Deep Cover Part 3
As Heero stares into the gloom to exhume tangible features from allusive apparitions, he fails to notice a glint of silver.
BANG!
The shattering sound ricochets along the total length of Heero body, but when Yohji Hidaka lands with a thud in a boneless heap at his feet, nerve endings recoil with such force he shudders uncontrollably.
In an instant of absolute clarity cobalt orbs link with violet centers of sight; the pistol droops in Heero's slackened grip.
Compelled by the raw magnetism of positive and negative energy, Duo and Heero move among the mayhem, yet, each step seems to progress in slow motion.
Closer.
Twin heartbeats, pounding in precise synchronization, generate surges of adrenaline that arc like lightening between storm clouds.
Closer.
Duo resists the urge to pull his lover into a long-anticipated embrace; to crush his lips with a kiss designed to enkindle flames which would take all night to extinguish.
Now standing face to face all Duo can do is gaze into Heero's bloodshot eyes underscored with dark circles for any sign that a similar fire is ablaze below the surface.
Finally giving himself permission to breathe again, Duo sighs. "Hey."
*********
As the commotion subsides a fortunate Preventer team, one minor injury and no casualties, corrals Red Dragon stragglers, tends the wounded and body bags the dead.
Desirous of privacy, Duo guides Heero behind shipping crates crammed with cocaine and equally unlawful contraband. Seated on wooden boxes reeking of marijuana, he scrutinizes his partner.
In six weeks Heero has been transformed; his habitual orderliness deteriorated as if he just doesn't give a damn.
His once tanned face is pale and haggard. Brown hair, while often untamed, is in an unusual state of tangles, his chin dappled with stubble and his athletically lean body is much too gaunt for Duo's comfort level. The final unpredicted bombshell, a sliver hoop adorns his left earlobe.
But the most disturbing aspect is a vacant expression far more profound than mere impassiveness.
Heero Yuy never was an open book, never put his emotions on display however, until that moment, Duo could always decipher the subtle nuances of a raised eyebrow, a twitch of lips or the lustful "come hither" summons for sex.
Now his lover's facial features and body language are unreadable.
Duo wants to hold Heero's hand-no-better not push too hard. "Talk to me." He begs unashamedly.
A perpetual pause stretches into eternity then a flicker of perception. "I want to go home." is declared barely above a whisper.
After calling Une to reschedule his and Heero's mission debriefing, giving Wufei the data-packed flash drive and shedding his protective vest, Duo settles Heero into their black Range Rover with 01X02 imprinted on the rear plate.
*********
The trip home is navigated in an awkward hush. Light rain speckles the windshield, each droplet mirroring the psychological distortion spawned by the whore dubbed deep cover.
Dirty fingernails graze over frayed threads on stonewashed jeans as Heero gazes absentmindedly out the passenger side window. Identical indifference is evident when he enters the apartment, drifts through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom.
Assuming command, Duo gathers green and blue plaid boxes, white cotton socks, navy blue lounging trousers and a matching tee shirt.
"Take a long hot shower while I fix something to eat."
"Not hungry." Heero mumbles in an apathetic monotone.
Entrenched in the throes of exhausted exasperation, Duo hisses. "Shit, Heero, it's clear you ain't been eating anything nutritious. It's almost midnight and I'm bone tired so just cooperate."
*********
Humid steam converts the bathroom into a sauna.
Heero strips off layers of clothes exuding telltale whiffs of sweat and whiskey, lifts the hamper lid then reconsiders as he reckons the infiltrative garments should be burned and forgotten.
A swipe across the mirror exhumes a foreign reflection from the fog. With curious contemplation he regards the likeness looking back. Eyes lack intensity; blue isn't as bright, yet there's an underlying familiarity; an identifiable visage of a former self.
"Can't change the past." he resigns with a dismissive shrug.
Sore muscles, stiff joints and a persistent headache petition relief under the shower's pounding spray.
Heero braces both hands on the tan tiles as water hot enough to redden the skin cascades over his head, shoulders and back and slithers down his penis, buttocks and thighs.
For weeks that stretched on forever, being ever mindful of every word when a slip of the tongue could be disastrous, had dominated his entire thought process. Lies became his mantra until he raped the truth without a pang of conscience and deeds done to indulge Akira Komura's psychopathic whims became chillingly automatic.
Physically and emotionally naked in the shrouding mist, with only a waterproof curtain to keep the world at bay, Heero's well-crafted confident persona begins to crack. Instantly the fragile fissure bursts and bitter curses of reproach surge through the ruptured floodgate.
Accented by pounding fists, "Damn them all to hell." is aimed at past wars, Red Dragons, Preventer and the vindictive quirks of Fate.
Clean clothes in hand, Duo slumps against the doorframe. Even though the opaque shower curtain distorts Heero's profile there's no mistaking his body language.
The striking of enraged fists, curses growled in resentment and the clouded figure bowed in anguished contours causes Duo's heart to ache.
Heero is so damned proud, not conceited, but self-reliant and as much as Duo wants to intervene, to hold him and promise everything will be all right, his partner must be granted the tattered remnants of his dignity.
Clothes left on the sink, the bathroom door closes with a soft click. Halfway down hall Duo sucks in a trembling breath to stem the stinging in his eyes then, in besieged surrender, "Oh hell." is murmured as weeks of worry overwhelm his shaky restraint to give his tears free rein.
*********
Again Heero appraises his reflection. Cheeks blushed from hot water portray a healthier glow; eyes aren't quite as dull. He leans closer, taps the hoop dangling from his left earlobe, contemplates its removal then decides to keep the silver adornment as a mission souvenir.
Redressed, with freshly shampooed bangs feathered over his forehead, he engages Dr. J's deeply ingrained stoical coping mechanism and goes in search of Duo.
The enticing aroma of coffee lures Heero to the kitchen.
Eyes slightly red, Duo greets "Hey." as he slides a six egg cheese and bacon omelet onto a pre-warmed plate. "Want toast?"
Reaching for the coffee pot, Heero states wearily, "Don't have much appetite."
"Made a lot so you gotta help me eat it all." Duo sets the midnight supper rules.
Sharing the equally divided omelet and steamy mugs of strong coffee, Duo and Heero sit on opposite sides of the table. To make Duo quit staring, Heero nibbles on a forkful of his portion. All the while his lowered sight is aimed at the partially eaten meal. Likewise stooped shoulders discourage interaction.
Clinks from metal on stoneware and slurping sips of caffeine-laced liquid are the only sounds. Wordless moments pass, an odd silence as if neither man knows how to start a conversation that should be effortless.
Six weeks of severance can not be disregarded. Like haphazardly strewn puzzle pieces days and nights apart can not be made whole in an hour or the ache of absence soothed with pledges and pronouncements.
Uneasy with the noticeable tension, Duo fiddles with the paper towel serving as his "poor man's napkin" and mentally debates his next course of strategy.
Previous experience directs him to give Heero unrestricted time for physical renewal; to sort out the myriad of emotions plaguing his mind but, most importantly, the wounded warrior needs unconditional support to cope with the invisible scars marring his soul.
Certain that actions speak louder than words Duo reaches across the table and slips his hand over Heero's hand. At the tender touch his partner freezes up like a Gundam with joint circuit failure.
Undeterred, Duo increases the pressure and declares, "I love you."
Heero's hand trembles. Head raises but eyes still stare at the table as he whispers through a somber sigh. "I'm sorry."
Surprised by the unexpected apology, Duo tilts his head. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."
Slowly Heero's moist blue eyes focus on the man whose faith never wavers, who truly believes they can take on the world and win. "Our last night together I treated you like shit." is confessed with remorseful sadness.
"You had a lot on your mind."
"Dammit, don't make excuses for me. The truth is I was afraid if we got close I wouldn't leave."
Before Heero utters another word of self-condemnation, Duo is kneeling at his side. "I understand the cost of duty, about complicated choices between obligations and relationships."
Not yet ready to receive absolution, Heero shakes his head negatively. "I should have never put the mission before you."
With patient tenderness Duo gives Heero's arm a tug. "Come here."
At last Pilot 01-Master of Gundam Wing Zero-the Perfect Soldier forged by war submits to Duo's freely offered salvation.
Sinking to the floor, Heero settles into the steadfast sanctuary of Duo's embrace. Wrapping his arms around Duo's waist he clings like a drowning man and trusts his lover to buoy him above deep cover's engulfing deluge. Head cradled on Duo's shoulder, tears wash away the guilt and the shame and the pain.
Now there's no need for words, no demand for dialogue. Reassurance is communicated by touch and redemption is silently vowed.
"Let's go to bed." Duo urges a more comfortable location.
*********
Six weeks.
Or forty-two days.
Or 1008 hours.
Lost time that would never be recovered.
Divested clothing litters the path to the bed.
Arms and legs entwined, the reunited lovers savor the sultry sensation of skin against skin. With practiced precision all senses are engaged to rekindle passion that has been dormant too long. Kisses are soft lingering of lips; hands are unhurried in their gentle caresses.
In the bedroom's privacy neither man is compelled to suppress their emotions for fear of being overhead or observed. Moans are loudly voiced, fervent oral stimulation encourages hissed curses and copulative persuasion produces mind-boggling ecstasy.
Duo arches his back, mouth open in a speechless response to his lover's expertly aimed thrusts. "OHHHH FUCK!" is exclaimed when Heero's hand clamps around his distended manhood to milk it to urgently desired release just before Heero swiftly follows his partner into orgasmic oblivion.
Cuddled together in the tangled sheets Heero slows his breathing. "Love you."
"Love you, too." Duo replies with a sated sigh. "What are we gonna do tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow?" Heero repeats in an inquisitive tone.
Duo snuggles closer. "We'll have to debrief and meet with Commander Une." He pauses to tug his frayed braid from under his shoulder. "Then there's the inevitable reports, but I guess what I'm askin', do you still wanna be a part of this bullshit?"
Heero had never been anything but a warrior. First, an apprentice under Odin Lowe's tutelage then a nameless number-Dr. J's drone whose existence was dictated by duty and, lastly, a Preventer agent sworn to protect the fragile post-war peace.
Until Heero met Duo his cynical motto had been, "Life is cheap, especially mine." Now he was being offered an alternative, an opportunity to shed the soldier's cocoon and be reborn free from any obligations except to himself and Duo.
"I don't know." Heero answers honestly.
"We don't have to decide tonight or next week, just thought we could consider our options."
As Heero brushes damp bangs from Duo's incredibly expressive eyes he wonders, "Do you want to resign?"
"Truthfully, yeah."
*********
Three months later:
Reclining in a lounge chair on the back porch of his and Heero's beach bungalow, Duo stretches lazily. In an adjacent chair Heero, blushed by the sunset's crimson rays, slips a mojito.
Serenaded by the surf's rhythmic murmur along the white sand shoreline, the continual calls of seagulls and the melodious tinkling of brass wind chimes suspended from the bamboo ceiling, the dangerous demands of missions and the irritating "kissing" of bureaucratic ass are memories easily forgotten in their serene surroundings.
Employed as computer technicians for Bahamas Tourism, Inc., the pair of ex-agents enjoys their nine-to-five days. Likewise, stuffy Preventer uniforms were willingly traded for relaxing evenings in tee shirts, shorts and bare feet.
Heero and Duo are friends and lovers and soul mates and, finally, masters of their own destinies.
OWARI
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