by Kracken
Disclaimer: Don't own them and don't make any money off of them. (Wah!)
Warning: Gug/Guy sex. Graphic. Violent. Language. Heero.. what's up with him?

The Lost Soldier's Series #8
Counting Coo

Duo awoke with a start. Confused, he tried to make sense out of the slow turning of a wicker ceiling fan overhead and the odd rattan and bead board construction of the ceiling. Memory twitched, the wrong memory; a time when he had gone to South America on a mission. Deep in the jungles, he had huddled for days in an old hut, fending off biting insects and enduring ceaseless rain. It was a long moment before Duo remembered that there hadn't been a ceiling fan there, or even electricity to power such a thing.

Soft sheets. A good blanket. A queen size bed with tall posts at each end. The smell of orchids. Warm sunlight filtering onto hardwood floors from a clear, picture window. For a moment, Duo was relaxed and free of worry, admiring his surroundings and wondering, on the edge of consciousness, whether this was heaven and if he had died without knowing it.

"Yeah, right," Duo whispered sourly from a dry throat. "I must be alive because Shinigami isn't going to Heaven!"

Duo tried to sit up and regretted it. True memory washed over him as a stab of pain from his ribs warned him not to move again. Of course, he thought, this must be the bungalow Zechs had talked about. It bothered Duo that he couldn't remember being brought there. How much time had passed? What had happened while he had been sleeping? He remembered Zechs' intense, blue eyes and his strong arms as the man had carried him.

Duo experienced a strange double emotion, an odd, warm feeling and a crawling sense of trepidation. Both of those emotions centered on one thought and that thought meant different things depending on which emotion Duo thought about it with. That thought was this; Zechs could have done anything to him while he had been unconscious. That double meaning, and that tug of war of emotions, confused Duo badly. It felt like an assault and he fought back in the only way he knew how, by shoving the thought, and the accompanying emotions, down deep, viciously refusing to acknowledge them.

A doctor came into the room slowly, balancing a cup of tea gingerly on a saucer, eyes intent on the task. He settled, with exaggerated care, into a chair behind a simple desk, and sighed as he sipped at the hot tea.

"Watching over the dead?" Duo whispered.

The man looked up, startled. Duo didn't remember seeing him before, but the man looked kind and concerned, open face and baby blue eyes disarming as he smiled in relief and put aside his tea. He came to Duo's bedside, automatically checking the machines and Duo's vitals as he did so.

"You're a strong, young man," the doctor said in a voice as kind as his face. "Determined and stubborn too. You could have regained consciousness a lot quicker if you had allowed me to administer fluids and medications." He finished with the machines and then bent to look closely into Duo's eyes, checking for alertness. "How do you feel?"

"Disoriented," Duo replied. "Throat, dry as a bone. Stomach, nauseated. Ribs, agony. I feel like fifty Gundams used me for target practice. Is that a good enough description?"

"Ah," the doctor said with a small chuckle. Duo didn't see the humor, but he supposed the man was trying to reassure him with good bedside manner. "I could give you some mild pain relievers."

Duo gritted his teeth against saying yes. He had to stay sharp until he knew what the situation was. "No... thank you."

The doctor looked unhappy, not liking a patient in obvious pain, but he nodded, bowing to Duo's wish. That made Duo relax somewhat. If he wasn't going to be forced into taking medication, then perhaps Zechs had meant what he said. Duo decided to test his freedom immediately.

"I want to be taken to a hospital, now." Duo kept his voice firm and reasonable, despite the fact that it was still only a whisper.

The doctor actually brightened. "Really? That is a wise choice, young man. A hospital can treat you properly. I'll call for a car immediately." He began to walk away.

"Do you have to clear it with Zechs first, I mean Milliardo Peacecraft?" Duo asked quickly.

The doctor stopped and reassured him. "No, sir. I was told that you were in complete charge of your household and your care. Whatever you wish, shall be done. There won't be any delay."

The doctor began to leave again. He was almost to the door when Duo finally reacted. "Uh, wait a minute! I've changed my mind." The doctor paused, confused and disappointed. "I, ah, wasn't sure what was going on here," Duo explained. "But if I'm really in charge-" The doctor nodded, "then I guess I'll just stay put and let you take care of me." Duo gave the doctor his best grin. "Knowing Z- uh, Milliardo, I'll bet you're the best doctor there is."

The doctor actually blushed, pleased by the compliment. "I'd like to think so, sir," he replied modestly.

"Then I'm in very competent hands," Duo told him and relaxed back into his pillows. "Can I get something to eat and drink, doc?"

"Yes, of course," the doctor replied. "I'll see to it, though, I'm afraid you'll be restricted to soft foods until your stomach is in working order again. You've been on fluid nutrients for a long while."

Duo made a face, but managed to keep on his smile. "I can handle it. I use to have to eat much worse when I was out on missions."

The doctor looked almost shy. He stared at the floor for so long that Duo became slightly nervous. Finally, the man looked up and his blue eyes were shinning. "I just wanted to say, sir, something that can't be said often enough by the colonists and by the people of Earth..."

Duo blinked, confused. "What's that?"

"Thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for helping us be free and at peace."

The man was embarrassed now. He ducked his head and left the room. Duo stared after him. After so much indifference, and after meeting so many who just wanted to forget about the war and Gundam pilots, Duo was amazed and touched by this one man's gratitude. He covered his eyes with his shaking hand and tried to breathe deep and not cry.


"What's this?" Zechs raised eyebrows as a man put a ragged box on the table in front of him. The table was already full of paperwork and glowing palm screens, all vying for Zechs' immediate attention. The Winter Estate was warm and comfortable , usually reserved for vacations, but Zechs' duties never ceased. If he hoped for any time to visit Duo Maxwell that afternoon, he had to make some inroad into the work load. He didn't need to be interrupted by nervous servants with strange boxes. "Well?" he prompted irritably.

The servant bowed slightly, "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but this came by one of your transports from the Peacecraft home in the States."

"By transport?" Zechs was shocked and ready to be angry. "Who authorized that? What could be so important as to waste that kind of fuel and manpower?"

The servant flushed uncertainly. "That wasn't it's only cargo, sir. It was delivering new parts and supplies as well."

Zechs relaxed, anger cooling, but the box was still presenting him with its irritating presence. He opened it with sharp movements, ripping tape impatiently and then laying open the worn, cardboard flaps. Staring inside cautiously, suddenly thinking about Yates and maybe more subtle forms of attack, Zechs relaxed when he saw the dark clothing. He pulled them out with a scowl.

"Clothes. Maxwell's clothes, I believe," he muttered. He had already ordered servants to provide some clothing to the young man. These few, worn rags didn't warrant space on a transport.

Zechs almost shoved the box aside, but then caught sight of the edge of something colorful. Reaching under the clothes, he pulled out several manga, a few odds and ends, and a journal.

"That will be all," Zechs said to the servant and then promptly forgot about the man as he took hold of the journal and retreated to his library. Settling in an overstuffed chair in the light of a window, Zechs propped his long legs on a footstool and began to read, ignoring the soldier in him that complained about the unfinished work. Zechs shrugged off that inner voice. Work could wait.

The Journal of Duo Maxwell:

First Entry: This is so lame. I can't believe I'm even doing this. Quatre is such a girlie man for even suggesting it. Maybe I'm a girlie man for letting him talk me into it? He thinks, because I don't want to talk to anyone about the war, I should talk to myself by writing stuff down. Well, here goes. I must be desperate or stupid. Probably both.

Nope, not going to date anything. I hate that. That's Heero's style, methodical, boring, by the book. I wanna be free and easy, hm, I guess that's my whole problem in a nutshell... naw, nothing's that simple. I better keep writing. Anyway, It's after the war, but I know that, so why am I writing it down? Maybe I just need to hear it enough times before I actually believe it....

Today I got up, ate breakfast, exercised, went to my job with the Preventers, ate lunch, made fun of Heero, pretended to do paperwork, made fun of Heero again, went home with him to our apartment, ate dinner, read manga, and now I'm going to sleep. Fascinating. Maybe I'll win a Pulitzer for this stuff?

Zechs skipped at least ten like entries, wondering why Duo was bothering and then realized that it was a form of rebellion. Duo was going to do as Quatre suggested, but he was going to be sarcastic and show that he didn't like it. Childish, Zechs thought, and pointless since Duo was the only one to read it.

Entry Twelve: Got up, ate breakfast, went to work, shot teenage drug dealer to death, ate lunch, made fun of Heero, quit job, got beat up by Heero, missed dinner. Bleeding bad. Soldiers should never outlive the war. They make terrible roommates.

There was a smear of blood on that entry and it was scrawled shakily. Zechs felt a chill. There were some scribbled drawings after that, aimless, as if Duo couldn't bring himself to write again, and then,

Entry Thirteen: Yeah, I let this go, but Heero wouldn't bring me my stuff in the hospital. He hates hospitals as much as I do. He didn't even visit me, the bastard. He could at least have called me. I had to crawl out on my own and get a taxi. Heero didn't even say hello, just grunted at me when I made it home and went back to his work. Oh, he did say one thing, "Get a job or get out." Nice. He didn't even care that he gave me internal bleeding. I hate him. I'm moving out of here as soon as I can.

Entry Fourteen: Had a nightmare. I keep having nightmares. Heero just tells me to shut up. He doesn't care that I dream about the war. He doesn't want to listen when I try and tell him what the dreams are about. He just hates the screaming. I guess I can write it down here. Pretty pathetic that I have to talk to a book. I should have friends to listen to me. Lots of them. Why don't I? Guess they wouldn't want to hear it. They wouldn't understand anyway. Maybe that's why I don't have them. They would be talking about the wife and the kids or soccer practice and I'd be yakking about blowing up Ozzies or how I used to watch them die when I cut their suits in half in space. Yeah, that's what the dreams are about, their faces. I always see their faces. They always looked so surprised right before they died.

Entry Fifteen: I have a job, but it isn't working out too well. I don't know why I can't pay attention, why I can't bother to show up on time, why I can't see the point. I'm an adult now. I'm supposed to be responsible and pay my share of the bills. Maybe I just need to get laid. I don't know why I've waited this long. Guess I'm a late bloomer. I was just too busy with the war to bother before, but now I should be screwing ten times a day like a normal guy, right? I don't know. None of the girls I work with seem interesting and Heero's women are sluts. I don't want them. Just my luck to be messed up in the head and picky.

Entry Sixteen: Heero keeps walking around in these stupid shorts. I wish he would stop. It bothers me. I made a joke at work that I was so desperate for some sex that I'd lay my roommate if he didn't have a gun. They didn't get it. Neither did I. Why did I even say that? Maybe I am desperate enough to get weird. Heero is built for a guy and he does have this pretty, pouty face. Those shorts are just too tight and he doesn't even look uncomfortable. Why am I writing this? Maybe as my last will and testament. Duo Maxwell: killed by roommate when hormones overpowered him. I do need to get laid. I'm thinking really weird shit now. Maybe that receptionist at work. She liked me.

Entry Seventeen: Can't sleep, can't make any friends except for a cold bastard who likes to beat me up, and now I can't date. She had her hands all over me and I just couldn't do a thing. I hate myself. There's something messed up. Something from the war. Maybe I'm damaged from all those chemicals, Gundam grease, and being in space without shielding. I tried to talk to Heero and he just glared at me. He told me I was lucky not to have sexual urges distracting me from my work. Bastard. Why don't I leave? He's not my friend. Why do I keep thinking he is? Why do I want him to be? Maybe because he's the only one who understands me.

Entry Eighteen: yeah, I know, it's been a long time. A lot of stuff happened. Heero caught me staring at him when he came out of the shower. I was just looking. All guys look, don't they? Just comparing, ya know? He had a really big dick. It was amazing, so I stared. He didn't have to beat the shit out of me for it. Bastard! Woke up in the hospital with tubes everywhere. I hate hospitals. I got myself out of there double time and went looking for Quatre. Yeah, I was desperate. Quatre is so nice and proper. He has a wonderful life, he has his head on straight. Maybe he has nightmares too, but he doesn't let it affect him. It hurts to be around him. It hurts because I can see how much I DON'T have it together compared to him. He makes me feel like I'm six or something. Stupid Duo he has to take care of. Only I didn't get to see him. I met Zechs instead. I had dinner with him. Isn't that weird? We talked. I mean, really talked. I don't remember the last time I did that with anyone. He listened, completely listened to every word and he looked at me like, I dunno, like he cared or something. That sounds so stupid! Like an idiot, I drank too much. I woke up in a hotel room and then went crawling back to Heero. He just grunted like he hadn't almost killed me and told me I could stay if I got a job and kept it. Same old rant. Back to nobody caring or listening to me. I wonder what Zechs thinks of me? Did I make a complete idiot out of myself? He probably- God! Why do I even fucking care? I sound like I was on a date or something. This is so stupid! I'm not going to write stuff anymore!

Zechs flipped through the empty pages and then closed the book. Going back into his office, he tucked the book back under Duo's clothes and then taped the box closed again. He smoothed hands over the top and stared at nothing. A warmth had spread through him when he had read that Duo had wondered what he, Zechs, had thought of him. That warmth wouldn't be stifled. The entries portrayed a mind in confusion with leanings towards real mental instability. That should have made Zechs cold, warned him away from the young man. Instead, he felt drawn more strongly to Duo by their shared pain and inner darkness.

Zechs sat down and began on his paperwork, moving through it as quickly as he could, eager to see Duo as soon as possible, not only to return his things to him, but to see Duo with the new perspective Duo's journal had given him.


Heero Yuy went over the plans of Zechs' estate. Spread out on the hotel bed, along with items he would need for infiltration of the site, he was prepared for the mission he had set out for himself. Now, he only needed to check his information with some reconnaissance and to lay out the plan of escape.

Not much longer, Heero thought. Soon he would have Duo with him again and he could return home. Duo would be his annoying self again, filling up the empty space in the apartment and filling up that distracting part of Heero that he could never rid himself of, a part that kept him from being perfect, a part of himself that was human and needy of companionship. Duo was not perfect in any way, but Heero had a plan for him as well. He would mold Duo. Make him less of a distraction. Heero planned to teach Duo to fill the spaces in his life yet not distract him from his work and his goal of rising to the pinnacle of perfection.

The thought of teaching Duo, of making him obey once and for all, of molding him into exactly what he, Heero needed; companion, roommate, and sexual partner, made Heero hard. He tried to ignore it. He hated this part of himself. He had often considered chemical castration, but that would have been a weakness, an admission that he couldn't control himself. Heero was simply too proud for that. Instead, he went about the business of relieving his need so that he could return to his mission.

Heero lowered his black, spandex pants. Standing by the bed, staring down at the map, he stroked his cock while he studied the layout. He knew that Duo was in one of the bungalows. He had to discover which one and in what sort of shape the young man was in. It wouldn't be logical to break into the estate now if Duo was too ill to travel.

Heero thought of Duo's long hair, spread out around him, that long, slender waist, and those rounded globes of his ass. He grew harder. He would break down Duo's reluctance, he thought, and teach him to relieve both of their sexual needs quickly and efficiently. Duo would see how beneficial it was and agree once Heero broke through his odd aversion.

Heero suddenly grabbed a pillow and rolled it so that it stuck up enticingly. Leaning into it from the side of the bed, he braced his hands on either side of the map and stuck his cock into the pillows' softness. Heero imagined another rounded softness instead and began a rapid pumping motion. He groaned as a mental image of Duo, writhed in pleasure beneath him, supplanting all thoughts of the mission. He was pumping into Duo's ass, imaging it tight and deep, warm and welcoming. Heero leaned over further, imaging wrapping his arms around that slender waist, breathing in Duo's sweet scent, biting that slim neck: predator claiming its prey. Heero pounded hard, rutted like a beast, and then exploded into the pillow.

Heero straightened, panting. He backed away from the pillow, staring, trailing cum, confused by what had just over taken him. Sex to him was mechanical and necessary. He had never had a fantasy like that one. It was weakness. Wrong. His mind tried to bring itself to order and failed. He pounded a fist into a wall and broke through the flimsy wood. Again he punched, Again he broke through. His knuckles bled. The pain traveled down his arm, shocking him. It allowed him to think again, pull himself back from a brink he hadn't realized he was so close to falling over.

Heero sat on the floor, tucking his legs up so that he was siting cross legged. He composed himself for meditation. Sexual frustration had broken through his training, he thought. He couldn't allow that to happen again. A few days of fasting and pain training would put his mind back into order and allow him to complete his mission without the distraction of unwanted emotions and urges. He would not allow Duo Maxwell to do that to him again. Heero intended to use Duo. He was to be a tool, nothing more. Heero would teach him to be a perfect tool.