Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Twelve ❯ A Word in Someone's Ear ( Chapter 12 )

Chapter 12

"A Word in Someone’s Ear"

Heero brushed the metallic keys with his fingers, moving it around in his palm, his thoughts turning as he glanced over to his best man.

They now traveled down the sidewalk where they’d been forced to abandon the car at the sight of the impassible block of traffic. Now the slushy streets were less crowded, though they still moved sluggishly, choked by the towing trucks and police cars traveling the streets. Duo kept pace silently, hands stuffed in his pockets, chin tucked down so it brushed the collar of his shirt, trails of steam noiselessly leaving his half-way parted lips.

It was so easy to see that he hated to lose that Heero had to keep himself from cracking a smile. Doing so would merit another grouchy, stubborn denunciation on letting people use him for a doormat. It was difficult, though, when the American acted as such, with the high blush on his face a combination result of his wounded pride and the winter chill.

He hadn’t spoken up after Heero had managed to calm him down—just enough so he wasn’t tempted to actually commit any acts of verbal or physical fury against Mayfield for how he’d treated him. Well, that was completely accurate. No doubt, with that stormy expression simmering just below the surface, that temptation would never lose its appeal, but now Duo lacked the justification to make the man miserable for the disrespect he’d shown. After all, should Mayfield show up with a convenient shiner and a few painfully misplaced teeth, Duo would most fear Heero catching word rather than the authorities appearing on his doorstep.

The authorities—those he could sidestep. Heero would be standing on the walk when he tried to sneak out the back way.

He knows that. And does it ever frustrate him, Heero thought to himself, unable to resist at least the tiniest smirk at Duo’s display.

He still proudly refused to speak up, to make his wonderfully keen and darkly sarcastic conversational jabs at him, to crack a smile at him just to fill the space. Heero silently watched his profile as they continued walking toward the parked car, silently tracing the hazy trail of steam from his lips into the chill air with his eyes.

For a second, he let himself indulge in a feeling of amazement, seeing how much they had physically changed—Duo had grown taller, filled out, physically caught up with his aged mind. It was a strange sensation in the beginning of adulthood to wait for your skin to grow around you, for the body to catch up with the years of the mind. Heero felt his own case had been particularly bad—trying to simultaneously find a way to experience things he’d never had in childhood and also find his way in life. He’d barely done any of the things Duo had, he was sure.

From his understanding, though he had no parental structure, he had had grown up in the presence of kids his age. Imagining him on the street of L-2, no easy place to live by any stretch of the imagination, especially before the war, as a scruffy, loud-mouthed pickpocket was easy to do, picturing little smudges of dirt under his eyes, tangles in his hair, scuffs on his knees and fingers. Considering how long it had been ten years ago, he would have had to been growing it since he was very young.

No one would dare mistake him for a girl now, even as that hair flicked at the back of his knees as he moved, proud, long-legged, and limber. That precious tail of his had become his trademark. He had never seen it on another human being, an external item that had become one of his exclusive idiosyncrasies. It was mesmerizing in the most innocent way, just moving in the slightest. It was a splash of color against his dark coat, an inviting thing to watch. He wondered if he would ever let him hold it again, just to quench the certain mystery that hung around it, but he doubted it, considering how he’d used it to help silence him with a less-than-gentle method.

When they approached the parked, sleeping car, entrapped by Duo’s pride-filled silence still and preparing to naturally drift apart to their corresponding sides, Heero disrupted that rhythm by stopping to call out his comrade’s name and make him turn out of begrudging curiosity. But when he registered that the pair of keys arching toward him through the air and automatically a hand pulled itself from the pocket to catch it, his sullen expression melted into genuine surprise, loosing the brooding pout it had been so preoccupied with.

He looked at Heero with a little disbelief as he walked past him and pulled the passenger door open, his jaw growing looser and looser by the second.

Disbelieving eyes glanced at the carved metal in his palm, then back up at the Japanese man. "So, you’re not mad at me or anything?"

Heero considered teasing him for a moment, of plastering on an inaccessible look, of frowning at him just to joke around, but just shook his head. "No," he said. "What’s there to be angry about?"

"Well, Mayfield treating you like a little shit, for one thing, but…" He again looked at the set of keys as if they were an illusion. Driving Heero’s car was something akin to laying hands on his Gundam. "You serious?"

"If it’ll make you happy, go ahead," came the response, with a fond tilt of the lips.

A little of Shinigami’s own grin rose to the surface. "Well, maybe a little," he exaggerated, his mischief already flashing like music in his eyes.

He wrapped his fingers around the key and quickly making his way around the Camaro, back in a more familiar disposition. Though Duo’s devilish smile usually promised trouble of some kind and delivered on that promise thoroughly, Heero felt the satisfaction of seeing his friend’s face light up again as he slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door close behind him, mutely smiling himself. The American was already eagerly revving the ignition and curling and uncurling his fingers around the steering wheel, eyeing the open road as if were prey to be hunted and taken.

"Just try not to kill anything, or anyone for that matter," Heero added, not so subtly reaching up for that seatbelt at his shoulder.

"Pacifist," Duo teased, throwing the gear into drive.

Trowa hovered at the window silently, simply staring out the frost-rimmed window out into the winter snow that had settled around the house, burdening the trees, dusting lightly from the skies. Like a physical trail into his memory, the scattered footsteps leading into the pines brought a little smile to his face while he lifted the mug of hot chocolate to his curling lips, enjoying the simple rhapsody of a good view and warm steam on his face. Begging faithfully at his feet from the pile of rumpled blankets on the floor, Numskull sat wagging his tail hopefully with his tiny pink tongue falling out the side of his mouth. A few moments later, his head flickered over to look at the new person entering the room and scurried back as he pressed up against Trowa’s back, assertively pulling him close all of a sudden and causing Trowa to accidentally take too-large of a swig and nearly burn his mouth.

Quatre laughed as he loosened his grip around his lover a little, feeling the texture of the sweater he wore against the sensitive skin on the inside of his forearm. Between his arms, Trowa regained himself and coughed a little. The blonde smirked and patted him on the back in playful consolation. "Did I surprise you?"

Trowa reached up and thumped himself on the chest, adjusting to the sting of very, very warm chocolate going down his throat. "No," he lied, coughing again and putting the rim of the steaming mug again to his lips. Whatever automatic trust he put into Quatre, that he wouldn’t repeat his amusing little trick again, was broken when he nudged him again and he went into a peel of laughter as the poor man sputtered out through his scalded lips.

The blonde giggled shamelessly at the sight of the formerly stoic Gundam pilot grimacing and smacking his tender lips and pressed his face into the exposed skin on his neck to silence even more laughter. As soon as Trowa had calmed down and finally overcome his coughing fit and accepted the fact, though begrudgingly, that he was going to have a tender mouth for the rest of the day, he just sighed and leaned back into Quatre, that smiling expression pressed into the nape of his neck.

"You know, I think you’re very cute when you’re caught off guard," said the Arabian after a few moments, letting loose another soft laugh.

Trowa looked down at the mug of hot chocolate, twisting his expression. "Funny. I didn’t feel cute just a second ago."

Quatre snickered again and sidled up to his side, an arm still safely wrapped around his midsection. "You just have to trust me," he said brightly, rising to his tip-toes to plant a kiss just to the side of the Heavyarms pilot’s mouth, aware that he was still a little burnt. As he pulled away, a cherry-red blush filled his face, though it was more of amusement than embarrassment. "Uh, Trowa," he pointed out, resisting another peal of laughter by momentarily leaning his head on the taller man’s shoulder, "I think you’re wearing my shirt."

"And you mine," he responded casually, lifting an eyebrow as his gaze drifted out the window again.

"Uh-oh," Quatre drawled abruptly, his bright smile softening and intensifying into concern. Beneath that stare, he could make anyone feel like they were the last soul on Earth, and he would do anything, even risk and sacrifice his life, just to ensure their safety. "I know that look, Trowa. What’s wrong?" Still holding on to him, he could feel the sigh swell up from deep in his lover’s chest and escape slowly, fogging up on the glass as he stared out at the slush-lined driveway, skimming over the tops of the dark pines, considering carefully.

Quatre watched his face carefully, almost as if he had begun to read it as if it were a book in a language only he understood. He blinked and took a step back, his eyes still trained on Trowa’s profile but filling with a slightly different shade of concern. "You don’t mean… Oh, come on, what’s there to be worried about Heero?" Quatre asked, smiling gently. "This is as happy as I’ve seen him in a long while. Everything concerning the wedding has long been planned out, there’s been no difficulty contacting anyone, and when he gets lonely, he’s got Duo to cheer him up. He’s hardly been in a bad mood since he got here and—"

That’s when Trowa tilted his head toward him, his face set firmly. "That’s what worries me."

The Arabian straightened up, taking his weight off his fiancé’s side and blinking once as realization washed over him, bringing with it a small pang of alarm. He could feel it, small but distinct, formulate instantly in the pit of his stomach, with suspicion that it wouldn’t be leaving any time soon.

"Oh," he said quietly, burying his eyes in Trowa’s for a second as his mind began to mull. "That… is something to worry about…—but they’ve always had that certain chemistry. Heero and Duo always worked fantastically together, even when they first met in the war, even though Heero said he burglarized the parts from Duo’s Gundam. Heero considers him his first real friend, his best friend. He’d do anything to help him, at a moment’s notice, and so would Duo. It’s just the way they are—I couldn’t imagine them not getting along together. B-b-but doesn’t mean that Heero… Does it?"

Trowa lifted an eyebrow at him, causing the blonde to hesitate again, replaying the words over in his head with an almost dreadful resonance, realizing the implications buried within it. He let out a tiny gape again, and Trowa continued, glancing back out to the window. "Don’t be too fast to overlook those facts," he said, drawn by the sound of a motor revving surging up the driveway, its surface gleaming, peeking through the heavy cover of low pine boughs. Watching the two approach calmly, he felt Quatre come around to look out the window as well, though the sense of concern had become almost palpable off him.

"You know what they say about friendship and love," Trowa said quietly.

Quatre suddenly intertwined their fingers, drawing the Heavyarms pilot’s attention back to him and the increasingly troubled expression he wore. "Now, wait, you know what that would mean. We can’t go around making conjectures like that. Especially at a time like this," he told him, though the look in his eye was that of mild confusion. The idea of this unspoken revelation between their friends was most unsettling, and the more he thought about it, the more he became filled with anxiety.

"Just before his wedding to the Vice Foreign Minister," Trowa finished solemnly for him, rubbing his thumb over the back of Quatre’s hand, now becoming even more worried by his lover’s worry. "Yes, I’m not suggesting we confront him on it as soon as he comes through the door. But I know that something’s there. It’s not something I just can ignore."

"But I haven’t felt anything like that from either of them. If there had ever been a tension between them, or even from Heero toward Duo, I’m sure I would have sensed it."

"Just because you haven’t seen it doesn’t mean it isn’t there. You know how Duo would wear a smile while the sky fell just to make people think he was anything but the least bit troubled. Heero’s never been exactly unreservedly emotional, either," he reasoned soberly. "It may not even show in our presence."

"Trowa, this is serious," Quatre pleaded with him, tugging his arm as his eyes started to drift toward the frosted windowpane. "If there was something of that magnitude unspoken between them, would he have ever agreed to marry Relena? Heero’s more vulnerable than he’d like to admit at times, and if he felt anything for Duo, he would have sought him out, right?"

The taller pilot again let his gaze drift to the window, the uneasy atmosphere of their conversation perpetuated by the image of the aforementioned two appearing out of Heero’s car parked in the driveway, the air outside throbbing from Duo’s loud choice of radio station as he swung open the driver’s side door. The pre-colony rock and roll ceased abruptly as he appeared with the keys clenched in his hand, grinned over the top of the car at Heero standing up at the opposite side, and began happily talking with him, his lips moving silently from behind the glass. Whatever the comment, it soon brought a smirk to Heero’s lips that would have been unthinkable nearly a decade ago, and he responded with what seemed to be his own clever comeback, making the American open his mouth wide in a laugh, jauntily stepping back to slam the door shut. A moment later Heero caught the keys out of the air as they flew in an arc toward him and shut his door as well. Steam trailed up from their mouths as Duo laughed boisterously, as Heero smiled and snorted, both walking up toward the front step through the snow.

Making a little skip in his step as he turned to face Heero, walking backward to keep the conversation going in full swing, they seemed to be casually chatting, but the impression that was made in the window overhead while watching the idyllic scene, only seeming to validate the argument Trowa made, was anything but light. It made Quatre’s hand clench a little tighter, his brow a little more tense, his voice more urgent, but the quaver gone, his tone carefully composed.

"I don’t want to jump to conclusions, Trowa. You know how much harm that could cause if this is really what's going on…"

Trowa nodded gravely.

Quatre swallowed the mild lump in his throat before it could escalate. "W-we’ll just have to watch. Look for signs. If there’s something there, we’ll have to find it on our own. We can’t confront Heero on this—he was frightened half to death today, thinking Duo would find his paintings."

"Understandable, considering their subject matter."

The blonde pilot closed his eyes, hanging his head slightly. "The last thing I want is a repeat of those years, Trowa. I never want to see him like he was then. It was horrible. It makes me almost ill just remembering that expression on his face. I want—"

"To see him like he is now? Happy?"

Quatre groped for words again. The idea had blindsided him, and now he was finding connections right and left. It did not make him feel any better. "Trowa, this is nothing to be taken lightly. If we go around carelessly, we could make the situation a hundred times worse, especially with Heero’s way with dealing with things like this."

"All right. We’ll watch, but we’ll be careful about it," he answered, tightening his hand around his fiancé’s. "I’m sure it’ll be fine."

"You mean you’re sure he’s not in love with Duo?"

That’s when Trowa fixed his eyes on the glass and did not move, other than to tighten the grip he had on his hand.

Quatre looked at him again, then out the window, and felt the lump returning when Duo packed a snowball in his hands and it burst into glittering clumps a split second later in the air when he dove to hit the deck, Heero’s own snowball whizzing over his head. It hit the window and fragmented into wet slush, sending Numskull flying down the stairs, yapping at the noise. He all of a sudden felt a little heavier than he had been only a few short minutes before.

A/N: This one's a little short, I know, but I'm trying to get so much work done right now that I think I'm gonna have to pull back on the word count per chapter if I want to keep turning out chapters. Besides, I thought the content would be sufficient. ;) Happy 4th, ev'rybody!