Silence Part 3
Heero
I have plenty of time to think in this enforced silence. I find I do a lot of it. My memories of the past are crystal clear now. I recall some of the smallest things about my Duo, that being one of them.
When did he stop being "Maxwell no baka" and start being "my" Duo?
I ask myself that question often. I don't know why it matters; he is "mine" now, and always will be. Perhaps just an exercise here in my solitary silence.
I know he was "Maxwell" when he shot me. Twice. He was "Maxwell" when he rescued me from the military hospital. He was "Maxwell" when I cannibalized Deathscythe for the parts to fix Wing. At some point, during our battles with OZ, he became Shinigami, by my side, protecting my back, laying waste to our enemies with an unholy glee. When we went undercover at various schools, he became Duo, out of convention. And at some point even I can't recall, he became Duo, the chattering, optimistic bringer of light and adolescent enthusiasm.
When Duo was captured and I set out to kill him, he was a liability. Face to face with him in an OZ cell, with those luminous violet eyes staring me down, waiting bravely for the bullet between the eyes, I couldn't do it. Couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger and snuff out the sunshine and laughter that he represented. So, I rescued him.
We were even then. Or so I thought.
He had been injured; his captors had taken every opportunity to vent their frustrations on him. I found myself tending to his hurts the way he had always tended to mine. (At first glance, everyone expected Quatre to be the caregiver of our merry band of assassins; he is a very gentle and kindly person. But he is also a strategist, constantly weighing events and actions, playing the percentages as well or better than I ever did. Quatre's compassion is directed first and foremost toward his beloved Trowa; the rest of us would always be an afterthought according to the percentages. Nothing against Quatre for that, it's the way he is. To our surprise, Duo stepped easily into the role of medic, being a deft hand at cleaning, disinfecting, stitching and bandaging. We all owe more to his skill than can ever be repaid.)
That day, Duo was a much better patient than I ever was. He didn't argue with me or try to put on a front. When I asked where he hurt, he told me in detail. But he also smiled in spite of his pain and thanked me for taking the time.
We had sex for the first time that day. It wasn't "making love"; I don't believe either of us thought in those terms then. We were two teenage boys with rampaging hormones and needs that neither of us understood. It was just sex, or so we thought. So I thought.
Somewhere along the way, it changed.
When we were captured together (both of us at fault for an amateurish blunder) and tossed into a donjon cell in an ancient castle commandeered by OZ as a base, neither of us realised how far our feelings had gone.
They took Duo for questioning first. He was gone for a long time. I fretted and worried and tried to tell myself it was only concern for the mission.
They dragged him back almost two hours later, battered, bleeding and unconscious, and shackled him to the wall. My heart went to my shoes and I blamed myself for allowing him to be captured. Torture was part of my training, not his.
He regained consciousness slowly, whimpering in pain and panting with the effort of getting his feet under him. Just the act of watching him in that struggle was enough to tear at my heart and fuel my already considerable anger.
"Duo," I asked tightly, "how badly are you hurt?"
He slumped against the stone wall, his whole body shaking, his head resting against his arm. The bruises had bloomed purplish-green on his fair skin in sick contrast to the dried blood. Both eyes were swollen and his mouth had been cut by brass knuckles.
He breathed deeply a few times before replying. "Aside from the obvious," he rasped, still able to make a joke, "couple of broken bones, some internal bleeding... My kidneys will never be the same... Bloody, motherfuckin' bastards..." he gasped, closing his eyes. "Don't worry, Heero. They got nothin'... They'll be back..."
His words both embarrassed and humiliated me. Did he think I cared only for the mission? That his condition was nothing to me? Was I that perfect at hiding my affection for him?
An OZ officer came some time after that. He ignored me, going straight to Duo. He grabbed a handful of his braid, yanked his head back and slammed him hard against the wall. He shoved his knee between Duo's legs and his hand under his torn shirt and trapped his bruised mouth in a violent kiss.
Duo struggled, trying to twist away, but the bastard had him cornered. I went from angry to homicidally enraged in the blink of an eye.
No one had the right to assault him that way, especially not some snotnosed, swaggering pervert of an OZ officer, and certainly not when he was helpless to fight back.
I yanked on my chains and yelled at the bastard to no effect; he didn't even glance my way. I grabbed hold of the chain above my shackles, braced both feet against the wall and hauled with all my strength. I don't know what I expected; the iron ring was set deep into the stone wall.
But the ring pulled free of the stone. I landed on my feet, took two steps and snapped the length of chain like a whip.
Duo saw. He managed to knee the man in the groin, not hard enough to do damage, but enough to make him flinch defensively. As he avoided Duo, the slashing chain wrapped itself around his neck. He was dead before his body hit the ground.
Duo sprawled against the wall, staring at me in wide-eyed astonishment. "Heero..." he breathed. "You... you pulled it... Wow..."
"Did he hurt you?" I demanded as I freed the chain from around the officer's broken neck.
"I don't know," Duo sighed. "I hurt so much already."
The adrenaline still pounding through my body, I took hold of Duo's chain, walked myself up level with the ring in the wall and heaved. It creaked, but held. I took a deep breath and hauled on it again.
"Oi..." said Duo faintly, violet eyes big as saucers.
It parted with a grinding sound and we tumbled to the ground together in a heap. Impulsively, I grabbed his face in my hands and planted a kiss on his brutalized mouth.
"No one plunders what's mine and gets away with it!" I growled. "Let's get the hell out of here."
"Oh..." was all he could manage, his eyes brimming with an emotion I didn't recognize. He fumbled in his tattered braid, pulled out a lockpick and in spite of his trembling hands, had the shackles off in seconds.
I supported him while he did the door lock and then we were out of there, dodging patrols and guards to steal a car and complete our escape.
Duo was uncommonly quiet; he kept looking over at me, then glancing away, a confused frown on his face.
In our room at the safehouse, after a long soaking bath and medical attention, Duo finally asked me what I meant.
I growled at him in embarrassment. "Hn. Exactly what I said. You belong to ME; nobody touches you like that against your will."
"Oh." He cocked his head to the side, a look of guarded hope on his ever-expressive face. "Does that mean... you like me..?"
I looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
He took it as the answer he wanted. "I really hope so," he murmured, "Because I love you." He laced his fingers with mine and relaxed on the bed, closing his eyes with a contented sigh.
That was the first time he said it. I couldn't manage to say it back to him for months. It turned out I didn't need to; he understood me better than I understood myself.
I think that was the moment he became "mine".
TBC...
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