Disclaimer: I don't own them and I don't make any money off of them.
Warnings: Male/Male sex. Graphic. Language. Violence.
The Rain series + Part 6
He had to sleep some time.
They whispered it more than once, not understanding that Heero wasn't
like them, that his endurance could carry him for days. Sitting in a hard
chair, gun resting in one hand on his lap, and feet planted firmly on
the floor, he was ever ready to leap into action. The doctors didn't have
a chance against him.
They operated, slicing with lasers, replacing two organs with cultured
ones, and closing wounds with micro stitches. Bones were reset with the
best in reconstructive bio materials. A cracked skull was filled and internal
bleeding stopped. Transfusions revitalized a body bled white. It was the
best medical treatment that money could buy. Heero Yuy was stealing it,
stealing it for Duo Maxwell to save his life.
When Heero had pulled up Deathscythe, using Wing as a stabilizer, they
had both landed hard. Deathscythe had been inoperative, systems blown
and fused, energy depleted in it's last bid for safety. Miles from pursuit,
and deep in a rugged rocky terrain blanketed with forests, Heero had dragged
the dark Gundam into the side of a jutting rock formation and then had
used Wing's strength and reach to pull down branches and vegetation to
hide it. Putting on a radar jammer, Heero's only fear had been that Oz
would track the machine by heat before the machine could cool off.
The Gundams were invaluable. Heero's first concern had been to save them
from discovery. That done, the all important pilot had been next. Opening
the hatch of Deathscythe, the smell of blood, vomit, and urine had hit
Heero's nose. His mind had assessed the situation in seconds and come
up with a course of action even as he approached Duo's still body.
Duo Maxwell had been sprawled over the controls of Deathscythe, feet bare,
leg broken and twisted in a strap attached to the command chair. His braid
tangled all about him, his face had been full of blood and vomit. Heero
had checked his pulse and found him, incredibly, still alive, but not
for much longer. Loading him into Wing, Heero had flown Duo out of the
woods and mountains and brought him to one of the few places, Heero had
felt, that could save a pilot so important to the war effort.
It hadn't taxed Heero's skills to round up the best doctors in the hospital,
under a pretense of a meeting, and coral them into a little used operating
room. Donning surgical gear, Heero had taken up his vigil, while the coerced
doctors had worked on Duo, turning aside any interruptions from curious
hospital personnel, who happened on the operation, with the truth; a delicate
operation was being preformed that would take most of the day and night.
In it's eighteenth hour, Heero was still alert and diligent while the
doctors themselves, all operating room veterans, were no less alert and
waiting for him to make a mistake.
"He's stabilized," a doctor finally reported with a sigh, "but
you won't be able to move him without endangering his life."
Heero's answer was to hold his breath and let loose a gas bomb. The doctors
tried to get away, but none of them made it to the exit before they succumbed.
Satisfied, Heero rose from his chair and began pulling out all of Duo's
tubes except for a saline and morphine drip. Tucking these in beside Duo,
he then lifted the pilot of Deathscythe, still in his operating sheet,
and transferred him onto a gurney.
Heero experienced a satisfied feeling as he headed for the emergency entrance
of the hospital without anyone questioning him. The entire operation was
going smoothly, like a dance, and he could feel the perfect rhythm in
the beat of his feet as he reached the exit door of the hospital at last.
It slid open automatically, revealing waiting ambulances, bored drivers,
and safety. It was then that an alarm went off.
Heero frowned, his mind working at hyper speed to determine the flaw in
his plan. That flaw was on Duo's wrist. A patient monitor had been placed
there by a clever surgeon. Not missing two beats, Heero jerked the wrist
band off of Duo, hopefully not breaking fingers or delicate wrist bones
to do it, and jammed it onto a teenager walking by with a limp. The young
man howled and jerked away, flapping a hand that had been nearly crushed
in an iron like grip. The hospital staff converged on the boy and Heero
was ignored and allowed to continue out of the hospital.
He had a few moments before the boy could explain and convince elders
that the band didn't belong to him. Heero used those precious moments
to utmost advantage as he flipped open the doors of an ambulance and accepted
the help of a driver. Once Duo was loaded, Heero knocked the man unconscious
with a violent punch, calculated to keep the man out for hours, and then
flung him into the ambulance to lay sprawling beside where Duo lay.
Heero drove the ambulance only a few miles, abandoned it on a back city
street with the unconscious driver, and hot wired a car that was only
a few steps away. Loading Duo onto the backseat, Heero peeled away from
the scene of the crime and headed for the coordinates of the safe house,
the place where the other Gundam pilots were waiting for them.
"Just like you, Yuy," Wu Fei growled as he twitched the blanket
back over Duo's leg, hiding the numbered brand there once more. The oriental,
Gundam pilot scowled at Heero, arms crossing over his chest. "You
don't trust anyone, and because of that, you blew the mission!"
"Duo was a part of that mission," Heero explained stonily. "The
mission required a complete trust in his abilities and his affiliation
to the cause. I couldn't risk that he would give away my position and
follow me back to you and the other Gundams. He retrieved the codes far
too easily. I was right to be suspicious."
"Knowing that your computer search for those numbers triggered a
security alarm, I suppose you still don't trust Duo," Quatre assumed
sourly. The blonde Arabian came up on the other side of the bed and looked
down at the unconscious Duo. Duo was milk pale, bruises and swellings
surprisingly minimal after being treated and a broken nose set and already
reducing it's red, swollen appearance. Quatre had fingers on some of the
biggest hidden accounts in Space or on Earth, and money wasn't a concern
for him, yet even he could appreciate the expensive, cutting edge, professional
treatment Duo had received.
"He risked his life to get Gundam Deathscythe out of the hands of
Oz," Heero replied. "The actions he took were not survivable
for a pilot. They were not the actions of a traitor. A traitor would have
been allowed to escape, not attacked with killing force. If Duo were a
traitor, he would have been allowed to follow me to my rendezvous with
you without receiving fatal injuries."
Quatre nodded. "I've worked with him the most. I know he's not a
traitor, but I'm glad you're not suspicious any longer, Heero."
Wu Fei growled, "He will always be suspicious. He questions my honor,
your honor as well Quatre... Trowa. If he wasn't essential for the war,
I would kill him for the insult."
Heero gazed back at the pilots dispassionately. He wasn't going to apologize
for something that had been trained into his blood and bones. Trowa was
the only one who looked like he understood. He gave Heero a short nod
from his position by Duo's IV's, confirming it. Quatre caught the look
and he sighed, as if Trowa's distrust was a long running problem as well.
"Well, we should let Duo sleep without all of this shouting,"
Quatre suggested. "Will you watch him, Trowa, or should I send one
of the Maganocs?"
Trowa didn't look worried. He never had much of an expression no matter
how he felt and he usually hid that behind his fall of hair. Now he was
doing that again, bent somewhat over Duo and checking his breathing as
he replied, " I'll watch him for now, but I'm trained in basic medical
techniques only, Quatre. If Duo should go critical again, I won't be much
use to him."
"He won't, " Heero assured them. "He had the best medical
care. All of his critical damage has been repaired."
"Doctors can't repair fever or bio rejection, Heero, you know that,"
"Living or dying is up to Maxwell," Wu Fei said as he headed
for the door of the room. "We can't give our position away by getting
a doctor." He glanced back at the damaged Shinigami. "I'm surprised
that you didn't let him die, Yuy. I'm still finding it hard to believe
that you risked everything to take Maxwell to surgeons. Maybe there is
a soul in that cold body of yours after all."
Quatre stared after Wu Fei and then he looked back at Heero. "I know
why you saved Duo and it didn't have anything to do with a compassionate
Trowa smirked as if it were funny and Quatre looked at him, confused by
the taller boy's sense of humor.
Heero turned on his heel and walked out of the room, not replying to the
obvious. He didn't have to answer to anyone, but Dr. J, and he didn't
care what the other pilots thought of him and his motives. He had retrieved
an important weapon in the war, Duo Maxwell, and kept another important
weapon, Deathscythe, from falling into enemy hands. The retrieval of the
Gundam was still a priority, but Heero was confident that his actions
had been successful and proper. He hadn't let anything as distracting
as compassion or friendship sway him in any of his decisions. If things
had gone wrong, he would have used his beam cannon on Duo and Deathscythe
without a moments hesitation.
Friendship... The soldier part of Heero's mind sneered and pain threatened.
Why had he thought of friendship? Duo wasn't his friend. He was a tool,
unwieldily, loudmouthed, and opinionated, but still a tool. He couldn't
deny that Duo's skill as a soldier pleased him, and that his surprises
of insight were intriguing, but allowing Duo to become too close was out
of the question. Heero had never been close to anyone, not even the men
who had trained him since he could remember. It was a weakness he had
been trained not to allow.
Heero cut off all traitor thoughts, traitor emotions that wondered if
Duo would recover, wondered if he would get to work beside him again,
and wondered most of all what other intriguing surprises the young man
might reveal if contact was maintained. Heero settled the cold, detached,
core of his training about him like a protective cloak and deleted all
thoughts of Duo Maxwell, self proclaimed Shinigami, from his mind. Forget
him. Let the others take care of him and bring him back to fighting strength
again. Heero needed all of his attention placed where it belonged, on
retrieving Deathscythe and making a report to send to Dr.J.
His report to Dr. J would be without reproach, Heero thought, even the
part where he had lost the security codes in a search for information.
That information had been vital to the mission. Heero knew that he had
been right to pursue it, even at it's high cost. He had to be absolutely
certain of Duo's loyalty and of the loyalty of all the Gundam pilots.
The only person he could trust, was himself, but he knew he couldn't win
the war alone.
"And then he just left?" Duo wondered with an arched eyebrow
as he sat on the veranda of the backwater Winner estate and sipped at
a cool drink. The sun was filtering down through trees and flowering vines
draped over the roof, but it was still hot. It felt good on his still
aching body. He wasn't used to the inactivity or the quiet. The run down
estate, buried in the back hills and accessible only by an overgrown dirt
road, didn't have even a caretaker. Quatre's desert soldiers had cleaned
it up enough to be livable, but it still had the air of decay, of a pile
of wood slowly going to seed. Quatre found that uncomfortable. That condition
had been bearable in the many safe houses they had taken shelter in, but
he was finding it hard to accept in one of his own family's homes.
"Yes, he just left," Quatre replied. "He packed a bag and
went without a word. You shouldn't be angry, Duo. It was remarkable the
way Heero took care of you."
Quatre was leaning against a support post of the veranda, arms crossed
over his vest, blue eyes half hidden under his fall of gold curls as he
faced Duo. Seated in one of the overstuffed garden chairs, Duo had his
feet propped up on a low table and he was dressed in very short shorts
and a thin, tank top. Both of them were white and he looked odd in that
color. It made his pale skin look translucent and the bruises that much
Duo clenched an impotent fist and frowned. "He was a complete bastard,
Quatre. He's going to pay for that."
Quatre looked Duo up and down pointedly. He had recovered quickly, but
he was still weak in many ways. His broken bones were sealed with bio
material, but they still hurt, still made him limp, still caused him to
sit down when the energetic, hyper, young man wanted to be up and doing
things. The headaches were another, troubling problem. They came and went
without rhyme or reason, sometimes so bad that Duo couldn't do more than
hunker in a dark room and just try to breathe. Trowa had whispered about
damage from a cracked skull and had warned Quatre to watch Duo carefully
for any mental abnormalities. Aside from the headaches, Quatre had yet
to see any.
"Heero didn't specify a return date or a destination," Quatre
said. "Sitting out here all day, waiting for him to return so that
you can attack him, is very foolish in your condition, Duo. Besides, even
if he did return now, you know that we need him, healthy and whole. Just
as he couldn't kill you or leave you to die because of your worth, Duo,
so too you can't harm him for the same reason."
Duo grimaced and hunkered into his chair sullenly. "You're right,
but I don't have to like it." He stared out at the overgrown yard
and the rocky hills beyond, the dirt road winding between them. "I
just don't get him, Quatre. He's like a hunk of stone. He doesn't feel
and he doesn't want to feel anything. A few times, I thought I cracked
him, made him react, but then he just iced over and reverted. A person
can't live like that Quatre. A person has to enjoy life sometimes or he
screws himself so tight, he can't see the point any more. The passion
dies, the passion that keeps us doing what we're doing. We all have a
cause, a reason for fighting. It keeps us going when we all should have
happily lay down and died long ago. What's Heero's story? He can't just
do it because he was ordered to."
Quatre sighed, feeling sad, memories of his murdered father and sister
prominent suddenly in his thoughts. Yes, Duo was right in that respect.
He had a passionate need for revenge and a desperate need to see Earth
and Outer Space at peace no matter what the cost to himself. Yet, Duo
was wrong too. "Heero does have a cause. He wants peace."
"Does he? I don't think that, Quatre, and neither do you, so don't
give me that crap as an explanation to make me less angry," Duo growled.
Quatre flushed uncomfortably. "All right, but the real reason won't
please you either."
"Heero fights to be perfect," Quatre explained tersely, "to
complete a mission as efficiently as possible, to be what he is to the
exclusion of all else, even his humanity, so that he can know that he
is the best. He doesn't have a past. He doesn't have a future. He only
has a 'now' and now he wants to be perfectly himself."
Duo scowled and finished his drink. He put the empty glass aside on a
table and glared at Quatre. "Yeah, that's what I figured. Guess beating
the crap out of him would be as stupid as beating my fists against a rock.
It just wouldn't matter to him."
"No, it wouldn't,' Quatre agreed. "You won't get an apology
or the satisfaction of making Heero think differently about you."
Duo sat up in his chair, surprised and embarrassed. "Stop using that
Space Heart thingy on me , Quatre. That's stealing, stealing my thoughts."
Quatre smiled, shaking his head. "I can't read your mind, Duo, but
I am good at reading people emotionally. I can tell you are interested
"Interested like a guy is interested in a train wreck," Duo
corrected. He shrugged. "I guess he's a challenge. I want to see
who's underneath all of that conditioning."
Quatre looked sad. "There might not BE anyone underneath, Duo."
"There is," Duo replied with a glint in his yes. "I've
[part 5] [part 7]
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