Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ So This Is the New Year ❯ Chapter 1

So This is the New Year

 

 

The angels in your palm

Sing gentle worried songs

The sweetness of our dreams

Like mountains made of steam.

- Silver Mount Zion

 

Heero clutched his cane in white-knuckled fists and tried to keep his shoulders relaxed. Wufei could always tell when he got tense by his shoulders. He didn't ever press for reasons but he had a way of making the silence an invitation. And that invitation remained gaping between them until Heero felt obligated to take it. Heero didn't like obligations - he didn't like feeling like he owed anyone anything. He didn't like debts. He liked to be left alone.

 

So, he closed his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. He let the near-silence of the car soothe him. It was a rented car, a Chevy, a “POS” Wufei had called it. Wufei was a bit of a snob about machines - not to the extent Duo was, but enough of one to turn up his nose at the dark blue sedan they'd been handed at the airport. But the car was working and the gentle vibration of the engine was easing his nerves a bit. So Heero had no complaints.

 

They continued in silence, the space between them easy and comfortable. It was the silence of two young men who'd been friends and partners for seven years and brothers in arms two years before that. But the easy silence was also familiar to the point that Wufei knew when it changed even the slightest bit.

 

Ahead of them, several horns blared and Wufei braked suddenly, drastically slowing the speed of the car. Heero sucked in a quick breath, eyes snapping open, one hand reaching out to brace against the dash. He glanced around and his old partner looked over at him quickly. “City drivers,” he said shortly. “They're all nuts as far as I'm concerned.” Heero nodded once and again tried to relax. Wufei glanced back at him. “Does your leg hurt?” His eyes were back on the road when Heero turned sharply. This was the invitation to talk about more than just his crippled hip. But Heero didn't feel like talking yet. He shifted in his seat.

 

“No.” And that was mostly true. The silence that now fell between them was different, just a little strained.

 

Wufei tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “We're almost there. Why those two choose to live in this maze of a city is beyond me.”

 

Heero knew the answer to that one. “It's gritty and anonymous. But not unsafe.”

 

“It's dingy and slanted.”

 

“It's a steel town and it's in the Appalachian Mountains.” He turned away and looked out the window. Heero liked Pittsburgh. He liked it for the same reasons Duo and Trowa liked it. It was dirty and just crowded enough and essentially forgotten by the United Earth Sphere. No one cared about Pittsburgh - the city, its resources, or its people. They got by without much help and they didn't have to worry about much interference from Earth Sphere authorities or Preventers. This did not sit particularly well with Wufei, but Heero found it oddly appealing.

 

A year before, he no doubt would have thought differently, when he and Wufei were still partners, when they were decorated war heroes and the stars of the North American branch of the Preventers. Only a year ago, Heero had taken his health for granted, had taken the power in his body for granted. He'd trained his body religiously, but he'd trusted its strength to see him through the most dangerous missions. He'd trusted it until Wufei and he ran into a pissed off kid with a deer rifle and a brain full of chemicals in Old Los Angeles. They'd been about to bust a crew of drug runners, when the kid had just materialized between Heero and his partner. Wufei killed him almost immediately, but not before the kid shot a hole the size of a softball through Heero's hip, shattering muscle, bone and ligament - effectively removing him from active duty and putting Wufei on the market for a new partner. He hadn't found one who could work with him yet. Une was exceedingly annoyed by this and Heero felt oddly gratified. But since his injury, he'd come to see his career, its perpetual risk and violence, his role as law enforcer and, in some places, law maker as just... too much for someone who'd lived more than half his life fighting in some form or other. These incipient feelings were not solid in his mind; he couldn't explain them to himself, let alone his former partner and best friend. They'd been nowhere near the surface when he worked with Wufei, when the two of them ran along a knife's edge, so close to death that they could taste and breathe it, when freedom meant the possibility of death.

 

Heero fell hard with that one shot. His sense of purpose and his drive vanished along with his ability to walk. And he understood why his two friends lived in Pittsburgh.

 

“I think Duo and Trowa are safer here where no one's watching or interfering.” He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

 

“They'd be safer if they were less than a two-hour plane ride and a one-hour car ride away from us. If something happened, if some group of nut jobs got wind of the fact that 02 and 03 were living under their noses, unprotected --”

 

“They could handle it,” Heero said flatly. “If anyone knows how to disappear, it's Maxwell and Barton.” Wufei grunted, not satisfied but resigned to the fact that their two friends had been living safely and pretty much anonymously for the last two years in this city and they weren't likely to change because he was twitchy.

 

In the year since his injury, after several painful operations and hours of grueling physical therapy, Heero had come to understand the need to disappear in a crowd. During the war, crowds were dangerous, volatile, a threat. Now, they were relief from doctors appointments and concerned co-workers and mountains of paper work that he now had to fill out because he couldn't be out in the field anymore, actually doing the shit written up in the paperwork.

 

“If you snap that cane, I'm pretty sure your insurance won't get you another one.”

 

Heero growled and relaxed his grip again. Wufei was right, of course. He'd gotten considerable grief for the first two he'd broken in fits of anger and frustration. He needed to relax. Just relax. This trip out to see the others for the New Year was supposed to help him relax. Seeing the only other people he knew front to back should put him at ease. That's what Wufei told him as they'd boarded the plane; that's what he wanted to believe. But there was just some...

 

“Finally,” Chang muttered as he pulled into a steeply slanted, crumbling driveway.

 

This would be the first time his friends had seen him back on his feet. The last time he'd seen them, they'd been clustered around his hospital bed, flown in to see their fallen friend, each trying to comfort him in their own way, trying to drag his attention away from the fact that he would never walk without a limp, that running would be painful and that field duty was out of the question for the foreseeable future. Duo had sat beside him and told him everything there was to know about the car he was rebuilding with Trowa. He'd laughed and told jokes while Trowa sat on his other side and drew elaborate designs on his caste. Wufei sat in the corner reading, silent and smirking, all the reassurance Heero ever needed from him. And Quatre sat on the floor with his work spread out around him, looking worn and older than 23. The head of Winner Enterprises hadn't said much but his smile had been genuine and Heero was glad he'd been there. He'd been grateful for all of them. But he wasn't sure now if he could...

 

“This might not be a good idea,” he said quietly as he pulled himself from the car.

 

Wufei hoisted a bag over his shoulder and then kicked the door shut. “Of course it is, Yuy,” he said patiently.

 

“You say that, but-”

 

“Duo's at the door,” he hissed at him before climbing the steps, hand raised in greeting. Heero frowned and threw his bag over his shoulder. He locked his door, situated his cane and limped toward the porch, eyes on the tall young man holding open the storm door and grinning from ear to ear.

 

*

The house was warm, the kitchen brightly lit ahead of them. Duo led him through the dark hallway with an arm around his shoulder, large hands deftly pulling the bag from Heero's shoulder. “You look great, Ro. Won't be long before that leg is good as new. You'll be kicking my ass on the track in no time.”

 

“It's coming along,” he murmured.

 

The arm around his shoulder squeezed. “It's good to see ya, buddy. A year is too damn long, especially when you're all banged up. We shoulda come out, but-”

 

“Stop apologizing, Duo,” Wufei grumped from the kitchen. “We all know you can't be torn away from that shop of yours.”

 

“That is certainly true,” a soft voice replied just as Heero hobbled into the kitchen. “It's good to see you, Heero,” Trowa said with a small smile. The tall ex-pilot leaned back against the counter with arms crossed over his narrow chest.

 

Heero returned the smile. “It's good to see you, too. And I understand,” he said politely. “You're both busy and Chicago is far. Chang and I were glad to come.” He caught his old partner's raised eyebrow. Heero could have good manners when he wanted; when his good friends were involved. They deserved his good behavior if anyone did.

 

Duo slapped his shoulder and he nearly staggered. “Oh, cut the bullshit, Yuy. Me and Tro both know Wu had to drag you kicking and screaming onto that plane. You don't have to pretend for your old war buddies' benefit.”

 

“Also true,” Trowa added. Heero hesitated, looking around the large kitchen, eyes resting on bright red curtains, tacky brown and gold linoleum, and a beat-up kitchen table. On their old gas stove, he saw boiling potatoes. He smelled bread baking in the oven.

 

“I am glad to be here,” he said softly.

 

Heero heard the smile in Duo's voice. “Trowa can take your stuff up to his room. You can stay there. Then I think the drinking should commence. It is eight o'clock on New Year's Eve, after all.” Duo handed Heero's bag over to Trowa and he started for the door. Heero jerked his eyes from the loud linoleum and followed.

 

“I'll come with you. My leg is stiff from the plane ride.”

 

*

 

“So you can sleep in my bed. The sheets are clean and the mattress is good.” Trowa dropped the bag in the corner and shoved his hands in his pockets.

 

Heero eyed the double bed with its ragged quilt and lumpy pillows. “Where will you sleep?”

 

“... With Duo.” For the first time in the nine years they'd known each other, Heero saw Trowa blush - first his neck and then the hollows of his cheeks flamed red. It was an odd sight and Heero found he liked it. His mouth twitched.

 

“Oh. And when did that happen?”

 

Trowa reached behind his head to scratch the back of his neck. Heero was immediately struck by the familiarity of the gesture; he'd seen Duo do it hundreds of times. The sleeve of Trowa's shirt slid up his arm with his movements, exposing several of his brightly colored tattoos. Heero spotted peonies, goldfish and bamboo before the sleeve slid back down. Trowa was smiling.

 

“It happened about six months ago, sort of suddenly, though we both knew it'd been building for...”

 

“Years.”

 

Trowa laughed - another startling sight. “Right.” He took a breath. “Anyway, I don't sleep in here much anymore.”

 

Heero didn't really want anymore details than that, so he turned and eased himself down onto the bed. “When will Quatre arrive?”

 

Trowa seemed glad for the change of subject and visibly relaxed, taking a seat near Heero on the bed. “Any time now. His flight got in only a bit after yours . We should have come to pick you up but Duo had a job to finish and I had to close up the shop.”

 

Heero shrugged dismissively. “How's business?” he asked instead.

 

Trowa smiled. “Business is good. I think I'll have enough clients to start my own shop soon. Before the end of the new year, I'd say.” Heero didn't understand Trowa's affinity for tattooing. They'd both been banged up enough during the wars to want to avoid bandages and needles and anti-septic ointment, but Trowa appeared to love it. The designs on Heero's caste had proved his talent, as did his growing list of customers. And the art painted all over his body was indeed beautiful, a record of all the beauty Trowa found in the world, or so he'd said when Heero'd asked him in the hospital a year ago, tongue loosened by incredibly strong pain killers.

 

“That's great,” he finally said. “I think you'll like owning your own business. A lot more freedom.”

 

“Duo loves having his own garage,” Trowa confirmed. “He loves that it's his and that he doesn't have a boss breathing down his neck. I'm looking forward to not having one of those as well.”

 

Heero snorted softly. “We've taken orders our entire lives, while at the same time having incredible power, the power to destroy whole colonies. By now, having a boss to tell you when to run, when to shoot and when to piss seems ludicrous and infuriating.” Heero surprised himself with that little outburst. By the looks of it, Trowa was a bit startled too. “...At least that's how I've been feeling lately.”

 

Trowa nodded and then stood up when he heard Duo shouting from downstairs. “Q-Man, you made it! Hey Tro, Quatre's here!”

 

Trowa turned to him. “Do you need help getting down the stairs?” Heero shook his head, no. “See you down there, then.” He nodded once and Trowa was gone.

 

Heero scowled at the floor for the next several seconds, feeling decidedly off-balance. He had the strong desire to be back in his chilly one-bedroom in Chicago. He wanted to put his leg up and recline in his chair and sleep until the new year. But then Duo's loud voice cut through his moping with a threat that Heero had no doubt would be carried out.

 

“Heero Yuy, if you don't get your bony ass down here in the next 30 seconds and have a beer with your friends, I will come up there and carry you down.” A pause. “Thirty seconds is about 20 more than you need, but since you have a bum leg, I'm being generous. I'd start now if I were you.” His voice was getting closer. “Note my generosity,” he continued.

 

Heero couldn't hide his grin. “Noted,” he called before shoving himself off the bed.

 

*

Heero decided within the first ten minutes of seeing Quatre that there was something wrong with him. He appeared to be in good health. He'd always been thin and pale. Hell, they all were thin and pale - even he and Wufei got pasty when they spent too much time in the black of space or under the false light of the colonies. So, it wasn't Quatre's appearance, exactly, that startled Heero within minutes of seeing him. It was the weariness in his eyes. It was the time it took him to smile, as though he had to seriously consider it before actually doing it. He was guarded and he was exhausted.

 

And Heero understood him perfectly.

 

They sat next to each other at the table as Trowa and Duo dished up their dinner. Heero watched their hosts in their kitchen, watched the ease with which they interacted, the angling of their bodies and the intimate way Duo leaned around Trowa to grab a serving spoon. He watched Wufei read the Pittsburgh newspaper, sharp black eyes focused, beer clutched loosely in his hand, resting against his stomach. And he watched Quatre next to him, staring blankly into his whiskey.

 

“How are your sisters?” Heero asked softly. As the only one of the five with any large number of living relatives, this was an easy conversation starter. Or so he thought. But the look that Quatre gave him just before he got a stunningly fake smile told him otherwise.

 

“Oh, they're wonderful. You know them, Heero - all doctors and lawyers and scholars and entrepreneurs and brilliance. They send their regards.”

 

Trowa and Duo shared a look. Wufei glanced up very briefly from his paper. And Heero took a large swallow of his beer. He'd been about to ask after Winner Enterprises, but that suddenly seemed like a very loaded question. However, Quatre answered it for him with equally false cheer.

 

“And before you ask, business is just grand: profit margins through the roof, our stock is up 20%, and employee turnover is down. We're one of the best and largest employers in space and on earth, and next month, we're going to buy Australia.”

 

Now they all stared at him, beer frozen half-way on its journey to Wufei's mouth, a spoonful of mashed potatoes in Trowa's hand hanging precariously in the air, halfway between pot and plate, and Duo's mouth hanging wide open. Heero felt a strange smile tug at his lips and he suddenly wanted to laugh. He turned to Quatre.

 

“My hip hurts nearly all the time; I can barely make it up and down stares; I'll probably never do field work again; however, my doctors say I'm making stunning progress. I now get flowers from people I don't know who, for some reason, seem to think that I like flowers. And my doctors actually used the word, 'stunning.'” He barked a laugh, sudden and harsh and probably inappropriate. Quatre had his hand over his mouth and appeared to be shaking a bit. He heard the unique sound of mashed potatoes landing on linoleum. Then he turned to see Wufei raising his bottle.

 

“A toast to Winner and Yuy. Long live you both.”

 

Heero turned back to Quatre and realized that the shaking was actually manic laughter. They looked at each other for a long moment before they raised their glasses, and with as much solemnity as they could muster, clinked their beverages together. Then, they swallowed the contents in a few large gulps. Looking over his bottle, he saw the others doing the same. When Heero's bottle and Quatre's glass clunked empty on the table, the tension was gone.

 

*

“So... as far as either of you know, you're not Polish - or German, right?” Wufei held up a forkful of sauerkraut and eyed it suspiciously. Trowa and Duo glanced at each other and shook their heads, no. “Then why-”

 

“Oh, come on, Wu,” Duo snorted. “Get down off your high horse and eat it. It's a tradition around here to eat sausage, sauerkraut and mashed potatoes for the new year. Since Quatre doesn't eat pork, we've got chicken, and I think you're actually supposed to eat this on the first of the new year, but Tro and I figured you'd all need a solid meal before the night was out. It's a good defense against hangovers.” All eyes turned to Trowa, but he only shrugged.

 

“Duo's right. Eat it.”

 

Heero and Wufei exchanged wary glances, but Quatre interrupted any further complaint. “I think it's just delicious! This has to be the first real meal I've had in weeks. I can practically taste the potassium and protein. This chicken is amazing. I haven't had a piece of real chicken in so long. God, I was starving when I got here.”

 

Wufei eyed him strangely. “What do they feed you in New York? I feel quite certain they have chicken there too.”

 

Quatre waved his hand dismissively. “I don't eat meat in the city. It all synthetic anyway. Too many people, not enough real food. It's too expensive to bring it in from the upstate farms.”

 

“But surely you can affor-”

 

“I don't feel like eating meat in the city,” Quatre snapped, his soft features suddenly turned sharp.

 

“I don't either,” Heero cut in quickly, unsure of why he felt the need to ease the tension in the room. Tension had never really bothered him before. If he didn't feel uncomfortable, than it wasn't his problem. But Quatre was foundering, despite his chilly outward appearance. Perhaps the others didn't, but Heero recognized the signs. “Chicago has reached that point too, and the meat is produced like any other thing - cheap and fast. It doesn't taste like much. This chicken is the first meat I've had since Sally force-fed me protein a year ago.”

 

Duo took the opportunity and ran with it. “That's one of the reasons we like Pittsburgh so much.” He proudly nudged Trowa's shoulder. “Tro tattoos a woman who's got a roof-top farm. We get most of our meat from her. The inner-city agriculture movement has really picked up here. You should see the city from above some time. There are gardens everywhere. This lady even has pigs on her farm!” Duo's enthusiasm turned sly. He turned to Wufei and leaned forward. “Cities all over the world are starting their own farming efforts. And they got the idea from precolonial Cuba. That old fart, Castro, had some good ideas despite what the history books say. You should read up on it, Chang.”

 

Heero and Trowa smirked. Quatre looked at his food with new appreciation and the child-like wonder Heero had not seen since the wars.

 

Wufei didn't miss a beat. “You can take your communist propaganda and your sustainable agriculture rhetoric and shove it, Maxwell. The food in Chicago is fine. In fact, it's a non-issue. I don't think about it at all. Your communitarian ideals have no effect on me whatsoever.”

 

“I love you too, Wu.”

 

“I know.”

 

*

After dinner, Wufei and Quatre washed and dried the dishes while Heero wiped off the table, the counters, and the stove. He stubbornly refused to sit down when both his old partner and Duo told him to. He watched Quatre put the dishes away and frowned again when he saw that blank, exhausted look in his eyes. It didn't sit well with him. During the wars, when they were still just children, they'd all protected Quatre, even though, in many ways, he was their leader. He was not an innocent, but he had a sort of innocence about him, and they'd all felt the need to preserve that. Now, Heero knew there was no way to bring it back, but he longed to see it nonetheless.

 

When he finished cleaning up, Heero went to the cupboard and pored them both glasses of whiskey. He limped over to the freezer and removed a tray of ice cubes, carried it back to the counter and dropped a few into their drinks. Then he refilled it at the sink, sliding between Quatre and Wufei to reach the water. When he finally got the tray back to the freezer, Wufei had left the kitchen to join the others in the den, and Heero's hip ached fiercely. He'd wanted to ask his old partner to fetch his cane for him from where he left it propped up against his chair, but only Quatre was left and Heero wasn't quite ready to ask for help from him. So he gritted his teeth and started out, only to see Quatre scoop up the cane and examine it closely. It had an arm brace that hooked around just below his elbow, redistributing his weight a bit more evenly and taking pressure off his palm. His doctors said he could get a more innocuous one once his body adjusted to his new pace and gate. Quatre seemed to be reading his mind because as he handed it over, he smiled tiredly and said, “You should get a cane with a carved bird's beak for the handle - a toucan or something eccentric. Then you should develop a crusty old personality to go along with your limp. Call yourself Ahab, or something.”

 

Heero took the cane and slid his arm into the brace, leaning heavily against it. He took a steadying breath. “I didn't lose the leg, Winner, just full use of it.” He jerked his chin towards the drinks waiting for them on the counter.

 

“Yes, but the personality change would be a piece of cake. It'd hardly require any effort on your part.” Heero growled and held a drink out for Quatre only to see that same tired smile. “See? You've already got the vocals down.”

 

Heero huffed a laugh and turned to pick up his drink. Turning back, he toasted his friend and took a large swallow.

 

“So, how's the desk job treating you?” Quatre asked lightly, watching Heero over his glass.

 

Heero took another sip and shook his head. “It fucking sucks. Big time.”

 

Quatre raised his glass. “Welcome to my life. It's not a glamorous one, despite what the posters say. I actually had to buy a special cushion for my ass and lower back because I'm too bony to sit in an office chair all day.”

 

“I didn't need to know that,” Heero muttered into this drink.

 

“Just giving you something to look forward to.”

 

*

They played Gin Rummy and cursed like pirates. Heero watched them all relax as the liquor loosened their posture and their tongues. He thoroughly enjoyed Wufei's scowl when Duo pointed out that his speech was a bit slurred. He'd scowled at all of them and then at his empty glass as though it were personally responsible. Then he'd burst out laughing when he laid down his last two cards and won the hand.

 

“You're a funny one,” Duo remarked before taking a sip of his whiskey. He jumped and then grinned as Trowa leaned over and nibbled at his jaw. Heero found himself staring openly at this casual gesture of affection and want. Duo turned towards his lover and rubbed his cheek along a stubble-covered jaw, nuzzling against him like a cat.

 

Finally Heero looked away, embarrassed that he'd been looking at all, only to find Quatre's weary eyes resting on his mouth. He stiffened when their gazes met, and Quatre smiled sadly.

 

“I've known you for nine years, Heero. I know your head and your body.” Blue eyes traveled along the lines of his chest to his hands, his hips, and lower. He'd lost a lot of muscle mass since his injury. Where he'd once been lean and strong; now he was just lean, shaped more like Quatre, though he was still a few inches taller. Quatre glanced at their hosts, Duo boldly shoving his hands up Trowa's shirt. Heero caught sight of more bright fish, angry ocean waves and some scaled creature's claws wrapped around Trowa's waist. Duo's fingers traced the lines of the tattoos, followed them like braille. They were lover's fingers. “But I don't know your heart.” Quatre pressed a palm to his chest and rubbed it through his shirt. “I can feel its exhaustion and it's ache. It feels like mine. But I can't feel what it wants.”

 

Heero looked away quickly. Quatre's space heart had always unnerved him, though during the wars, he hadn't really worried much about what Quatre could sense from him. Mostly what he'd felt was single-minded desperate determination, and they'd all felt that. Now...

 

Heero's old partner was shuffling the deck, very carefully not looking at their two friends as they kissed across the table from him. Heero wanted to grab Wufei and high-tail it for the airport, regardless of the fact that their flight out wasn't for two more days. He wanted the solid presence of his best friend beside him, not this... pale, thin, sad, exhausted, mildly creepy, definitely intriguing young man who'd been his friend for equally as long but who was always just a little too on-edge, a little too emotional, a little to volatile and-

 

“Am I making you nervous, Heero?” Quatre asked, hand still pressed to his heart, eyes still closed.

 

“I don't get nervous,” Heero muttered. He glared into his drink. He could probably blame the whiskey for this odd conversation. But mostly he blamed the past year of his life, spent being useless and cranky, relying almost entirely on his former partner to keep him sane and functional. It was embarrassing, and Heero hated to be embarrassed, almost as much as he hated to be in debt to others. But, really, he owed his friend so much already, for things that he could never pay them back. They'd helped him feel like more than a weapon, a tool, more than an obsolete piece of nothing. They'd shown him some semblance of a normal life, trust, companionship. They were his family. Heero supposed he should stop thinking of friendship as give and take, as something owed and repaid. Friendship was that, but it couldn't be quantified and divvied up. Friendship just was. It was a 'be' verb, if that was possible.

 

“I think I'm going crazy,” he muttered before taking a large gulp of his whiskey. “Frustrated to the point of insanity.”

 

He looked up to see Quatre grinning at him, eyes bright with liquor and good humor. He leaned in close and whispered in Heero's ear, “I have a confession. Would you like to hear it?” He found himself nodding. “I hate my job, Heero. And my family is driving me nuts. I can't sleep. Food tastes terrible most of the time and I'm considering giving it all up and running to Argentina. The Winner's don't own Aregentina; they've no interest in Argentina. I did tell you we're buying Australia, right? Big tech market there, lots of money to be made. The Aborigines have been dead for centuries; might as well get some use out of that big space in the middle. Build something shiny that will make us more money. If only I could eat and breathe money; then I'd really be made of it, just like everyone thinks I am. Heero, you think you're going crazy? You have not seen madness until you've stepped into my life.”

 

Heero knew his eyes were as wide as dinner plates, but he wasn't frightened or disturbed. Oddly, absurdly, he felt like laughing, much as he had all night. “I know you, too, Winner. I've known you for nine years and I always thought you were a fucking loon.”

 

Quatre twitched his eyebrows and grinned. “And I always knew you were more than surly and sexy in those shorts.” Heero barked a laugh and flushed bright red.

 

*

They counted down the last ten seconds of the old year, clustered around the TV, watching some fossil on Times Square as he shouted and drank and pretended he was 30 years young. Scantily clad girls screamed and shook their breasts for the camera. As they reached zero, the brightly lit ball went dark, marking midnight. The five friends shouted and twirled noisemakers, laughing at the ridiculousness of the ritual. Trowa grabbed Duo by the back of the neck and kissed him full on the mouth, and even though they were both 24, they could have have 10 years younger at that moment for all their enthusiasm. Wufei, in a fit of immaturity that came out only when he drank, bullied his way between them, stating that it wasn't fair to make out in front of three single men who had no such partner. Duo and Trowa shared a look and tackled Wufei to the floor, making exaggerated lip-smacking noises as they kissed every piece of skin they could find. Heero had never heard his old partner look so affronted or laugh so loud.

 

He turned to Quatre who sat beside him. “Happy New Year,” he said quietly.

 

“Same to you,” Quatre murmured.

 

“May it be better than last year.” They clinked glasses and drank on it. Heero swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Quatre watched him do it, eyes following every move. “May I kiss you?” he asked.

 

Heero's smile faltered for a moment, but then he grabbed his friend's crisp white shirt and jerked him close. Their mouths met in a harsh, sloppy kiss that tasted of whiskey and frustration. Quatre reached up to tangle his fingers in Heero's hair and he groaned low in his throat in response to the pressure on his scalp.

 

They broke the kiss to join in a rowdy version of “Auld Lang Syne,” though only Trowa knew the words. The rest of them shouted along, sing nonsense words to the ceiling.

 

*

Quatre's thin shoulders shuddered and his body heaved, ridding itself of everything he'd eaten and drunk. He leaned heavily on the front porch railing and spit into the bushes. Then he wiped his mouth and turned to face Heero, who sat sideways on the steps, leg stretched out in front of him, back to the stair railing.

 

“That should do it,” Quatre murmured wearily, gratefully accepting the glass of water Heero handed him. He took a mouthful and swirled it around his teeth and tongue, spitting it out through the slats in the railing. They sat silently for the next several minutes, listening to the sounds of the city. Fire crackers went off in the distance and despite their best efforts, they both flinched and reached for weapons that weren't there. From the second floor, Heero heard a thud and then a window opening. A second later, Duo called down to them, “Just fire crackers, guys. No itchy trigger fingers on New Years okay?” Heero's mouth twitched and Quatre rubbed a hand through sweat-dampened hair. “Heero, is Q okay?”

 

“We're fine, Duo,” Heero called.

 

“They're fine, Duo,” Trowa said from further inside the room.

 

“Well, I just wanted to make sure...” His voiced faded, though the window didn't shut.

 

Next to him, Quatre scrubbed his face with his hands. “I'm going to feel like absolute shit tomorrow,” he groaned. Heero took several large swallows of water and leaned his head back against the rail.

 

“Nah. As long as you drink some water, you got most of it out of your system. Plus, you're a former Gundam Pilot. We don't get hangovers.”

 

Quatre shot him a glare that even Wufei would have envied. “When did you grow a sense of humor?” he grumbled.

 

“I've always had one; there just wasn't much that I found funny before recently.”

 

“We probably shouldn't have kissed like that.”

 

Heero blinked a few times at the abruptness of the comment and then looked away. He thought about being embarrassed. He considered wishing once again for his cold quiet apartment with Wufei living a few doors down the hall, his crutch and his companion. Then he shook his head and turned a scowl on his friend. “Why the hell not? It's a brand new year; we can both start over.” Heero couldn't recall a time when he'd ever spoken or thought like that. His actions were never reckless, never impulsive, never rash. Kissing Quatre like he had was all of those. Perhaps he really was going crazy. Maybe he was a having a quarter-life crisis.

 

They both looked up in surprise when they heard soft keening sounds drifting down from the open window. They glanced at each other, momentarily confused. Then they heard the distinctive rhythm of a bed frame banging against the wall. The voice - unmistakably Duo's - got louder.

 

Quatre snorted a laugh and hung his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he muttered.

 

“Indeed,” Heero commented.

 

“Heero, how can I possibly be irritated that they're happy? What sort of person gets pissed off when his friends get together and make something good for themselves? They're perfectly happy here in this dumpy city, in their shabby house, with their auto repair shop and their tattoo parlor and their rooftop gardens an it's driving me fucking nuts! It's driving me nuts that I really do begrudge them their happiness. What the hell is wrong with me?”

 

Heero shrugged, fingers massaging his hip. “I've been thinking about that,” he said slowly. Quatre looked up, surprised, weary eyes wide and seeking any answer Heero could give him. “You don't begrudge them happiness. I think that you are glad they're together, finally, after almost seven years. You're pissed off that you're miserable and exhausted and trapped.”

 

Quatre's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest in a sharp moody gesture. He clutched his arms in a hard grip.

 

They both groaned and Heero covered his ears when they heard the voices of their two friends rising and twining together. Heero tried very hard not to picture Trowa's painted body wrapped around Duo's perfect pale limbs. He failed miserably. Then he looked up sharply at the sound of shattering glass, eyes widening at the sight before him. Their water glass lay broken on the front walk. Quatre trod over it again and again, glass crunching against the soles of his shoes as he paced back and forth, up and down the walk. Alarmed, Heero got quickly to his feet and limped toward him, leaving his cane on the porch. He approached Quatre warily, staying on the grassy slope, not wanting to interfere, but also unsure how to help.

 

Quatre made a few more passes over the glass and then stopped, hands down at his sides. “I don't know what I'm supposed to do,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “I don't know where the final obligation lies - with my family and my company or with myself and what I want. My sisters chose their jobs and their houses and their husbands. Or they chose to stay in the family business. I never had that choice. The last choices I made were during the war, with you and the others. That wasn't freedom, but it was as close as I got. And I went home and there was all this... shit waiting for me. And I had no choice. And it's not fair. It's not fair!”

 

He shoved at the closest solid object, which, unfortunately, was Heero. His hands clutched at Quatre's shirt, then at the air and then he overbalanced, injured hip giving out with a sickening lurch. He started to fall down the steep bank, telling himself that this was all part of his wonderful new life as a cripple and that he should get used to falling and perhaps learn how to do it so that he didn't hurt himself. But then strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and waist and he lurched to a stop, his good leg bracing him, body held tightly in Quatre's grip. His friend gently pulled him up the bank until he again stood on solid ground. Then they both sank down onto the grass, Quatre leaning his forehead on Heero's shoulder.

 

“You alright?” he murmured.

 

Heero nodded. “Fine.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

“Don't worry about it.”

 

Quatre lifted his head and rubbed his nose on his sleeve. Then he leaned forward, eyes wide open and touched his lips to Heero's. Their kisses were chaste, almost a brushing of air against lips. Heero's insides fluttered with each one.

 

“Let's sleep for awhile. I'm exhausted,” Quatre whispered. Heero nodded and they helped each other up. Then they went inside the house, leaving the cane on the front steps.

 

Before they slept, they touched each other tentatively in the dark, hands seeking warm skin that was at once soft and hard. Quatre muffled his cries against Heero's shoulder. Heero arched his back and drew a shuddering breath, eyes staring blindly, fingers clutching the sheets and Quatre's ribs.

 

*

He awoke to a pair of bright blue eyes about four inches from his nose. He jumped and then smiled as Quatre ran his thumbs along his eyebrows and around cheek bones, finding pressure points. “That feels good,” Heero murmured.

 

“Do you have a headache?” Quatre asked. Heero stretched, feeling the entire length of Quatre's body along his.

 

“Not sure yet. Soon as I stand up, I'll know.”

 

“Heero...” Their eyes locked and he could see his friend's exhaustion. But the young man smiled without hesitation. “Come with me to Argentina.”

 

The answer was out of his mouth before he could think. “Yes.”

 

Fin.