gundam wing:anything at all;2x1;pg-13
title::anything at all
author::thrones
series::gundam wing
pairing::duo x heero
rating::PG-13 for implicating statements
summary::we can only be as terrible as those who love us.
Heero Yuy was a sort of monster; everyone knew that. Monsters didn't have feelings--they didn't have tears or worries or anything at all really, nothing that counted in the long run. They were like hollow shells that could break and cut and lash out, or reform into something hideous or perhaps altogether lovely. They could smile like the sun, and be completely dark inside.
And they usually were.
Heero really didn't have anything at all inside.
-
There was a girl once, and she was self-righteous and demanded things that the world couldn't give. Heero knew this, and knew she was foolish; and foolish people should die because they gave false hope to others who would be better off to know lonely despair by itself instead of despair against hope, which made the latter all that much starker and blunter and colder like guns against their temples because they had nothing to live for and could no longer lose themselves in monotony and the waiting for something better.
Because truth can kill people.
And Relena didn't know that, though Heero would rather she die not knowing anyway.
Because she would die. Everyone did. Everyone who wasn't a monster.
-
He probably hates Duo because Duo is Death itself, Death incarnate, and has pools of laughter for eyes. He thinks he could hate Duo for his chipper smiles and snide comments and the coldness that consumes him when he's truly alive, when he kills; and Heero decides that he doesn't like seeing another person who is dead on the inside, but it crossed his mind once or twice that he might forgive how real Duo is when he isn't fighting, how sincere he seems when he wakes up groggy and giggles when he's drunk and whispers something against his ear some nights that Heero can't understand or comprehend, doesn't honestly want to understand or comprehend.
Because it might open a little door that leads straight to the ends of the earth.
To that little hole of pitch darkness and rocks to bark any careless shins that stumble inside.
To an aching hole with a sheet of ice around it, a barrier to stay the claws of pain that suddenly tear, rip cruelly at the ragged edges, when those indiscernible, scorching words melt that shield.
-
"Heero?"
"Hn."
"What are you looking for?"
Several unspoken words slide beneath that icy cover of Prussian blue.
"Still?"
"Shut up."
-
It's dark in the morning, but it's always dark because it's always morning,because they're already awake before the sun is and sometimes they have breakfast after missions, about seven or 'quarter of, and older people would smile, perplexed at the odd and early hour of a meal between two teenage boys on a Saturday.
But there are no missions today,because there are no missions anymore, and Heero is still awake at four-thirty, half up on his elbows, and he's looking at the darkness.
He still isn't used to waking up sore on the inside; like someone held him too tightly.
Like someone held him at all.
-
Duo can smile because he can see good things in bad things, though it really isn't that intentional--he's come to view it as more of a survival technique. As long as there's something, he'll say, then I can still live.He isn't a monster, just a soldier; and he isn't really that, either.He's a guy who ended up with about seven and a half tons of Gundanium Alloy and knew how to kill people with it; bad people, he knows, or people who are controlled by others with bad intentions. As long as he knows he's fighting for the greater good, he can still smile.
He can see Heero in the darkness, sitting up partway, with that horribly blank expression; like he doesn't have anything inside him.
but Duo knows better, because Heero's hand, beneath the sheets--his fingers--are touching Duo's hand, and Duo's fingers, at the assurance his companion is sleeping.
They even curl slightly, almost enough to link together. Almost.
Duo knows better because he's been inside Heero--not often, just a few times when those deep oceans he had for eyes fell away and flooded his pale cheeks; and when he was sleeping and whispered things that no monster could whisper (a little girl and her dog and a flower, and horrible flames reflecting in guilty eyes that never lost that look of haunted self-deprecation until his humanity was finally scrubbed away with years of technical training; mechanical tactics for mental processes and the bare essentials for survival); and when he touches Duo's hand under the sheets because he thinks the braided boy is asleep.
Duo can smile because he knows better, and has to work at keeping his hand limp to hold up the illusion until Heero lies back down without retreating his small, hidden display of affection, and sleeps; and Duo can curl languidly against him without the bother of stealing back that token of need.
As long as the link is there, against and between and threaded through his fingers, Duo knows it's more than a fleeting misconception; and that's enough for him.
fin
author::thrones
series::gundam wing
pairing::duo x heero
rating::PG-13 for implicating statements
summary::we can only be as terrible as those who love us.
Heero Yuy was a sort of monster; everyone knew that. Monsters didn't have feelings--they didn't have tears or worries or anything at all really, nothing that counted in the long run. They were like hollow shells that could break and cut and lash out, or reform into something hideous or perhaps altogether lovely. They could smile like the sun, and be completely dark inside.
And they usually were.
Heero really didn't have anything at all inside.
-
There was a girl once, and she was self-righteous and demanded things that the world couldn't give. Heero knew this, and knew she was foolish; and foolish people should die because they gave false hope to others who would be better off to know lonely despair by itself instead of despair against hope, which made the latter all that much starker and blunter and colder like guns against their temples because they had nothing to live for and could no longer lose themselves in monotony and the waiting for something better.
Because truth can kill people.
And Relena didn't know that, though Heero would rather she die not knowing anyway.
Because she would die. Everyone did. Everyone who wasn't a monster.
-
He probably hates Duo because Duo is Death itself, Death incarnate, and has pools of laughter for eyes. He thinks he could hate Duo for his chipper smiles and snide comments and the coldness that consumes him when he's truly alive, when he kills; and Heero decides that he doesn't like seeing another person who is dead on the inside, but it crossed his mind once or twice that he might forgive how real Duo is when he isn't fighting, how sincere he seems when he wakes up groggy and giggles when he's drunk and whispers something against his ear some nights that Heero can't understand or comprehend, doesn't honestly want to understand or comprehend.
Because it might open a little door that leads straight to the ends of the earth.
To that little hole of pitch darkness and rocks to bark any careless shins that stumble inside.
To an aching hole with a sheet of ice around it, a barrier to stay the claws of pain that suddenly tear, rip cruelly at the ragged edges, when those indiscernible, scorching words melt that shield.
-
"Heero?"
"Hn."
"What are you looking for?"
Several unspoken words slide beneath that icy cover of Prussian blue.
"Still?"
"Shut up."
-
It's dark in the morning, but it's always dark because it's always morning,because they're already awake before the sun is and sometimes they have breakfast after missions, about seven or 'quarter of, and older people would smile, perplexed at the odd and early hour of a meal between two teenage boys on a Saturday.
But there are no missions today,because there are no missions anymore, and Heero is still awake at four-thirty, half up on his elbows, and he's looking at the darkness.
He still isn't used to waking up sore on the inside; like someone held him too tightly.
Like someone held him at all.
-
Duo can smile because he can see good things in bad things, though it really isn't that intentional--he's come to view it as more of a survival technique. As long as there's something, he'll say, then I can still live.He isn't a monster, just a soldier; and he isn't really that, either.He's a guy who ended up with about seven and a half tons of Gundanium Alloy and knew how to kill people with it; bad people, he knows, or people who are controlled by others with bad intentions. As long as he knows he's fighting for the greater good, he can still smile.
He can see Heero in the darkness, sitting up partway, with that horribly blank expression; like he doesn't have anything inside him.
but Duo knows better, because Heero's hand, beneath the sheets--his fingers--are touching Duo's hand, and Duo's fingers, at the assurance his companion is sleeping.
They even curl slightly, almost enough to link together. Almost.
Duo knows better because he's been inside Heero--not often, just a few times when those deep oceans he had for eyes fell away and flooded his pale cheeks; and when he was sleeping and whispered things that no monster could whisper (a little girl and her dog and a flower, and horrible flames reflecting in guilty eyes that never lost that look of haunted self-deprecation until his humanity was finally scrubbed away with years of technical training; mechanical tactics for mental processes and the bare essentials for survival); and when he touches Duo's hand under the sheets because he thinks the braided boy is asleep.
Duo can smile because he knows better, and has to work at keeping his hand limp to hold up the illusion until Heero lies back down without retreating his small, hidden display of affection, and sleeps; and Duo can curl languidly against him without the bother of stealing back that token of need.
As long as the link is there, against and between and threaded through his fingers, Duo knows it's more than a fleeting misconception; and that's enough for him.
fin