Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The D.C. Saga ❯ 1+2, Part Two ( Chapter 2 )

Arc: The Saga

Title: 1+2, Part Two

Author: __Nomi__

Archive: On my livejournal (http://www.livejournal.com/users/panicqueen), www.mediaminer.org, www.fanfiction.net.

Pairings: 1+2

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of blood.

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If Mondays could be taken out and shot, Duo would do it himself.

It was nine-thirty in the morning and he was awake, after having been gone on a four-day mission in which he did not get much sleep. And once he got BACK to the safehouse after said mission, he had to dutifully write his mission reports until two-thirty in the morning. And now he had to be woken up at the ungodly hour of nine-thirty.

Well, he thought, with a bleary glance at his alarm clock, nine thirty-three. Unable to fall back asleep despite his exhaustion, Duo grumpily threw the covers off and pulled on the jeans he'd evacuated the night before. He made sure to scratch the itch on his chest before pulling on a red tee shirt on, ruffling his already messy hair and pulling wisps of chestnut out of his braid. He pulled the long tail out of the back of his shirt and marched downstairs, barefoot and soles cold but not really caring.

He stormed into the kitchen and was greeted with the noise that had woken him up.

It took him a moment to realize that it was the smoke alarm and that Quatre was quite happily using the fire extinguisher on something that resembled a large black rock. When he spotted Duo, he flashed a bright grin. "Hi! Good morning! I was trying to bake a pound cake, but I don't think it turned out very well..." The blonde bit his lip, eyebrows drawn. "It said to bake at two hundred and fifty degrees for thirty minutes, but isn't five hundred degrees and fifteen minutes the same thing?"

Duo glowered. "No. It isn't. Quat, don't cook if you don't know how."

"I can cook just fine!"

"When it's a TV dinner," Trowa commented, strolling in from outside, grease and dirt on his face, hands and clothes.

Quatre glared at his taller friend. "Go wash your hands before breakfast."

"Will it kill me?"

"What, the breakfast?"

"Yes, the breakfast. If I might die from it, there's no point in washing my hands, is there?"

Duo snorted a laugh at the look on the Arabian's face before making himself scarce in the living room. It wouldn't do to make Quatre mad at him when he was the one feeding them all.

WuFei was the only one in the living room and he looked a little annoyed when Duo entered, setting his book down and quickly taking off his glasses. Duo had to stifle a smile as he walked over to the bookshelf.

"I won't bother you," he promised. "I'm just bored and I need something to do. If I had to be woken up, I might as well read."

"You should go back to bed, Maxwell. You need more sleep."

"Tell me about it," he muttered, plucking The Inferno off the second to last shelf. "But I can't go *back* to sleep once I've been woken up, so I'll just have to deal with it." He sat down on the couch opposite of WuFei and opened his book. In moments, they slipped into a companionable silence that WuFei appreciate and Duo enjoyed.

Ten minutes later, Quatre called them in for breakfast, which they all--minus Heero--ate. It wasn't half bad, Duo mused, nibbling on some slightly burnt toast.

Once they were full, or as full as they could be on burned toast, runny eggs and strangely sliced fruit, Trowa went outside to work on his Gundam, Quatre went upstairs to write in his journal, and Duo and WuFei resumed their positions on the couch with their respective books.

Duo noticed that WuFei hadn't put his glasses back on and smiled. He must have been self-conscious. After ten minutes more of squinting, though, the Chinese pilot finally succumbed to it and slid the glasses onto the bridge of his nose, shooting Duo a look that dared him to laugh. The American, for his part, merely shrugged.

"Who am I to laugh, Fei? I think they look good."

WuFei flushed but said nothing, opting instead on returning to his page. An hour passed and Duo's eyelids started to droop, but sleep was unattainable. He wondered briefly where Heero was when the door opened and the Japanese pilot stepped through.

He looked like hell. Worse than hell. Heero was covered in blood, dirt and grime, and he looked like he was about to drop dead where he stood. His dark blue eyes were haunted and shadowed, and they swept the room looking for something...something...

They landed on Duo and focused. Heero smiled, and Duo was eerily creeped out. "Duo...Duo-kun...Gomen nasai..." And he pitched forward and fell hard onto the wooden floor.

*

Heero awoke with a headache, a pain in his side, and soft voices speaking over him.

"Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know, there's a lot of blood..."

"Trowa, be careful, you know how he is if you touch him and he doesn't know you're there..."

"He's unconscious, Quatre, it'll be fine."

Heero shifted and heard Quatre gasp. As his eyes fluttered open, he saw two brilliant aquamarine orbs shining down at him. "Heero, can you hear me?"

"...Yes..."

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

Heero saw fourteen. That couldn't have been possible, so he opted for groaning instead. He felt cool hands start to tug his shirt up out of his jeans, those same hands, fingers long and gentle, prodding and poking for injury.

"Duo?"

"I'm here, buddy. Don't say anything, just relax. I'm trying to find the wound."

"No wound..."

"None? At all?"

"No blood. Not mine." He struggled to sit up and Trowa slid a long arm around him and helped take some of his weight. He vision split, blurred and swam, and he closed his eyes against the dizzying images. His pants were being cut away.

"No wound," he insisted, but WuFei would have none of it.

"Some of it has to be your blood--it's fresh. I'm going to check."

Heero felt cold air wash over his bared legs and he shivered. Trowa's arm tightened around him.

WuFei snorted. "No wound, my ass. You have a bullet in your thigh, Yuy. You don't remember getting it?"

"...No."

"Winner, go get the kit. Maxwell, go get some water. He needs fluids, he looks dehydrated. Barton, carry him to the couch. I'm going to have to take that bullet out and if he passes out, at least he'll be on something soft."

Everyone obliged and went about on their separate tasks. In less than a minute, they were all situated again with Heero on the couch, his light boxers the only thing keeping him modest, but he couldn't have cared if he was in front of th entire earth sphere completely in the buff--he was in too much pain too give a damn.

WuFei worked quickly and methodically, and Duo held Heero's hand tightly as the scalpel worked its way in. Heero heard a couple of bones shift in Duo's hand from the pressure, but the braided boy didn't complain, only met him strength for strength. Finally, at long last it was over and his wound was cleansed, bandaged, gauzed. Heero couldn't fall asleep, though. He twisted around, looking for Duo.

The American returned from the bedroom with a blanket and a pillow. Heero stopped him from leaving.

"You look tired," he commented, and Duo rolled his eyes.

"You're the wounded one--you take care of yourself first."

"If you go to sleep, I will too," Heero bargained. His partner laughed.

"I don't think so, Yuy. You need sleep more than I do."

Heero clutched at his hand, eyes pleading what his voice could never say. //Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone. I don't like to be alone. Please, don't leave me. Please...//

Duo sighed and went about pushing the chair closer, so he could curl up in it and rest his feet on the couch near Heero's uninjured thigh. Heero immediately sought his hand again, clutching the slender fingers tightly.

"Good night, Heero," Duo said, falling asleep instantly. Heero watched him for a few moments before settling down in a position that wouldn't shoot fire up his left thigh.

"Oyasumi, Duo-kun."