Collateral Damage Part 3
A very drowsy Duo fought against the Sandman's summons to sleep. A millisecond more he lost the battle and collapsed dead to the world on the pillow nearest the wall.
As gently as he could Heero tugged the top sheet and thin coverlet from under Duo's body, bowed in a fetal curl, and covered him to ward off the chills. A soft sigh was the Irishman's only response as he snuggled deeper into the bedding.
Heero put the bread and jelly on the counter, soup bowl and assorted food-encrusted utensils joined the sauce pan in the sink to soak. In the bathroom he emptied his bladder, washed his hands and face and made a quick swipe with a ruffled toothbrush. Duo's boxers and socks were flipped on the towel bar to dry evenly.
In the makeshift bedroom the door was confirmed as locked. Wedging the Glock in the overstuff chair's lumpy cushion, he flopped down with a dog-tired puff and switched off the lamp.
As tacky blue eyes adjusted to the almost total darkness, flawed by a streetlamp winking through cockeyed window blinds, the gunman, turned reluctant savior, pondered his protracted history with the mercenaries.
At sixteen, while under Odin Lowe's fanatical tutelage, Heero learned a brutal lesson about misplaced trust. In spite of Odin's explicit admonishment about the sins of the flesh, his smart-assed "ain't gonna to tell me nothing" apprentice had taken up with an older woman of seventeen who was already well-versed in the school of carnal knowledge.
Three days later, after an all night fuck session, he awoke to find Relena gone. Instead a swarthy man with an eye patch, reeking of cheap cologne, was aiming a modified shotgun at his naked crotch. Seems Relena had forgotten to mention her pimp, Ricco, was a possessive prick, which left Heero to reckon his whore spreading her legs for free was the irate Italian's motive for the early morning visit.
Staring into Ricco's brown eyes with pupils the size of saucers, a telltale sign of mood-altering drugs; Heero wished he'd heeded Odin's prudent advice.
"Look I didn't know---" began the plausible rationale for bedding the absentee blond hussy.
Ricco sneered, "Should've kept your dick in your pants." he expounded on the deadly consequences of thinking with one's cock.
"I'll pay for the night." was offered to keep Heero's manhood intact.
The sneer stretched into a yellow-toothed grin. "Don't need the money." Ricco declared, "Rather see you bleed."
Since Heero had no choice but to go for broke, he braced his elbows on the bed and swiped at the stubby barrel with his bare right foot. Even though the kick partly deflected the shot, he had only a heartbeat to roll sideways before the shotgun discharged with a deafening blast and a spray of steel pellets peppered the pillow.
Despite quick reflexes, five pellets struck his chest and right shoulder. A sudden flare of pain robbed his breath. White light exploded behind his eyes then was quickly replaced by murky half-consciousness.
In the room across the hall Chang Wufei heard the commotion. Fortunately his timely intervention-a blood curdling battle cry and his katana's neutralizing slice that severed Ricco's hand at the wrist-saved Heero's head from resembling Swiss cheese.
Heero still bore thick white scars on his chest from that fateful night yet the mental scars had been slower to heal. Although he'd found conditional refuge with the dysfunctional family of anything-for-pay mercenaries, Odin's dogma, "Take care of yourself because nobody else gives a damn." had instilled cynicism in Heero's already fragile psyche.
To counter the guilt, the gunman purged his mind of remorse. To ease the raw emptiness in his heart he filled the void with apathetic numbness. Even now, at eighteen, the theory of faith was regarded with a wary degree of skepticism.
Gazing into the kaleidoscopic play of shadows ghosting over plaster-pitted walls, Heero contemplated his present complicity in the Green Dragon's criminal agenda. Lulled by the hypnotic patterns, a split second of distraction allowed a glimmer of conscience to breach his carefully crafted detachment.
Without warning his dispassionate acceptance of Akira's termination without credible justification forced him to question the cost of his strident emotional mastery. How much of himself had been forfeited for contractual obligations, wasted on meticulous attention to details, the expertly perfected stalking of his prey.
As the Glock's familiar contours pressed into his hip, Heero fought an onslaught of resurfacing sentiments he'd buried so deep they could never be exhumed. This sudden deterioration of control engulfed his senses so powerfully he sucked in a breath hard enough to hurt.
Years of blind obedience, rejecting compassion as a sign of weakness, were being undermined, made null and there was nothing he could do to halt the devastating destruction.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!" Heero railed against the wave of insecurity engulfing his fragmented restraint. Fists pummeled the chair arms. "Pull yourself together." he growled to rein in the confounding vulnerability.
Overwrought by the fraying threads of his stability, Heero was tempted to leave. Grab the duffle bags and sniper's case. Get the hell out and never look back.
It was easy enough to leave. Odin wouldn't give a shit. He'd just recruit another hungry, homeless stray and redirect his self-consuming anger with promises of righteous payback. The warring clans, Green Dragons and Red Dragons, might miss his services but the Hellbenders, whose loyalty went to the highest bidder, could easily fill the gap.
Of course there was always the option of pressing the Glock to his temple and pulling the trigger. Heero smirked. "What better way to escape this damnable duty." he confirmed as fingers fluttered over the pistol's corpse-cold surface.
Duo shifted in his sleep. A twinkle of silver shimmered along the twin hoop earrings. That brief flicker put Heero in mind of altar candles shrouded in wisps of burning incense.
Smoke and mirrors.
Tricks of light spawning mirages of memory.
On the docks Heero had the braided Irishman in his sights, trigger finger tensed to fire. No incentive to disregard the prime directive. What was different? There was no rhyme or reason but sparing this virtual stranger seemed to offer hope for a scrap of redemption.
Could he believe in second chances? Perhaps predestination didn't fix events in place, but fate was fickle and luck would reverse your fortune on a whim. Better to shape your own destiny even if your soul be damned. He also didn't believe in angels yet, bathed in muted lamplight, Duo came the closest he'd seen to a heavenly being.
For the first time since sixteen Heero dared to believe there might be inherent goodness in his fellow man and, like a muzzle flash dispersed in the darkness, a spark of humanity flared in his stony heart.
Absolute exhaustion of mind and body sapped the last of his energy. With great effort he stripped down to boxers and tee shirt. Not dwelling on Duo's potentially unfavorable reaction to sharing, he tucked the Glock under the second pillow and slipped beneath the rumpled bedcovers.
Turning on his side to face Duo, his right hand sought out the pistol's solace. Left hand rested lightly against his bedmate's upper arm where, curiously, he could feel Duo's heartbeat pulsing through the Celtic Cross tattoo.
Pushing away the bothersome debate over destiny vs. chance, Heero closed his eyes. The only sounds as he drifted off to sleep were Duo's steady breathing and rats scratching in the ceiling.
*********
Heero stirred from restless sleep. Subliminal dreaming, emerald surf and white sands oddly intermingled with cold fog and gunshots, tagged along until blurry eyes blinked to focus on Duo's serene face with a Cheshire cat smile on his lips.
Inches apart, Duo's breathing feathered over the pillow like eiderdown buoyed by the breeze. For fear of waking the slumbering Irishman, a tentative touch brushed aside reddish-brown bangs tangled in long eyelashes.
"Now what are we going to do?" Heero whispered the rhetorical question then wondered if "we" was too presumptuous.
Radiating around the room the rosy hues of dawn attested to the sunrise. A glance at his watch verified the exact time as 6:48.
A yawn nudged his sluggish mental activity.
*Coffee.* was demanded by a cobwebbed brain craving caffeine.
Without warning something in the hall hit the door with a sturdy WHACK! Instantly alert, Heero bolted upright, hauled the Glock from under the pillow, disengaged the safety and took aim at anonymous noise.
He was about to wake Duo and, for security, usher him into the bathroom when the next two duller thuds were recognized as knocks. Laying the Glock down long enough to tug on his jeans and zip the fly, he took up the pistol and crept to the door.
The fourth thump was louder, more insistent.
Shoulder braced on the hinged side out of direct range should the unknown person decide to riddle the door with bullets, the Glock was held at the ready.
A steadying breath, "Who is it?" he inquired as to the source of the continuous pounding.
"Chang." was the Green Dragon Lieutenant's muffled reply.
Streetwise vigilance still in force, Heero turned the latch and eased the door open six inches. Revealed in the narrow crack was a slender Chinese man, mid-twenties with coal black hair slicked back in a ponytail and equally deep ebony eyes.
No doubt Chang Wufei was pissed off. "What took you so long? Get that damn gun outta my face."
Heero tucked the pistol in his waistband then leaned against the rough doorframe. Suffering from lack of sleep and minus his morning jolt of java he was in no mood to engage in a lengthy conversation. "What do you want?"
Chang's scowl mirrored Heero's cloudy countenance. "You're supposed to be gone by now." he announced curtly, "Why haven't you reported to collect payment?"
"Didn't finish until after midnight. Was going to call this morning."
While the explanation was plausible, his Green Dragon colleague surmised there was more to learn so he leaned sideways to peer into the room. In a blocking maneuver Heero matched the movement but not before the nosy Lieutenant caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure in bed.
It didn't take much imagination to guess what or, in this case, who had delayed the gunman's departure. "Don't like standing out here, too exposed." Chang declared, nodding at the door.
Hoping Duo wouldn't wake up, Heero stepped aside.
Chang strolled in then appraised the shabby room. "This fleabag don't compare to when that Buenos Aires drug lord put us up at the Fairmont." he recalled the deluxe midtown hotel which had served as their last base of operations.
Attention centered on Duo, "Guess that's the reason for still being here." Was stated with a degree of cheekiness Heero didn't appreciate. "Shit! It's a guy with all that hair." Chang snickered. "But I ain't one to judge."
Not wanting to give the slightest impression Duo was of any importance Heero donned an attitude of indifference and began the charade. "After the termination went off without a hitch I took an evasive return route. He, never did get his name, was strutting his stuff outside that gay S&M club, "Jackhammer" over on Bayside. Figured I deserved a reward for a job well done so, what the hell, I solicited his services."
The shrewd assassin paused to gauge Chang's gullibility. In his line of work it was imperative to discern if someone was falling for a ruse by studying their overall demeanor. Satisfied the tawdry tale was at least credible, he grinned wickedly to add credence to the falsehood.
"He was such a good fuck I paid him extra to spend the night."
Chang tilted his head, "Had a few nights like that myself." Dark eyes lingered on the captivating young man with the extraordinary hair. "Was he worth it?"
Confident Chang believed the factitious account, Heero perpetuated the lie. "Every dollar. But it's time to put his tight ass back on the streets and get ready to leave."
"Could be a problem if your whore finds out about Akira and puts the pieces together."
"We met blocks from the target site." Heero reasoned, "All he cares about is the money. I'll be distant memory by this afternoon."
Gazing lustfully at Duo's exposed creamy shoulder, the acute tightening in Chang's crotch reinforced his licentious visions of a ménage a trios'. "Want me to stay?"
Heero's trained eye picked up the sexually-coerced nuances. A coy smile fluttered across his lips as he read the Lieutenant's telltale body language. "I'd rather be alone when I wake him. Who knows, if I ask nice he might give me a blow job for free."
Chang smirked. "If he refuses?"
Heero shrugged. "When I want something I find a way to get it. Besides", his hand rested on the Glock, "there's other means of persuasion other than my irresistible charm."
Chang stepped into the hall. "Get out this morning." he ordered firmly, "Stay at the safe house 'til the heat cools down. I'll be in touch with your next assignment." He pivoted then ogled Duo again. "Damn you have good taste!"
*********
Expelling a breath he didn't realized he was holding, Heero shut the door and locked the barrier between himself and the exiting Lieutenant. "Next assignment" replayed inside his mind. "Not going to be a next fucking assignment." he hissed as he extracted the Glock from his waistband.
Focusing wildly scattered thoughts into some semblance of order, Heero made his way to the bed. Sitting beside Duo, who thankfully slept through his and Chang's entire exchange, Heero closed his quivering hand over Duo's shoulder.
"Duo." He increased the pressure. "You gotta to wake up." was insisted with an anxious edge to his voice.
A content sigh escape over Duo's lips. Heero could see his eyes moving under tightly closed eyelids. Maybe he was also dreaming of sand and surf.
"Duo. Now!" Heero called louder to break through the sleepy stupor.
Slowly eyelids parted just enough to take in a restricted view of Heero's distressed appearance then closed to shut out the intrusive daylight. Another adamant shake encouraged his groggy senses to come around.
"What?" Duo snorted with a keen hint of annoyance.
Heero persisted. "You need to wake up. I have to go."
"Go? Where?" came the next, perfectly sensible, questions.
"I gotta get out of here and you have to go somewhere safe."
Duo wondered if he'd heard correctly. "Safe?"
As Heero had limited time to explain their immediate need to bug out, he took Duo by the arm and sat him against the headboard.
"Chang Wufei, a Lieutenant with the Green Dragon Syndicate, was here a few minutes ago. I'm supposed to hide out for a few days while he sets up my next mission. But I don't want anymore missions." he blurted out before realizing the words had been spoken.
Fingers curled into tight fists. "No more damned missions!" was hissed through clenched teeth.
It took a moment for Duo to digest what was being said, to comprehend the full meaning of Heero's rage-driven reactions. Seeming much wiser than his youthful years, he confirmed. "Ya want out."
Heero nodded affirmatively.
"Then that's what we're gonna do!" was proclaimed without so much as a reconsidering pause.
Heero's head snapped up. Cold blue eyes fixed their target. Suddenly he grabbed the Irishman's arm causing him to cry on in surprise and pain.
"Stop!" Duo exclaimed at the unpredicted attack. "What the fuck are ya doin'?"
Heero neither loosened the powerful grip nor tempered his acidic glare. "WE! Where in the hell do you get "we"? Damn it, you don't understand."
Despite the initial shock, Duo's astutely studied Heero's fretful features. Duo was not naïve. He'd learned the city's merciless lessons. How treacherous life could be and how fate dealt cruelly with man's mortal soul. He'd experienced, firsthand, the heart-wrenching pangs of separation and loss and, ironically, death was also no stranger to the tough spawn of the streets.
Not averting his violet gaze, Duo reached out and stroked Heero's cheek. "I understand." he replied placidly, "All to well."
Strength depleted from the never-ending struggle to keep up his stoic façade, Heero's shoulders sagged. "No you don't." he sighed as a sturdy shiver lance through his body. "Nobody does."
With wordless reassurance, Duo wrapped his arms around Heero's trembling frame then, without hesitation, pressed a consoling kiss on the uncertain assassin's quivering lips.
Normally Heero's reflex reaction, dictated by hardhearted preservation instincts, stern disciplined training and years of distrust, was to strike out and counter any perceived threats with violence.
This time, with unaccustomed conviction, he acted on faith, surrendered those ingrained survival impulses and reciprocated the kiss.
TBC...
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