Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Twelve ❯ Old Time Rock and Roll ( Chapter 8 )

O-K. Ya got me. Yes, through all of the reviews and the 'subtle' promptings and my own little Duo muse in my head nagging me, I finally started up again. Yeah yeah, celebrate or whatever. You win. You win, I lose. -.-; Heh. Just kidding. This puppy's been languishing on my hard drive for a while, when I was still contemplating it's fate. I'm still thinking, but I think now I may have the ability and endurance to write it, and still keep other projects going. You know, I think Twelve simply is a victim of circumstance. I was trying to finish this chapter while still struggling to get through The One-Eared Neko in time for the first deadline of June 1st, and that was making me weary. It's hard to write two enormous projects that take all of effort into the writing quality {Not that My Shini, My Ham isn't high-quality, it's not as emotionally and mentally draining as making a good chapter of Twelve is} and not get tired. Plus, by the end of every school year I just don't give a damn about anything, I'm that sick of being straight A in everything, ESPECIALLY that Hell-spawn called Algebra. Honestly, I'd rather take Spanish, German, French, Chinese, and Japanese in one year, if that meant I could skip math. Math bad. Words good.

Enjoy it!

{Especially you, Duo. I'm working a lot for you so you can have your sugar! Bleh. ^.^;}

Chapter 8

"Old Time Rock and Roll"

Looking back in hindsight, it mustn't have been as cute and clever to Heero as it was to Duo to relentless tease the groom, flashing razzing looks and a high schooler's keen sense for playful ridicule.

After the initial dark topic, they'd agreed somewhere wordlessly in their conversation that neither liked discussing was the basis of spouse abuse and poverty and Duo's potential future with both unpleasant prospects. Somewhere it was communicated that there were better things to discuss, safer things to discuss. Though neither was aware, the both feared the expressions in each other somewhere dimly in their stomachs, feared the implications of an ink-colored bruise and an unveiled string of ribs. So to eliminate that, Duo turned to his addiction, ribbing the stoic little pilot until any kind of amused emotion flashed across his face. Or extremely venomous or violently inclined, and then it was time to quit.

Twisting noodles around the black plastic dinnerware, the American loved to offer some of his own meal to Heero and smirk stubbornly at his polite decline. He would then approach in his pasta attack with utmost technique, pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth and making buzzing noises, waving the spoon back and forth, declaring the jet plane was coming in for a landing. Heero's face froze for an instant, and then he let out a burst of laughter and fending off the fork with a hand. Duo giggled, but leaned forward once again; the jet plane maneuvered around his fingers and caught his mouth at an offhanded moment and snatched success. Heero had turned his head to laughingly ask Duo to knock it off and instead had been filled with alfredo sauce and fettuccine noodles. The American settled back into his chair, laughing victoriously, and gave a startled yap as the Japanese man's retaliation splattered across his nose and dripped down to his lips. Duo paused, the spaghetti noodle lingering on his shocked face, then quickly swiped it off with a pawing motion and slurped it up childishly.

Once the antics of lunch had simmered to a few sarcastic quips and flat witty comments exchanged between them, as it usual was, they finished eating and dashing conversation in between mouthful after mouthful of Italian food. Cleaned up, filled up, and smiling, they left the office and Duo casually slung his arm over the Japanese man's shoulder as they descended the stairs back into the reception office. And at that affectionate gesture, normally the shoulders of the Wing pilot would be taut and half-hostile but seemingly had forgotten all previous reservations. He even gently socked the back of Duo's head after some teasing comment on Heero's usually disheveled hair.

They managed to catch the engrossed Rosy as she scampered back to her desk to retrieve some papers, the impatience for this scheduled customer clear on her flustered face and clenched teeth. The two had in fact just stepped off the last stair and Duo had jauntily pushed it open with his hip, still chattering at Heero with his expressive and inventive hand gestures. A blonde blur moved past them, and Rosy leaned over the reception desk, void one secretary, and wildly shuffled through a pile of starchy papers that hissed and scratched in her search. The Sith sister mumbled unhappily and began to finger through a black file drawer, finally discovering something satisfactorily and turning around with a manila folder clutched to her breast in place of the clipboard. Glimpses of ink numbers peeked from the disheveled mess of papers stuffed inside; probably a disagreement on an accounting figure with a customer had escalated.

Rosy huffed and spun to click back to the fitting room, acknowledging the two pilots with a soured look that meant well. "Man, I hate anal-retentive men," she hissed in explanation.

Duo snorted and jauntily crossed his arms. "You wanna hear about anal-retentive? Imagine trying to sleep when you're going to fight the entire, royally fucked up world and at three in the morning it's nothing but click, click, clikity-"

Before his razzing complaint managed to finish, the Japanese man beside him flashed an exasperated, playful look with the slightest roll of his unnaturally blue eyes and lifted his hand. It came to clamp down unexpectedly over the American's mouth, like a hand covering a child's mouth to stop them from blowing out birthday candles prematurely. "Talking too much after eating causes cramps," he said plainly. "We're gonna go now, Rosy. I can come down and get the clothes whenever they're fitted anytime before Friday afternoon."

She shook her head slightly, stifling the amusement on her sunny face. "Oh no, I don't wanna put you out of your way. You've got a lot of preparation to do, if I've heard correctly. I can drop them off at the house." Still captured and squirming, Duo glanced back and forth at a dizzying speed as he shifted and gauged Heero's response. It was surprisingly gracious and marked with an unrestrained display of friendly teeth and an amused snort. Actual friendly behavior. Where was the National Geographic team and arsenal of historians when the really amazing things happened?

"Thank you, Rosy," Heero said, bowing slightly. "I've already got my hands full."

"You don't need to say a thing," she quipped. "Just let me say goodbye to Quatre and Trowa and that darling dog of, and it's a done deal, honey." The Japanese man bowed again, and Rosy again femininely bid goodbye, her ornamental nails bold red and delicate. As Heero began to tow Duo alongside him, still holding him securely with a palm silencing his big mouth, she waved to her brother's captured best friend as well. "Have fun, guys! I'll probably drop by noon-ish tomorrow!"

"Alright." Releasing Duo at the glass doors, the American was free to smack his liberated mouth and wave goodbye once again to the sunny blonde woman. The mastortailor returned it in a wave, before she was forced to attend to business and trotted away. Heero, meanwhile had already passed through the doors and the American turned his head slightly to notice there wasn't another pilot in his sidevision, but there was a blob of fabric flying his way. Clawing his coat off his face, he conceded a smile and tossed the jacket over his shoulder. The other man already had his slung over his shoulders and was pushing through the second set of glass doors, brushing by loose strands of golden tinsel hanging from the doorframe.

"Hey, wait up!"

As a gust of cold winter wind snaked its way through the open door, Heero paused and held the door open for his comrade. It was somewhat amusing to drag him along and see if he could still remain on his toes and on par with his own pace after all the years apart, the Wing pilot thought, and it was only fair in light of all the playful jokes and wickedly kittenish pranks that he'd received only since he'd been newly reunited with him. The American adjusted his jacket finally as he passed through the doors. "You shouldn't walk so fast like that," he said, his words marked by puffs of steam in the air.

"Oh, yeah? I would like to hear why."

Duo prodded his side once, jokingly. "You'll get cramps. No brisk walking is recommended right after you eat a large meal."

"Or snow," Heero added with all innocence.

But even the most alert Duo was unable to spot that coming, unable to read the tiny hints of plans storming in his comrade's face and asked the obvious question. "What? I didn't eat-" He spat unhappily when the cold slush was pressed to his mouth by Heero's hand with enough force that if he had opened his mouth to pronounce the word 'snow' he would have really eaten it. Luckily, Heero wasn't too much of an obsessive joker and easily let go of his prank and let the snowball thud to the slush on the sidewalk.

Duo wiped his wrist against his lips and tried to put on a discouraging look. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to make it believable enough. "That was mean. I should have seen that one with a blind eye and another that doesn't work coming from a mile away, but it was still mean," he drawled. He mimicked a hurt, infant expression instead when he knew that the flat look he received wasn't conceived with false anger.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. It's already forgotten."

"Forgiven, I think you mean."

Duo tilted his head almost ridiculously with a sly smirk. "What are you in such a hurry for, anyway? Don't you think it's more fun to spend time with me instead of being at work? What's up?"

"Paperwork." He shrugged as if it was mundanely simple. "I've got a lot things to take care of. Scheduling, inventory, contacting all the invitees-things like that. I think I'll organize all of it when we get home, at least before we have to leave. It'll be much too stressful trying to fit anything formal in our schedule, once I get it finalized."

"Ooh," Duo taunted, knitting his fingers behind hid back and stretching with a catty tilt to his face as they both began to stroll in time towards the car, a rhythm they'd developed wordlessly between them sometime too far back to guess at. "I can see through all your innuendoes, Heero. What you meant to say is that we're going to be having so much delirious fun with wine coolers and endless days in the Cancun sun that no one will even remember planning a wedding?"

"Sorry again, but, it's not going to be entirely all sunshine and beaches."

Duo frowned, but only microscopically. So no forgetting then? Well-

"There'll be snow and other things," Heero continued casually.

And forgetting, maybe? He prodded again in a mentally depressing singsong.

Suddenly, the other pilot had his deep blue eyes drained on the American's face with a half-surprised tone spread across the planes of his face. "Forgetting what?" he asked, assuming nothing and driving a sharp fear into some vague place in Duo's chest with his beautiful and horribly innocent face. He realized with a similar pain that he must have blabbered that carelessly out loud and an effortless, lifeless grin came to his rescue before irreparable damage was dealt.

The American shrugged, his breath pluming on the wind. He knew that his smile didn't even reach his eyes. "It's nothing." And those suspicions soon became clear in Heero's face, which iced and hardened slightly when he sensed something wrong within the hollow grin he received. But before he could speak up, if he really had summed up the courage to do so, Duo nimbly cut in.

"Hey, think I could drive the car for once? I swear I still remember how do drive a car, if not how to pilot my old mobile suit," he nearly chirped in his fear. Eventually, the taciturn, appraising look disappeared and Heero seemed to erase the out-of-place comment from his memory and nodded. But not right away.

"Duo, are you alright?"

"Sure," he lied, finding it harder to smile under the weight of a suspicious terrorist's half-glare. And that seemed to bury another uncomfortable topic and things continued on smoothly.

Through the chilly winds dashed with snowflakes, they both walked to the black Camaro and at first Heero instinctually strolled over to the driver side when Duo piped up playfully and called him a shameless cheat. The Japanese man apologized and slammed the door shut instead of crawling inside. The pilots were just switching in a ritualistic pattern vaguely linked back to dark days in sweltering cockpits and confusing rampages led in outer space, when a shrill series of electronic beeps could be hear from inside the car. Heero and Duo, both clenching their jackets tightly around their sides to keep warm, stood in front of the white-dusted hood and glanced inside. The noise turned to a low bass and crackled audibly through the glass, before cutting with a sharp electronic sound. A few seconds later the same series of noises repeated itself, and a mild wave of confusion gripped Duo's face and caused him to furrow an eyebrow. "What's that?-"

"The radio," Heero said with a sudden breathlessness.

"What? That doesn't sound like-" He had shifted his gaze back to the profile of his old comrade and found a disturbing expression plastered over his stoic, hard-set face. It was a fearful look and the battered butterflies in Duo's stomach sickly swarmed in his stomach, this time because of an intuition of danger. Something was going to happen, he knew it, thinking darkly. His relentless luck had found him, and the onset was just sinking in.

"That's my emergency contact," Heero said abruptly and dashed to the driverside door. With a frantic clash of metal locks hitching, he nearly ripped the handle off in flinging the door open. He slid inside rather recklessly, a shrill electronic cry spilling into the winter air once again and the harsh crackle of a male voice spitting through the radio receiver. In an instant, Duo had crawled in the opposite sidedoor and his breath baited in fearful anticipation as Heero snatched the speaker off the hook and punched a button roughly. Garbled, crackling words of frenzy spilled out, repeating "Heero! Pick up the goddamned thing already! Damn it, you ass, Yuy, pick up-"

"I'm here!" he snapped hurriedly, tersely baring his teeth as he took sudden long-winded breaths.

Duo had never seen him so easily upset. He fidgeted in the passenger seat as icy winds howled over the ajar metal doorframes. The strange loathing in his voice was horribly thick as he spoke, adding a distinct nasal Japanese accent. Duo winced, knowing very well that it took a lot for Heero's flat, Americanized tone to turn venomous and faintly Asian. "What the hell is going on? This is my emergency contact and I'm off-duty besides, so this'd better be immeasurably important, Mayfield."

A keening of a beep cut his transmission to make room for the static-laced answer of his colleague, his teeth hovering close to the black mesh and his stormy blue eyes brooding up a stew of past altercations and tensions between this impatient officer.

The man called Mayfield cried back, "Why the fuck would I call you if it wasn't?! You're not much of a conversationalist!"

"Just get on with it," Heero growled at the microphone, unable to cut into the other man's transmission.

"Listen, there's some lunatic kid bomber threatening to blow the brains out of everybody down that at that stupid crackhead hangout, by the fucking foundling home! His only buddies just got booked for meth dealing for twenty and he just snapped!"

Fire boiled in those usually unimaginably cool blue eyes and he punched the button again until stressed tendons flared beneath his skin. "Why are you calling me, Mayfield? Get someone who's armed for this kind of thing! I'm retiring, remember?"

"Like the fuck I care! You're still here, you'll still answer a dispatch!"

"What about Lewis? He was going to be plainclothes-ing for that meth operation all this week, wasn't he?"

"Lewis is down, Yuy! He chased him down there, but he said the kid fucking shot him and pistol-whipped him. Knocked the goddamned weapon out of his hand, that little motherfuker punk." Even Duo was surprised at how tastelessly the man used his profanity. He'd been a little crass at times in his life, but he'd never been quite so random with all his swearing.

"Is he alright?" Heero insisted, but his pure-hearted concern soured once more into a highly displeased frown that displayed his teeth dangerously.

"Fuck if I know, Yuy. Just get over there!"

"You're the closest to them, Mayfield."

"No, you are," the crackling voice growled in a fierce return. "Some shitter just failed his driver's education and decided to celebrate by stringing up six cars on the main way, so I'm stuck here! Besides, you're the fucking soldier-snap his neck or do something pretty with a gun-I don't care what, Yuy! Stop being such a pansy and do a little off-duty work, come on."

"Stop being such a pansy and pull your head out of your ass," Heero barked simply before the radio clattered on the dashboard, the curly-cue connecting wire pulled from the socket at a simple tug of that immense strength. The harsh discord of static died in mid-hiss and distant howls of wintry wind rose to take its boisterous place. Silently, Duo sat faithfully in the passenger seat, waiting for Heero to make his decision on a very delicate situation, and didn't make a sound. Heero sat up tensely, and sighed as he picked up the speaker, pieced the wire and microphone together again, and promptly hung it up. Looking over, his war-worn eyes had glazed over almost icily, waiting for Duo's response in a like manner. However, it was the American who finally broke the silence and stretched an arm to lock the elbow and clasp the back of his neck half-nervously.

"He really doesn't like you, this Mayfield guy."

Heero lifted a morosely amused eyebrow, looking down at the radio. "You noticed."

"Well," Duo accentuated his response with a flare of a grin, "aside from all that lovey-dovey banter there, I say you two must really loathe each other."

"Well, he hates me, and I hate it when he tries to belittle me. Call it fate," Heero tried to joke evenly.

"Come on, don't tell me you actually put up with that. What about urges to just kick him in the-"

"No, Duo," the Wing pilot sighed tiredly.

"I've got two strong legs, ya know."

"I can let you go getting your hopes up, Duo. I wouldn't let you have all the glory and none of the fall. It wouldn't be fair." He tried again to be just as warm and engaging as Duo was, as Duo made him want to be in return, but it was only tainted by the rising exhaustion going through him resulting from the abrasive personality of his rival officer.

Duo smirked in return, but withdrew from chattering uselessly. "Alright, now tell me what the hell you or he did. I wanna know what happened between you two. I've never seen you actually look like you wanted to detail someone's head with your fist without that person threatening all of humanity. Well, not back then at least."

"Yeah, well, sometimes that old feeling is just channeled into other victims," he added resentfully to himself. "Mayfield-Aiden Mayfield-was the hot upstart at the station for a long time. He was treated like a form of royalty. Years ago, he suffered an injury that placed him in the hospital for a considerable amount of time. His muscles atrophied and prematurely aged him. Now he's restricted him to limping around, although his mobility has improved over time." He occasionally glanced over to Duo, who nodded comprehensively along with the story. "I was hired in his stead when Relena and I moved to Seattle. John was eager to recruit an old Gundam pilot for his force, and needless to say, I easily got the position."

"Lemme guess. Mr. Pissy-Fit didn't want you tramping onto his territory, huh?"

"He blames me for his injury as a way to vent his frustrations, but it's blame nonetheless. There's no possibility that I could have thrown him at somebody's windshield. I understand; he's bitter that he's no longer the prized veteran and a 'twenty-something punk who can barely be called a war veteran' is taking that place." Beneath his disheveled dark hair, Heero closed his eyes and shrugged innocently, displaying his still-sinewy, precise movements under his jacket. "I don't blame him for it, but-"

"Nobody likes being treated like shit," Duo finished succinctly and sweetly for him.

Heero nodded solemnly, in the way he'd done so many years ago. It was comforting for the American to see a familiar gesture amongst an unusual bitterness.

"Hate at first sight. How revoltingly romantic," Duo added craftily.

"I guess," Heero murmured, unable to resist the forerunner of a tiny smile.

"Chh. Oh man, get a room, why don'tcha? You sound so happy to have heard from him again," the Deathscythe pilot teased, socking his comrade's shoulder, not allowing that beautiful sliver of happiness to disappear on him too soon. "Now, come on. Don't play any of your little games with me, Officer Yuy. Nobody's got any time for them."

"Huh?" Heero asked innocently, his shoulders half-guarding his neck as he narrowly wrung his hands on the steering wheel, although his eyes weren't a drop of innocent. "What are you talking about?"

The American abruptly leaned over and rummaged a jangling set of keys from Heero's jacket pocket with all the prowess and pure nerve of a turn-of-the-century New York young pickpocket scrapping to live on the streets, or just one from L-2. And equally swiftly, he'd jammed the right key into the ignition and revved the engine. Glowing lights came to life, highlighting the black print tallying up to one-hundred-and-twenty miles per hour. He pulled back with a smug overtone to his smirk and settled into his seat before securing his seatbelt.

Feeling the weight of eyes on the side of his face, Duo folded his arms and tilted his head. "And don't look at me like that, Heero."

"You don't have to come, Duo. It's not your obligation." The Wing pilot finally relented and his palms wrung tighter around the leather steering wheel. "I know this has nothing to do with you, and I'd never willingly endanger you. It's my fault. I'm honestly sorry about this-"

Finally, the American decided it he'd had enough blithering apologies to last him pretty much for a lifetime and lifted his arm to shut him up. A raised thumb and extended finger in the childish mime of a gun was pointed at the Japanese man's startled face across the car. A trademark grin bore at his defenses and Duo's sharp voice kept him from apologizing once again, for another unneeded time.

"Man, you Japanese! Are you always this humble?-Anyway, listen, Heero," he started. "You're a very sweet guy, but you can still be incredibly dense. Whatever problem you think I have with coming along with you while you play Superman and save people's lives, drop it. Or else I'm gonna hafta shoot you to put you out of your misery. Nothing is going to stop me from helping you if you need it-not even you. I said I was destined to be killed by you, and nobody else. So don't worry, I'm not going to get killed anytime soon. Especially not by some riley kid. Besides, I'm your backup. Only fools and assholes don't use their backup."

For a moment, the other pilot remained still as stone, visibly contemplating the assertive words of his friend, generally looking a little dazed. The American's slyly angled mouth widened and he mimed a gunshot with sound effects included, laughing to himself.

"Thanks, Duo," Heero said finally.

"Aw, don't make me cry. Where else would I be when you needed my help?" he drawled in return, leaning over and spilling his long braid of hair over his shoulder as he briefly jabbed the horn and blared one at an unsuspecting man walking past, who jolted as he passed with shopping bags in hand. Duo smiled and looked over at Heero again. "Now, can we please get going? For the children's sake?"

He received a sideways look and a faint smirk resisting itself in return. "You pose a strong argument."

The American folded his arms smugly. "I was a soldier too, Heero, so don't think I can't handle one."

"Alright. I understand." With that, he put the Camaro into drive, glanced levelly over his shoulder, and practically kicked the acceleration pedal. Wheels screamed unpleasantly beneath them and hissed on the slush covering the pavement, threatening to spin them out. Heero turned sharply and cut into an empty lane as the orange needle hovered higher and higher. While his one hand clenched the steering wheel and kept the car from careening into traffic, he pulled down his seatbelt, held it with his teeth as he positioned his arm to pull it down again, and clipped it into place. Duo, already buckled in, already had nearly hit the window as the car had turned and suddenly doubted something in the pit of his stomach. The butterflies were nervous once again, although he didn't think it was about Heero's speeding-ticket style of driving.

Ahead of them, a little green car and a yellow and white taxi idled at a red light and Heero's leg was loath to remove itself from that accelerator pedal. Momentarily, he glanced over at the dashboard and the passenger side compartment. "Duo."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to have to stop, or run anyone down because I'm going so fast. They need a warning. Get the siren out." He momentarily tore his eyes away from the road to look at the glove compartment. "It's in there."

"A siren?" Duo smiled. "Wow. Looks like I really am riding with a genuine cop. I should watch my behavior." Rambling on humorously to himself, he popped open the glove compartment and shuffled through the random papers and scraps that seemed out of place in Heero Yuy's anal-retentive nature to pull out the siren. It wasn't as impressive as the reflective, red and blue ones on an issue police car, but it would do justice, Duo thought wryly, smirking and rolling down his window.

As Heero smoothly ran a red light and gunned down the next stretch of road, his comrade in the passenger seat reached out into the cold winter air, hooked his arm, and stuck the siren securely on top of the car. Realizing just how frosty the wind could be when rushing by at a very healthy speed, he quickly ducked back in and rolled the window back up. The American settled back into his seat just quickly enough as Heero cranked the steering wheel to bolt down a side street, giving a few law-abiding drivers the scare of their lives as he thundered by in front of them. The siren eventually began to take effect and there were much less incidents with drivers taken off guard by the Gundam-influenced driving style of one Seattle cop; they started pulling over and giving him the room he sorely needed.

Duo gave his best courteous smiles and even saluted a few as they went by, an arm slung on the windowsill. "Sorry my countrymen, but duty calls," he said sweetly. "Yep, better get your sorry selves off the road before you become just another statistic. Death by Heero Yuy."

"Duo," Heero chided laughingly, though it was hardly anything close to rowdy. His eyes left the road only a second to give his humorous partner a partial look that told him to stop pestering the citizens he had spent the last few years protecting. Then those dark blue eyes were glued to the pavement again, guiding their makeshift cop car along the one-way street.

"You don't think you should be someplace close to the speed limit in snowy road conditions, Heero?"

"Snow never bothered me," he chimed flatly. "And how would I know to go slow? I'm a pilot. I don't believe in that kind of thing."

The American gave a healthy laugh at the humor, which clearly was taken off from his own, with the exaggerated emotion in his normally collected, rolling voice. Folding his arms, Duo leaned back in the seat with a crafty look. "Sure. We never dealt with any crosswalks in space, and we saved this planet, didn't' we? Why should we obey some painted white lines?" He laughed again, and looked distantly out onto the road again. "That's just the kind of thinking I had in mind, too."

Whatever comradely happiness had been stirred up by their short banter was shortly eaten away as the thick traffic that had plagued Heero's unhappy rival soon caught up with the two and their black Camaro. A thick frown soon overtook the Japanese man's face as he surveyed the impenetrable line of cars that stretched down the intersecting street, the one that was key to getting to the scene of the crime in progress. There were a few idle seconds that lapsed in the car, with the driver gaping blankly at how easily his alternate route had gone down in flames, and the passenger giving out a low whistle of admiration. He had to give the traffic jam it's credit-it was awfully clever if it was trying to slow the police down. After that, Heero let his head bow onto the steering wheel as he let out low strings of curses in a language Duo luckily didn't understand. The American shifted back into his seat from revering the packed streets surrounding them, and warily turned that gaze toward his partner unsure what it would invoke in the strangely emotional Heero he had stumbled across only that morning.

He wasn't surprised to see that Heero was facing him, silently waiting for him to turn and look at him. Also waiting for him was that cold blue-eyed calculating expression, the one that had patiently awaited a signal to move from him, back when they were still armed and dangerous and anxious to make a difference, back when they had fought a war no high school age children should have fought. And they had won. Now, sitting in the present in Heero Yuy's car, that look again waited for his signal. Unspoken and undeniable, it was already decided between the two that they were going to continue, and when Duo gave him a subtle Shinigami smile, Heero rapidly put the car in park and pulled the keys from the ignition, letting the engine quiet.

They both bolted from their doors simultaneously, moving like they hadn't for a long time, perfectly in tune and perfectly aware of their initiative. In the way that they had worked together like gears turning one another and used the other's strengths to their advantage, effortlessly, easily, effectively, and absolutely, Duo had considered the perfect rhythm that was collaborating in missions with Heero to be even better than sex, in some instances. Okay, a lot of instances.

Moving like they hadn't for too long, Duo thought with a smile, following Heero as the Japanese man sprinted between traffic then leapt over the fence blocking the alley directly across from him. Too long.