Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Remember the Name ❯ Chapter Two: "When You Were Young" ( Chapter 2 )

Warning: Language, shonen-ai, yaoi, supernaturalness, maybe some OOC-ness (it's impossible to avoid since I'm not the creator of GW, but I can certainly try).

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters. I just use them like actors in a movie and I claim no rights at all to them.

 

Author's Note: And the main characters are all aged twenty or older, so there. I got this general idea from a trilogy I read by Stephen Cole. Extra kudos to whoever can tell me the series name! Lol. I borrowed the chapter title from The Killers's song of the same name; I love that song! Leave me your opinions and thoughts; it takes less time to leave a review than you think! Thank you. And the general opinion seems to border on putting 2x5 together? Yes? We'll see how it goes in the big picture. And lastly, Duo's Journal! This is important for the little details that I can't fit into the main picture without creating small, pointless scenes or tons of flashbacks. This is easier.

 

Remember the Name

By: Mitsuru Aki

 

XXX

 

Chapter Two: When You Were Young

 

XXX

 

“Hey, Trowa, Snow White's awake!”

 

Soft, deliberate footsteps entered the room and paused beside him. “He's not Snow White.”

 

“Sure he is. All he needs is a kiss from a Prince to wake him up.”

 

A quiet snort. “I thought you said he was awake?”

 

“Well, he's conscious. I dunno when he'll let me see what color eyes he's got though.”

 

“They're blue.”

 

A silence ensued the quiet declaration and somebody sitting in a chair shifted position, somebody wearing jeans.

 

“How the hell do you know?!”

 

“I hired him.”

 

“Eh?”

 

“Three days ago.”

 

“Oh, so this's the new guy?” The chair creaked as someone's weight shifted and he could feel someone's eyes on him. “Not bad looking,” the voice admitted. “Kinda young though, don't you think?”

 

“He's older than you.”

 

“So?”

 

“Almost three years older.”

 

“And your point?” The voice sounded testy now.

 

“He's not that young, Duo, compared to some other people I know.”

 

Heero's eyes blinked open. The ceiling had been painted a light blue color.

 

“Lookie there!”

 

He immediately turned in the direction of the exclamation, eyes snapping to the braided man sitting on a backwards chair beside his bed. Intense violet eyes watched him intently before a broad grin spread across his face. “Hello, Princess!”

 

Blue eyes skimmed over the stranger's features, committing them to memory. The other man waited patiently for him to finish, but his own gaze was calculating.

 

“Are you hungry, Mr. Yuy?” A familiar voice asked.

 

Both of the other men's stares were on him before he'd even finished his question.

 

Trowa Barton.

 

Confusion creased Heero's brow. What was going on?

 

“What are you doing here?” Heero asked before he could stop himself.

 

The man with the braid sniggered, shoving his face into his arms folded along the back of the chair to muffle the noise.

 

Trowa gave him a warning look.

 

“Sorry,” the man—he must be Duo—muttered, avoiding the taller man's steady gaze. He bit his lip to stop the smile from taking over his face, but his eyes were still laughing.

 

Trowa turned back to Heero. “You're in my house,” he said quietly.

 

In Trowa Barton's house?

 

Heero immediately tried to sit up, wanting to see the room he was in, making his face contort in agony as every wound across his stomach reopened, but he grit his teeth and said nothing.

 

Duo was up and beside him in an instant. “Whoa, slow down there, stud,” he insisted, all laughter replaced by concern. “Don't do anything hasty.” Strong hands pushed him back to the mattress, one reaching down and flipping the faded bedsheets to the end of the bed.

 

Trowa's normally emotionless face was frowning as he approached the bed.

 

Blood seeped slowly through the once-sterile bandages wrapped around Heero's torso, staining the fabric red.

 

Duo paused as he reached for one of the strips of gauze, eyes straying to the red liquid spreading across Heero's stomach.

 

Heero's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized Duo's face, shifting emotions flickering on his frozen features. Tension, wariness, fear, nausea…

 

“Duo,” Trowa said calmly, moving to a small table next to Heero's bed, covered with a first aid kit and several bottles.

 

The violet-eyed man didn't even acknowledge his own name, nothing but careful breathing.

 

Trowa turned sharp eyes on him. “Duo.”

 

Duo whirled to face him as though he'd been electrified. “What?” he asked breathlessly.

 

“There's more gauze in the downstairs bathroom. And we need something to eat.”

 

He stared at Trowa blankly like the other man was speaking Russian.

 

The HISA President and CEO raised an auburn eyebrow.

 

Duo blinked rapidly in an effort to pull himself out of his trance. “What?” he repeated.

 

“Gauze. Food. Downstairs. Now.”

 

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Duo hurriedly backed away from the bed, giving Heero an uneasy look. “I'll be back.”

 

He fled into the hallway. Heero could hear Duo's rapid footsteps all the way to what must have been a staircase before they finally faded.

 

Heero looked at Trowa, who was unraveling a roll of sterile gauze. “Hematophobia?”

 

Trowa shrugged unconcernedly. “He doesn't handle blood very well.”

 

The injured man stared at the bandages around his chest and stomach. “So this is your work?”

 

The other man didn't respond, only sparing him a brief glance. He advanced with his supplies and set them up on the end of the bed. “You need to sit up so I can re-dress your wounds.”

 

“I can sit up on my own.”

 

“I noticed,” Trowa said dryly. “But I'm going to help you this time.” His tone booked no argument.

 

It had no effect on Heero whatsoever. “I don't need—”

 

“Don't move your arm,” Trowa interrupted calmly as though Heero hadn't said a thing. “It's still healing.”

 

Still…?

 

“How long has it been?” Heero asked urgently, catching Trowa's jade eyes. A nice color.

 

“Your third day; it's 1800.”

 

Six in the evening, three days later…damn.

 

Trowa yanked Heero's pillow out from under his head and propped it up against the headboard, catching him completely unawares and causing the other man's skull to thump against the mattress. Heero gave him a dirty look. Trowa looked away.

 

Blue eyes shifted to examine his thoroughly wrapped left arm. He flexed his stiff fingers experimentally, not even flinching at the stab of pain that flew up the limb at the movement. “How bad was it?”

 

Trowa moved out of his line of sight, which irritated Heero for some reason. “It looked worse than it was.”

 

Long, cool fingers slid beneath his shoulder blades and hooked under his arms, which made him startlingly aware of Trowa's exact position behind him, one knee resting next to Heero's stolen pillow. “Ready?” Trowa asked softly.

 

Heero didn't say anything in return, closing his eyes for a moment and focusing instead on the other man. He could hear Trowa's steady, soft breathing; he could sense every slight movement Trowa made that let him pinpoint exactly where he was without seeing him; he could smell him: a clean, natural smell with no aftershaves or colognes that stored itself away in his memory.

 

Then Trowa decided that he'd waited long enough for an answer that wasn't coming and lifted Heero up, sliding the dark-haired man up the bed until he was sitting up against the headboard.

 

Damn, he was strong. The sudden show of strength wiped the indignity of the situation from his mind.

 

The auburn-haired CEO was standing next to him, removing his hands from Heero as they passed over the bare skin of his back. “Okay?”

 

“Hn.”

 

Heero watched Trowa critically while Trowa collected his materials. His tall lean frame certainly didn't display the strength he'd just exhibited, because kneeling off to the side like he had was actually a pretty awkward position to be lifting anything, let alone a hundred and seventy-five pound man.

 

But who knew what was going on under that dark green dress shirt of his? A man like Trowa Barton probably worked out every day in his very own private gym. Appearances were deceiving.

 

Trowa dumped the medical supplies unceremoniously in Heero's lap, disregarding the unappreciative glare the wounded man gave him.

 

“What's all this for?”

 

“You.”

 

“I said `what', not `who'.”

 

“What do you think it's for?” Trowa replied without looking up, meticulously unwrapping Heero's dirty bandages and simultaneously managing to let Heero's biting retort slide off him and reign in his own smart answer.

 

Heero picked up a small brown bottle with his good right hand and read the label. “I don't need a disinfectant.”

 

“Just in case.”

 

“In case what?”

 

“In case it gets infected,” Trowa persisted serenely, dropping the blood-soaked bandages in a bucket by the table.

 

“It won't get infected,” Heero said matter-of-factly, face stoic.

 

“That's what Duo said the last time he got hurt.”

 

“The last time?”

 

“Three days ago.”

 

Heero's memory rewound itself. “That's when—”

 

“Duo's the one who found you,” Trowa told him quietly, wiping Heero's exposed stomach free of blood with a clean cloth, followed by an unwanted addition of disinfectant. Strong muscles under his fingers clenched at the contact. “It's a good thing he found you when he did. You were already unconscious. He carried you out of the park where I picked you both up.” Trowa fixed him with a piercing stare. “Something attacked him, so you were…?”

 

Heero picked up the roll of gauze and handed it to Trowa reluctantly. As much as he wanted to do it himself, he really wasn't in any condition to and his boss probably wouldn't let him.

 

“He healed fast.” Heero said, unwilling to answer the unasked question

 

“He only had a few scratches,” Trowa replied, unruffled as always. “Unlike you.”

 

“Hn.”

 

Trowa slowly wrapped the clean white strips around the other mans torso, effectively invading Heero's personal space as the gauze passed from back to front.

 

Heero remained perfectly still, not liking the feeling of someone so close to him. It was distracting, in a confusing sort of way, and Heero Yuy did not cope well with confusion on the rare occasions when he encountered that particular emotion. Heat radiated from Trowa's form as he worked quickly and efficiently, fingertips grazing Heero's side as he tied off the new bandages seconds later.

 

Moving away to the table, Trowa wiped his hands on a clean towel and let his eyes scrutinize his handiwork. “It'll do. Duo's better at that than I am.”

 

“I thought he couldn't handle blood?” Heero asked with a frown, giving the other man a strange look.

 

“Well, he can, to a degree,” Trowa admitted slowly, remembering past experiences. “But not heavy bleeding or serious wounds.” Heero handed him the supplies spread over his lap one at a time, which Trowa arranged neatly in the first aid kit sitting on the table. He couldn't use his left arm without it twinging at the slightest movement.

 

“How's your arm?” Trowa inquired as though he possessed the skills of a mind reader.

 

Heero gave him a blank look. “Fine.”

 

The auburn-haired man turned to gaze at him, coolly meeting his eyes as he assessed the truth for himself. According to Duo, `fine' meant `it hurts like hell, but I'll never tell you that.' Apparently the same rule applied to Heero.

 

“You should be able to use it by tomorrow,” Trowa decided, still watching him critically. “I'll have to change that dressing again, too.”

 

Heero glanced around the room, taking in a window a couple of feet away, the door on the other side of the room, and a tiny closet off to the side.

 

“I'll do it myself,” Heero informed Trowa, glaring at him with flinty eyes. “I'm not an invalid.”

 

The CEO didn't say anything for a moment. Then he sighed, his hair fluttering, eyes momentarily closing. “You're like Duo.”

 

Heero waited for Trowa to elaborate, noticing the warmth lurking behind his eyes.

 

“He doesn't let anyone tend his wounds,” Trowa said softly, looking at the surface of the table. “He won't let anyone near him when he's injured, even me.” He turned Duo's chair around and sat in it, crossing his legs and folding his arms. “Well, except for Wufei.”

 

“Wufei?”

 

“His supervisor.”

 

Heero glanced up at Trowa's calmly composed face, faintly wondering how the other man knew Duo so well. “Where does he work?”

 

A ghost of a smile passed through jade green eyes. “They work for me.”

 

Staring at Trowa Barton, Heero fully realized how powerful the man seated next to him was. “So Duo's your employee…?”

 

“And my younger brother.”

 

“Hey, family history's private, kiddo.” Duo's voice came from the doorway, a tray of food in his hands and a frown on his face. “So be quiet, Tro.”

 

He glanced at Heero, all his uneasiness from earlier gone. He set the tray on the table next Trowa.

 

Trowa shrugged. “I was just telling him about you and Wufei.”

 

Duo stiffened and turned slowly to face Trowa, glaring suspiciously at him. “What about me and Wufei?”

 

The CEO gazed pointedly at the far corner of the room, away from the braided man with his hands on his hips. “Nothing.”

 

Duo's eyes narrowed. “But you said—”

 

“You told me to be quiet.”

 

“Trowa!” Duo wailed, his expression disbelieving and horrified as he shook the older man by the shoulders. “Don't be cruel! What did you say?”

 

Trowa fought to hide a smirk. “Just that he's your supervisor.”

 

Duo turned slitted eyes on Heero. “Is that all he said? That's all?”

 

Heero nodded warily, noticing faint scratch lines across Duo's right cheek. Violet eyes burned into his, attempting to discover if Heero was telling the truth or not.

 

“Don't scare him, Duo,” Trowa deadpanned, once again calm and in control.

 

Duo ignored him. “And for your information, Mr. Newly Hired, we're adopted. Like I'd want to be related to—” he pointed an accusing finger at Trowa “—that creep.”

 

“Duo,” Trowa protested. “I'm hurt.”

 

“You should be,” Duo snapped, snatching two plates off the newly arrived tray. “And you will have to come downstairs if you want to eat.”

 

“Duo, don't be like this,” Trowa said, rising out of his chair. “He needs—”

 

“Whatz-His-Name is a big boy now,” Duo interrupted waspishly, striding to the door with his chestnut braid swinging behind him. “I'm sure the idea of spending the night in this nice, comfortable room doesn't scare him. And you changed his bandages—which you need to bring downstairs, by the way—so he shouldn't need anything for a bit.” Over his shoulder, he narrowed his eyes at Trowa. “You and I, on the other hand, need to talk.”

 

Trowa ran a hand over his face, imagining the prospect of imminent doom. “Very well.”

 

“`Very well,'” Duo mimicked scathingly. “You `very well' better get yer butt downstairs in the next two minutes. Don't make me come back up here!” he threatened. Turning sharply, he slammed the door shut with his foot.

 

There was a long silence as Duo's footsteps stomped back down the hallway to the stairs.

 

Trowa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his hands coming up to massage his temples.

 

“Sensitive subject,” Heero observed, still staring at the door. Not exactly something most people got riled up about.

 

“Hmmm,” Trowa agreed, glancing at him.

 

He shook his head and looked at the table. Picking up the tray containing the last plate of food, he set it on Heero's legs. One of us will be back to pick up your dishes. Probably me.”

 

Heero examined the plate in front of him. It had a metal cover over it to keep the food warm, so he had no idea what it was.

 

The auburn-haired man pushed the table next to Heero's bed. “Just set them here when you're done.”

 

Heero raised his eyes to look at Trowa, who gazed calmly back at him. “I suppose I should thank you. And Duo.”

 

Trowa broke eye contact, picking up the bucket with Heero's old bandages and heading for the door. “You can thank me when you come to work on Monday,” he said quietly. He watched impassively from the doorway. “Goodnight, Mr. Yuy.”

 

And the door clicked shut.

 

XXXXX

 

Hey, Journal, how's it hanging?

 

`Member how Dad said it'd be a good idea to write down my thoughts and shit? Yeah, I know, I've been slacking off. It's been a couple years; so sue me. Besides, Dad's not around to remind me to take some “Quiet Time”. Kinda wish he was though. He died about four years ago.

 

I wonder what he'd say if he knew his youngest son had a crush on his supervisor? For about, oh, I don't know, ten years, five months, one week, four days, three hours, and twenty-seven minutes going on thirty seconds.

 

Okay, I know, you can stop laughing now. I'm pathetic. I've got it bad. Ever since Tro brought home his college roommate for Spring Break all those years ago. But it's not my fault, really, it's not. It's Trowa's fault. It always is. I mean, he didn't even warn me at all. Didn't even let us know he was bringing a friend until he rang the doorbell.

 

He could have told me, “Duo, you know that guy I've vaguely mentioned in my letters? My roommate? Well, he's this really hot Chinese guy with gorgeous hair, a great body, and the dead sexiest voice you've ever heard. And he's spending Break with us, so don't wear something that makes you look like a gothic garbage heap, okay? Preferably something not all black and full of holes.”

 

I would have appreciated that. I really would have. Jeeze, is a hottie warning so much to ask for? Honestly.

 

But when I opened the front door that warm Friday evening expecting to see my doofus of an older brother, ALONE, all I could do was stare at the stranger just behind him. Damn did I look like an idiot. Heh. I knew it at the time too, but I couldn't do anything about it. Just kinda stood there numbly holding the doorknob as Trowa pushed his way into the house (well, `pushed' isn't exactly the right word—more like gently moved my stupefied self off to the side so he and his friend could actually come in) with suitcases and the sexy guy in tow. They set their bags on the rug in the foyer and Tro peeled me off the door, closed it, and dragged me over to where his friend was standing. Introductions followed.

 

Trowa put one hand on my shoulder and looked at his roommate. “This is my younger brother, Duo.” Or something like that. My brain wasn't working properly at the time, so I dunno what he said. Not that it ever does, but hey, whatever. Maybe he didn't say anything—you know how Trowa is. Well, okay, you're a new book, so you don't. But he doesn't say much.

 

His roommate nodded, and even though it wasn't on his face there was a smile in his eyes. “I've heard a lot about you,” he told me. Then he gave a small formal bow and looked me in the eyes. “Chang Wufei. I'm honored to have finally met you.”

 

I remember every word he said. What he said, how he said it—you name it, if it's about him, I'll remember it. And I could tell he really meant it.

 

Every time I remember that moment I feel this little ball of warmth and happiness inside me, ya know? Have you ever felt that before? God, it's a great feeling. I can feel it now.

 

The moment his eyes met mine, I knew. I just knew. A little thrill ran through me, that he was the one. So what if he was a guy? I'd never liked a guy before, didn't know anyone that did. Didn't matter. Hell, it still doesn't. So what if I was only seventeen at the time? He was only two years older than me, the same age as Tro. So what? I fell in love and man did I fall hard. Completely lovestruck in less than a minute. Completely. Must be a record. I'm still in love with him.

 

And it hurts so bad to admit it, but I'm not delusional, despite what some other people might say. I know when reality stops and my imagination starts. If anyone knows that, it's me. He doesn't feel the same way—doesn't love me back. Okay, deep breath. Or two. Shit, it hurts just writing it. It hurts so bad, you have no idea. Because I can't let go. It's not that I don't want to, I can't. It's not possible. When I get around to filling you in on things, you'll understand, but not now. It's too depressing. Wufei and I will always be connected. And it's Trowa's fault. Again.

 

I harassed Tro all the time about Wufei. Wrote tons of letters, called him (I hung up if Wufei answered, cuz I just couldn't talk to him without sounding like an idiot), emailed him, everything. And he was patient about it too, but I could tell what he was thinking. That it was just puppy love. That I'd move on eventually, maybe when I went to college myself. And I know Trowa's worried about me because I haven't.

 

I've been waiting ten years. TEN YEARS. That's a fucking long time to wait. But how can I move on? Even if I did, we'd still be connected, and he still wouldn't realize it. And I can't just tell him. It's not that simple. I wish it was, because Heaven knows I wouldn't have a problem with that. He's my Anchor, I know he is. It's not just a matter of love; it's more than that. Sometimes I want to scream and throw a tantrum. Sometimes I feel like throwing things out of pure frustration. Most times I just want to sexually assault him. I, personally, think that would be the quickest way to getting him to understand. Trowa disagrees. Dearest Big Brother has never actually come out and said it, but he thinks I can't handle Wufei's cute little Asian butt. He's wrong. I think we'd be pretty well matched in a fight. Assuming I could stay focused, anyway.

 

Trowa said if it happens, he is not bailing me out of jail. And he will not tell me Wufei's new address once he's left the country. He has no sense of humor.

 

Nothing in my life is ever simple.

 

No, seriously, like just the other day I found this dude in the park. I won't give details—that would take too long and I've been feeling kinda tired since Wednesday. Too much stress. Anywho, Tro apparently just hired this guy. I got my suspicions, but I'll keep `em on the low for now. I told Tro, but we'll have to wait and see. He really made me mad tonight. Stupid jerk. He better leave me alone about Wufei. If he ever finds someone, he'll never live it down.

 

Anyway, this guy—Tro keeps calling him Mr. Yuy, but he's formal with everyone. I'll have to find out his first name—was attacked by a wolf. Not just any wolf. Perfectly normal, right? Not. I had to fight it off and wait for Tro to come pick us up. It was a long night, let me tell you. I couldn't handle the blood (yes, I know, explanations will come later, promise) so I had to let Big Bro do most of the work. He's okay now though.

 

In fact, he woke up today, right on schedule. That's shy I'm worried. I seriously hope it's not what I think it means. I spent my days off from work looking after him, but I had to go back to work today so Tro stayed home with him. I only get so much vacation/sick time, but Tro's the Big Bad Boss, so he gets off whenever.

 

So this Yuy guy seems okay, everything healing nicely. More blood today, more bad reactions on my part. Ah, well, what can I say? I'll get over it. But he's—

 

What was that? Something fragile shattered, that's for sure. Is Trowa trying to cook in the kitchen again? I told him to stay out of there. Lemme go check.

 

Back in a sec,

Duo

 

XXXXX

Author's Note: Chapter Two done! Yay! Slow and steady, people, slow and steady. I'm currently trying to get a job, because I need MONEY! Yes, it does make the world go `round. Next I will be updating Catch Me When I Fall. REVIEW!!!