero gritted out.

"Try harder!" Wufei demanded, glaring right up into Heero's face.

Heero wasn't even aware that he had moved, until he felt his own hand gripping Wufei by the chin, and the force of the bruising kiss as he jerked their mouths together. For a moment, Wufei was completely unresisting, his mouth falling open as Heero thrusted his tongue inside. Then, the Chinese man went rigid, and planting an elbow between them, he pulled himself free. He was breathing heavily, almost panting, mouth swollen and stained red from Heero's punishing caress.

For a hanging, teetering moment, Heero wondered if he had completely misconstrued the whole situation, and that he had irreversibly destroyed the already existing friendship between he and Wufei.

"I'm...still sick..." Wufei was completely red in the face as he tried to construct a legible response. But of course, his words when re-translated, only meant that a handful of *germs* was what stopping him from taking this further.

"So am I." Heero breathed as he chased to continue where they had left off, turning Wufei's face back towards him, and leaning in for a slow, lingering kiss. Wufei was probably still sick, Heero discovered as he slid his hands up a slender, defined back. The skin was warm under his touch, and trembled delightfully as he began light, soothing strokes.

Wufei was like this, had always been like this, a heady concoction of strength and fragility and something else entirely intoxicating. Heero found himself drawn helplessly into this fever of it all.

When they broke apart for the second time, Wufei was all but pliant in his arms. A flush had risen on his skin, and Heero felt a flash of guilt. If he had somehow managed to bring the fever *back*...

"What does this all mean..." Wufei said into his shoulder, unconsciously swaying into him in a manner that suggested he should be put back into bed to rest.

"We'd find out." Heero promised quietly.

Then he paused, and coughed.

It was as they had thought. Heero *did* catch the cold from Wufei after all and had to be forced to rest, while Wufei went back to work and tried to give a very legitimate explanation as to how he managed to pass the cold to Heero, while Quatre and Duo remained unscathed.

Wufei had the deepest suspicion that nobody believed his reasoning, even if everyone pretended to. Well, he'd deal with it in future. Right now, he was back at work, and Heero too, who had recovered from his own fever and was now completely fit.

Wufei sighed inwardly, and again when he felt those cornflower blue eyes on him *again*. Finally losing his patience, the Chinese man set down his documents and *looked* at Quatre. "What. Is. It."

The Arabian flashed him an infuriatingly winsome smile. "Oh, nothing. I was just watching you watching Heero."

Refusing to blush, Wufei lifted his chin archly. "I was not watching Heero."

"Oh, you weren't?" Quatre blinked too-innocently. "Could have fooled me. But, it'd be perfectly understandable if you *were* watching Heero, whether or not you want to admit it. He's very sexy."

Wufei's brows practically flew off his forehead. "I - I don't think of Heero in that way!" He sputtered after choking on his breath for a good five seconds.

Quatre just chuckled, and Wufei glared at him. That Arabian man was obviously enjoying himself to the fullest, having rediscovered a long-buried sense of biting humour along the way of living with Heero and Wufei under the same roof.

"I expect I will have to move soon? Now that things are progressing so nicely for the two of you?"

Unable to stay angry for long at Quatre, Wufei rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You're speaking too soon." Which was the entire truth, really. Yes, things had progressed between he and Heero, but at a gradual and careful pace that was comfortable for both of them. They were still charting new territory, figuring out boundaries and re-defining this new relationship.

However, all that tricky relationship navigation aside, it was really time to turn the tables. "You don't have to move out actually, Quatre. You can always ask Duo to move *in*."

The effect was instantaneous. Pink rose in the Arabian's cheeks. "I...I have no idea what - "

"You *do*." Wufei countered smugly. Nobody said Quatre was the only with a re-awakened sense of humour.

The blonde was clearly not very pleased at being caught unawares like this, having been too used to be the one playing PR, instead of being the one played. But he gave in, eventually. His lips pursed in a near-pout that made him look like a petulant schoolboy. "*He* still has no idea."

"Very oblivious." Wufei agreed wryly.

"You think a fever would work?"

end April 2005