Author: PlaidDragon
Pairings: 1+2
Warnings: Shounen ai, angst, POV
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its original characters do not belong to me.
On My Mind
My subconscious senses the approach of Gundams before I consciously hear them. I'm on my feet and out the door before the muted roar becomes audible.
He's on my mind.
Running down the path to the hanger, I identify only three suits. Each Gundam has its own "song" and I know all of them. Altron is landing first; Sandrock and Deathscythe close behind. Where the hell is Heavyarms? Then I realise that Deathscythe's song is off; deeper, more labored than normal. In the yard I see Deathscythe settling to earth, lowering the badly damaged Heavyarms along with.
K'so! I hope Trowa isn't badly injured. On another, deeper level, I am ridiculously relieved that Duo is all right.
He's been on my mind.
But my relief is momentary. Wufei and Quatre scramble from their Gundams, running toward Deathscythe. The hatch opens and I see a tall figure cradling another in its arms. A long, long auburn braid dangles almost to the hatch.
Oh my god!
Wufei yells at me that Duo went after the disk and was shot.
Trowa went to his aid, continues Quatre breathlessly, and Mobile Dolls nailed Heavyarms.
Trowa hugs Duo's limp body against him as he slides down the gantry. The techs are gathering. A broken Gundam will bring them, but Duo is also popular with them and they care about him.
I fall to my knees beside them. Blood mats Duo's lustrous hair, streaks his face and soaks his flight suit. My heart does an up-and-down. His chest is moving, he is still alive, but the profusion of blood frightens me.
The tech who doubles as a medic is there, unzipping the suit, peeling it carefully from Duo's still body. There are two wounds, one in his chest, the other in his shoulder. I shudder at how close he came to two bullets in the head. It looks bad. The tech looks worried. Quatre is on the phone to Sally Po.
Heaviness settles around my shoulders. This is absurd; Duo is Shinigami. Death can't die! Can he?
In surgery, I stand by his head, his braid wrapped around my hand, willing him my strength and watching the monitors. Sally Po works quickly to remove the bullet in his chest and to close the entry and exit wounds in his shoulder.
Sally is good at this. She gets a lot of practice.
In recovery, she takes time to explain to us exactly what happened, what she did to correct it and how to tend the aftermath.
I don't need to listen. I've done this before. I listen hard anyway. This is Duo.
And he's been on my mind.
We take turns sitting with him. He is not expected to wake for some time.
I receive a mission. I tell Trowa I'll be back soon.
I disrupt operations at the Pretoria Base, lay waste to scores of Mobile Dolls and level several factories. I am chased, shot at, hit a number of times. I am unimpressed by the base's security and by the Mobile Dolls. I am gone six hours and forty-three minutes. My mission is successful.
Quatre beams happily when I enter the room. Duo has awakened for a few minutes and gone back to sleep. He asked for me and seemed sad that I was not there.
Another mission awaits me.
Quatre and Wufei will take it, they tell me. I am to sit with Duo.
In the hanger, Quatre and Trowa embrace, trading kisses. Wufei shouts down for them to break it up and for Quatre to get his fanny in gear. One last kiss and Quatre is climbing the gantry. Trowa watches him with confident, devoted eyes.
It's on my mind.
Duo sleeps, waking occasionally in an aching haze. Trowa has the drugs that Sally prescribed. He sees to it that Duo's pain is as brief as possible.
I watch his chest rise and fall in regular breathing. I listen to the small sounds he makes in his dreams. He groans and giggles and purrs. I hold his hand in mine, rubbing his palm with my thumb. I brush his hair, dislodging most of the dried blood. He gasps and whimpers. His brows draw down in a frown. He turns his head against the pillow. His fingers tighten on mine.
Trowa insists that I sleep. I don't want to, but it is necessary for continued success. I doze on the sofa outside the infirmary. I wander in dreams, alternating between delicious fantasies and hideous nightmares. I wake several times, each time rising to check on Duo. Trowa is reading a tech manual. He gives me a look that says he knows exactly what is in my mind.
Wufei and Quatre return. Their mission is successful. Wufei looks in on Duo, then disappears into his room. Trowa and Quatre attempt to merge. I suggest they take their experiment to another room.
Trowa and I change Duo's dressings. He is healing well. He will be ready for missions in a couple of weeks.
I check my laptop. Another mission. I suit up and become one with Wing, again to harass and chivvy our enemies. This mission is longer. I am no more impressed by this enemy than by the last. I am gone three days.
He's on my mind.
Duo sits on the bed, legs tucked under him, brushing out his glorious hair. His wounds are nearly healed. We all heal remarkably fast; another genetic adjustment from our training. He moves gingerly so as not to damage the heal.
His robe is loose, falling off one shoulder. His fair skin is luminescent in the soft light. Pale freckles dot his shoulders. He strokes the brush slowly through his auburn mane. His hands tremble ever so slightly.
I kneel on the bed beside him, my hands on my knees. I watch him silently. His beauty is hypnotic. He is only a boy; one day he will be gorgeous. He will turn heads wherever he goes.
After a bit his languid amethyst gaze glides over me. He smiles, still brushing his long hair. My breath catches in my throat. He is utterly enchanting.
His eyes are darker than normal, the pupils dilated from the drugs. The painkillers also account for his lazy, relaxed silence.
He lays the brush aside and lifts his hand to my face, caressing my cheek. His lips part in a drifty smile. I close my hand over his, pressing my lips to his palm. He sighs, his eyes falling.
He's been on my mind.
I slide my arms around his waist. He yields to my strength, allowing me to lift him onto my lap. He rests his cheek against my hair, arms laid easily around my shoulders.
I kiss his face, the hollow of his throat, his collarbone. I breathe in his ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. He purrs and nuzzles my hair.
He is vulnerable in this state. The drugs wipe away all natural fear and inhibitions along with the pain. Under the strong narcotics he is fragile and compliant. I take extra care not to hurt or alarm him.
Our lips meet. He makes a sound between a sigh and a whimper. I lay him down, stripping away the robe. He smiles up at me, a cheeky little smirk. I stretch out beside him, drawing him close, twining my legs with his, my fingers deep in his thick hair.
He giggles, arms around my neck, moving against me.
I gaze into his amethyst eyes. He returns my searching look.
"I love you," he breathes, and nibbles at my lower lip.
He is always on my mind.
OWARI
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