Bound Part 7
Weary Fugitives
"Nnnnn..."
Duo sensed Heero wake up before he actually felt it, a tensing of muscles, a stiffening of breath. He had been trudging through the woods, weary and aching, trying to make his way back to the place where they had left their Gundams.
As much as he hated to admit it, he was glad Heero had regained consciousness. As short as the Japanese pilot, all that muscle was heavy to haul around for hours at a time. He was so engrossed in keeping from dropping Heero that he almost walked straight into a small slow-moving creek. It was encouraging. He remembered the creek being nearby the place they had left their suits. It wouldn't be long before they got to the rendezvous point.
// Finally, // he thought, sighing. // We can call the others and get the hell outta Dodge. //
Of course, the pessimistic side of him reminded him that "nearby" really meant about four or five miles; not a problem for two healthy young guys, but the two of them were beat all to hell. He figured there was no way they'd be able to make it to the suits before nightfall.
"Hell." he muttered distractedly, leaning over the water.
He was hurting bad; nothing like he imagined Heero was feeling, but pretty damned bad all the same. His right eye was swollen shut and his nose felt like a solid mass of tissue. He walked stiffly from the rape he had endured. He could hear his own breathing, a low panting sound that was like the noise a hunted animal might make after a long chase. His blood-clotted hair fell in snarled tangles in his face, and he mourned the loss of his braid.... again.
There was a soft moan in his arms, and Heero's arms tightened around his neck, Heero's breath hot against his skin where the Japanese pilot's head was leaned against the hollow of his shoulder. Fingers clutched the rags that remained of his shirt like a lifeline. It reminded Duo that he wasn't the only one in deep shit here. As he saw the creek, he let out a shaky groan of relief and lowered Heero wearily to the ground, propping the soldier against the trunk of a tree.
"Heero... I'm going to get some water... okay?" He shook the Japanese pilot a little. Heero's eyes opened slowly, looking glazed-over and milky from the effect of the drugs in his system. He was awake, but still as limp as a rag doll, aware but covered with blood and hanging in a sort of semi-consciousness that frightened Duo to no end. Heero let out a small sound that could have been an affirmative, and then cobalt eyes slid shut again.
Duo noticed his braid, wrapped around Heero's neck like some sort of weird talisman, and gently unwrapped it, holding it in his hands like a silken rope. His heart wrenched at the sight of it, but touching it comforted him a little. Heero had kept it safe, and he was thankful for that.
He stumbled over to the creek, going to his knees by the water. The American probed his broken nose gingerly. It hurt like a motherfucker, no doubt about it, but it still felt pretty straight. No problem there; it wasn't exactly like he had never had his nose broken before. Tears welled in his eyes as he saw his hair in his reflection. It was a stupid thing to cry over, he knew, but he couldn't help it. That braid was all he had had to remember his life before he had become a pilot. But he heard Solo's voice in his head, rebuking him. Duo couldn't help wincing: if there was anything about Solo, it was that he was always right, and never gentle.
// You got worse things to worry about than that mop on your head, you half-pint dumbfuck. Heero, for one. Maybe you've forgotten, but your partner is a little more important than your rattail. So quit bellyaching over it like a lil' pussy and help the only thing you can. Worry about the small stuff later, when you got the luxury for it. //
"Always wondered what I looked like short-cropped, anyway," he said out loud in a little sigh, wetting his hands and running them through his hair, getting the bloodied strands out of his face. He leaned down and put his whole face in the water, allowing the frigid liquid to numb his face and drinking the cold water until a silver spike pounded itself into his forehead. When he felt relatively better, and not so close to falling unconscious himself, he cupped water in his hands and splashed a little on Heero's face, carefully wiping away the blood there. He ripped off his shirt and soaked it in the water, bringing the wet cloth to pat gently at Heero's shoulder where he had been shot, cautious of the Japanese pilot's other fractured arm.
At the first touch to his face, Heero opened his eyes again, awakening a little from the drugged stupor he had slipped into. "Duh... Duo?"
"Yeah," Duo replied softly. He jumped up and got another handful of water, then held it to Heero's parched lips. The Wing pilot drank it carefully in small sips, a little less rashly than Duo and so escaping an ice headache. He had already had enough billy clubs to the back of his head to take care of that nicely, thankyouverymuch.
"'m sorry," Heero mumbled. He lifted his good hand like it weighed a hundred pounds, laying it with clumsy heaviness on Duo's shoulder. "Sorry I... didn't stop 'em."
Duo didn't have to ask what Heero meant. He knew.
// You did stop them. Heero, don't you remember, you pounded your way through a titanium door, you tore those guys apart like an animal, you blew their fuckin' brains out, and if that didn't stop them, then nothing will. Jesus... //
Duo shook his head in exhaustion. He wouldn't say those things to Heero. As if Heero didn't have enough things to worry about without another attack of conscience. Duo remembered how lost he had looked back in the base, covered with the blood of the soldiers he'd dispatched, crying like a child. "Don't worry about it. Really. Only..." There was a flash of shame that passed through him and he looked back up at Heero. "Don't tell the other guys. Okay? They... they don't need to know. I don't want them to."
Heero nodded silently, his expression solemn as he looked into Duo's marred face. One bright amethyst eye gazed back at him pleadingly; the other was swollen shut from a hard blow. He understood. Later, when they were alone together, one some quiet night in a safehouse somewhere, with no one to hear them, Heero would let Duo talk about it.
There was a period of silence where the both of them sat, just catching their breath, listening intently for the whining/roaring sound of enemy suits in pursuit, or search troops tramping their way through the underbrush, the sound of search dogs barking in the distance. Actually, Heero didn't know whether Duo was listening for the enemy or not. But even badly wounded, Heero would always be a soldier first. He didn't have the time to stop and lick his wounds, but since he didn't think he was capable of walking yet, Duo's stopping was permissible. Escaping recapture was the only thing he was concentrating on. The only thing keeping him conscious. Let Duo worry about the rest. Life and death would always be Heero's department to worry about.
"Why did Zechs let us go, do ya think?" Duo asked after a few moments, looking over at Heero. Heero looked back at him, shocked again at the sight of Duo's hair, chopped roughly at his chin, the bruises that covered his face, the black eyes, broken nose. Heero's eyes wandered downwards and he saw that Duo's chest and sides were a mottled mass of bruises. He seemed black and blue from head to toe. Despite his beating, Heero could see that from his question Shinigami was in okay shape, and for that he was vaguely thankful.
"D... Don't know..." Heero muttered. He could still feel the influence of the sedatives, and his tongue felt heavy and thick in his mouth. "Thuh... think it was... too easy... for him. He w-wanted... to catch us... for himself. Fuh- fucked up idea of chivalry."
Duo shook his head slowly. "Somehow... I don't think that's all of it, Heero." He didn't, either. No matter what Heero said, there was something chivalrous in the way Zechs had let them go. Maybe it was a little old- fashioned, but then again, maybe he was just so desensitized by the brutality of the other OZ soldiers that compassion from The Lightning Baron, one of OZ's top men, seemed just a little too good to be true. He didn't blame Heero for being skeptical.
Heero muttered a doubtful-sounding reply, but Duo knew he wouldn't repeat it. He sighed, leaning his forehead forward against the tree Heero was propped up against.
"Who in the hell are you?"
Duo and Heero's heads shot up at the sound of the voice. Heero's hand went to his waistband even before he realized that not only was he not armed, his gun was back in the base and totally empty of clips. But there was no way he could fight without a weapon.
Duo stood up, his one good eye flashing like a scared wild animal's, his hands clenching at his sides. There was no way he was going back to the base, not living and breathing. No way was he going back. He would take one of his own bullets before he would do that. And he'd kill Heero first. Neither of them were going to spend another moment in that hell.
He watched as a girl who looked about eleven or twelve pushed her way through the underground, balancing a bait bucket, a fishing rod, a tackle box, and a creel in her arms. A black and white collie followed at her heels, but advanced ferociously when it saw Heero and Duo, barking violently. The girl dropped the things in her arms in surprise when she saw the two battered young soldiers.
Heero pushed up against the trunk of the tree, his face pale and his wide eyes shocked at the appearance of the girl and her dog. In his semiconscious state, his mind couldn't convince him that it wasn't the same one that had haunted his dreams for years.
Duo was turned away from Heero, and didn't notice the terrified look on Heero's face. He tensed, ready to pounce. If she screamed, he would kill her, or at least knock her unconscious. He was at the end of his rope, as savage as he had been back on the streets, and he had no intentions of leaving OZ a trail to follow. He didn't like the idea of killing a kid, but he'd do it.
TBC...
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