Author: Zazu
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Duo's POV
Pairings: 1+2+1
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, nor do I own the characters. I have borrowed them here for some fun and creativity, and this is not for profit. I do, however, own the plot mentioned here, and any instances that you may find similar to real life events are purely a coincidence.
Notes: Not beta-read. Inspired by misao_duo's prompt 'patience' (thank you!), and dedicated to my cookie!
Learning Patience
Patience is always a difficult lesson to learn, no matter who you are.
I grew up on the streets of L2, and I learned to be patient, waiting in hunger for food to be thrown into dumpsters so I could eat. I watched people walk about, waiting for the one person or that perfect opportunity to pick a pocket. I crouched in the dark, motionless, waiting for that rat to appear so it could be the gang's dinner.
By the time I ended up at the Maxwell Church Orphanage, I had learned to be patient for the important things. Wait for prayers before meals to be over, or be punished to wait an extra ten minutes to eat. Treat the younger children patiently, for they looked up to the older ones. Teach them to be patient and wait for that foster family to come for them, even when deep down everyone had known that adoptions were few and far between.
Once I began training to become a Gundam Pilot, I was forced to be patient in my training, because without it, I would not be able to exact the revenge I wanted upon those who had destroyed the Maxwell Church Orphanage. And even beyond my training, the ability to sit and wait, to be still and quiet, kept me alive or allowed me to succeed in my missions more times than I could count.
And now, having survived the war, I acknowledged that patience was a virtue necessary in everyday life. I didn't want to be the guy waiting in line for my coffee while repeatedly looking at my watch, and I certainly didn't want to be the one who annoyed people; got on their nerves by stressing over every minute that I had to wait, for whatever I was waiting for. And of course, in my line of work as a Preventers agent, I applied this virtue just as I had applied it in the war. Patience makes an agent level-headed. It allows him to make well-informed decisions.
But the one part of my life that I, for some reason, didn't expect to have to be patient about, was my love life.
I mean, sure, I flirted harmlessly here and there, with a secretary, with the cafeteria girl, with the people who worked in archives or forensics. Not to toot my own horn, but I could head down to a club on a Friday night and turn heads, could gain enough interest to avoid being lonely.
Somehow, though, it didn't always seem all that hard to wait for him. To study him and wonder if I had the chance, to see if it was more than just a physical attraction; although you have to admit that you'd have to be blind or completely besotted with someone else not to be physically attracted to him.
I know that for a shameless flirt like me, one would think that I wouldn't take the time to know my own feelings well enough before taking action.
The only reasonable explanation I have for this is the loss I'd suffered when I was younger. Everyone I cared about has died, and I hesitated to let anyone else get close enough.
It started off easy enough, to test the waters so to speak. Our interactions were fairly seamless at work; I'd like to think that he considered me as more than tolerable. We had lunch together. Then, we went to the gym together twice a week. Beyond that, we hit the pool hall for a beer or two on Friday nights when we weren't on a case.
It became second nature to know his tastes and preferences, to know what a facial expression or a hand gesture meant.
And I fell deeper and deeper in love with him. Still, I had to be patient, had to be sure of something, sure of what he thought before I made a move.
It was probably a year and a half into our career that I thought I saw a glimpse of concern that went beyond that of a comrade or a partner. Granted, I wasn't too sure of what I saw since I was under the influence of drugs and healing from a bullet I'd taken to my side. But it was enough for me to take just a little more notice, to push a little more. And I wanted to push, because that bullet told me not that I was lucky, but that I could be wasting precious time with him.
I asked him on a date after I had recovered, and took him to a nice restaurant instead of the local pool hall on that Friday night. He invited me over to dinner and a movie at his place on Saturday night.
These little dates lasted two weeks before I had patiently observed enough to know that we were good together. No, better than good, but there wasn't a word to describe that feeling.
So the following Friday, I took up his offer to have coffee at his place after dinner. And it was then, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching him brew the coffee, that I stepped closer as he turned and drew him in for a kiss.
A spark of impatience was there; I asked myself why I'd waited so long for something as good as kissing him. As good as holding him and being held by him. I pulled away and apologized with a laugh that I was sorry I didn't even wait for the coffee to perk. He chuckled and kissed me back.
When we settled on his couch that night with mugs of coffee in our hands, he asked me how long I'd been interested. When I told him, he asked me why I'd taken so long to make a move.
So I told him about how I'd learned from a young age not to be rash or impatient when it came to things important to me.
Of course, he laughed at me, pointing out that he didn't see patience in me, not the guy who detonated bombs or threw himself into missions or took spontaneous chances.
I corrected him, telling him that I could be patient about most things.
So, he said, are you still going to play the patient game before we go beyond kissing?
I blinked at him and blatantly asked if he wanted to go further. I mean, I didn't like to be patient and I was a virile young man. Asking him like that, I told him, would negate the need for my being patient.
He'd answered me with actions instead of words, and our coffee was forgotten; hell, we even left all of the lights on at his place as we found our way to his bedroom.
And now, I lay with my head pillowed on his shoulder, stroking an abstract pattern on his skin and reflecting on the whole concept of patience.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked, voice groggy.
"That I'm glad I was patient, that I didn't jump into things. I don't think we'd be this good together if...if we'd just gone right into it."
He hummed his agreement, and I let a finger tease his nipple.
"What are you thinking about now?"
I moved over him then, rubbing my interest against his as I nuzzled his ear.
"I'm wondering if I could screw patience and just have you again. Now."
His chuckle and hands tracing over me was all the answer I needed, and even as he showed me how much he loved me with each of his caresses, even as he taught me patience in a whole different subject I hadn't learned before...
...I reflected that patience was a difficult lesson to learn, but a worthwhile one to apply.
OWARI
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