Mist, waves, an endless horizon of light blue above and dark blue below. If anyone had chanced to look up above the open ocean at this moment, they would have seen a sleek, white fighter plane, skimming along just above the waves, no body markings betraying its allegiance or tie to any known military group.
But no one looked. No one was there but the waves, the plane, and its young pilot. Heading off to the next mission and confidently leaving the last 48 hours behind.
I have Wing back, that's the only important thing. I would have been perfectly happy to destroy it, and myself, of course. Planning on that; knew all along it was a definite possibility. Maybe even looking forward to it... Well that plan went to hell, didn't it? Not only did Relena show up in evening dress, but that other boy - where the hell did he come from? And he turns out to be another gundam pilot ! Dr. J suspected they were all working on their own mecha, even though the communication lines were cut off by the Federation. Their own mecha, their own pilots. Well where did they find that undisciplined clown? Chattering all the time, wanting to know too much, cracking what he thought were jokes - and the hair, what was up with that *hair*?
The boy:
I don't think you want to go there... Cause I'm there already and it's not your kind of place.
Nani? Who was that? ... No, it couldn't have been... shut up, baka...shut UP!
Heero's scanners picked up the presence of ships 100 kilometers due south, right in his flight path. He gradually eased Wing up just under the highest official traffic lane, away from the deep blue of the waves. Their closeness had felt invigorating when he'd begun the flight but became strangely threatening as his thoughts had wandered. If there was an emotion that Heero Yuy could least tolerate, it was feeling threatened. He noted dispassionately that his nervous system had cranked up and fleetingly wondered why. The thought didn't last long in the Japanese pilot's consciousness, however; he had more important things to contemplate, like the attack of the base Dr. J had ordered him to destroy.
He had found through almost ten years of training that his mind worked in different tracks; it was best if he assigned a problem to one track and then let it alone to work. This almost always resulted in a successful solution and was much more efficient than brooding about one problem at a time. It never occurred to him that one track might interfere with the others. They had always been separate, inviolable places where his intelligence could be set to work with a single-mindedness that was almost frightening. This situation was no different; he would let the attack plan develop on its own while the rest of his attention went to the business of keeping out of sight of any nearby scanning equipment.
*****
It was dark by the time the mission was over, the base destroyed. The Perfect Soldier forced himself to rest until first light, when he would hear from Dr. J and decide whether to go back into space or stay on the planet. Sleep was actually very easy for Heero Yuy. It was just another track, really - a simple turn of attention from the outside environment to the inner one. And, as in all well-trained soldiers, the inner world was, in large part, empty. It offered no worries or pleasures, no memories good or bad. Just a smooth, blank void. Nothing to distract the warrior from fighting, or preparing to fight. He could count on that. He had known that his training had been sufficient when the last spark of inner life had gone out.
The boy:
Not out...just too dim to see...but, no, not out...never out...at least until death...
I told you to shut up - now DO IT GOD DAMN YOU!!
The boy:
You don't believe in God, Heero. Dr. J made sure of that. You don't believe in anything, really. Not even yourself...*He* believes, Heero...You saw the clothes...the crucifix...*He* must be a very stronger believer...I think he may even believe in you...
Heero sat up, sweating although the night was somewhat cool. His training had always taken care of this before - a few stray thoughts might come into any soldier's head. The difference between a good soldier and a perfect one was control of the mind and body. It had to be absolute. One slip could betray the fighter, and when the fighter was betrayed, so was the reason for fighting. The pilot of Wing straightened his slim, strong shoulders, reassumed his most impassive face, and lay back down in the shadow of his mecha.
The boy:
Long...so long...never seen hair that long...even the girl, Relena...not that long...I tried so hard to touch it...wanted my fingers buried in it...to smell its scent...wanted you to let me...just this once...
NO! I put you away a long time ago, you little bastard, and trust me you will NEVER see or hear or smell or touch ANYTHING, ever again. Give up and DIE...DIE!!......die...
The boy:
Don't take the eyes away from me! Please! Not like you did that first time...I need to see!...want to see...his eyes...did *you* see them Heero?...strangest color...what did he see when he looked at you, Heero? Maybe he saw you...just you...or maybe, just maybe...he saw all the way in...to me...
"STOP!" The sound tore from his lungs and echoed around the empty warehouse he had found to hide in until dawn. He listened to the echo coming back to him like a taunt. As if the despised prisoner inside had somehow been given a voice and could match him, order for order, curse for curse. He looked up at Wing, stern and aloof in the stuffy air of the abandoned building. But instead of the familiar face of his own machine, he saw another, darker image. Silver and black, a black torso, gleaming amber eyes and a deadly scythe standing ready. It seemed an impressive machine, much more so than its pilot.
From the sublime to the ridiculous. Why am I still awake? This is that same feeling...the same as the night I met that girl. At least then I had crashed into the ocean and could pass out a lot more easily... I can even understand it in the girl's case - I understand all about hormones. Dr. J made it clear that sex could be a recreational pleasure for a pilot, but could also be his downfall...
The boy:
Interesting that you should be thinking about this and the pilot at the same time...he was beautiful, wasn't he...what would a touch of that cheek feel like?...those long, slim fingers...body slender but strong - yes I would wager very strong...so lovely...I think...I wanted him...what will you do with that, I wonder?...can't do anything else to me...you've tortured me to the point where I can't be reached anymore...but I can reach you...how strange...I've learned something new tonight...I can reach you...
The Japanese pilot flung the thin heat blanket away from him, stood up violently, and walked to the door of the warehouse. The night was inky black, a star-filled sky above the faint glow of cities farther off. For the first time since he had left the salvage hangar, he was aware of consciously thinking about the pilot of the black mobile suit. Small and wiry, like himself, with what seemed to Heero to be infinitely more grace. The boy had called himself Duo Maxwell. Duo...long-haired, violet-eyed Duo...
Can't wipe that grin off his face, can't stop joking, can't shut him up for more than 5 minutes. Baka's gotta be American. Why was he so trusting of me, anyway? That kind of stupidity can get a guy killed - or worse. It's his own damned fault for acting like I could be some kind of friend. He deserved to get his suit scavenged...wonder what he's doing now...not grinning, that's for sure...I never saw someone smile so many times in one day...smiling at me...
The boy:
No, no, Heero...not at you...he was smiling at me...he could tell I was here, just by looking at you, watching you...I wonder how he did it?...did you feel it when he reached in and took a look at your soul, Heero? I felt it...he reached all the way inside you, to a place you thought you had burned to ashes a long time ago, and he touched me, Heero, he touched...us...
Heero could see the sky was changing. Almost imperceptibly it was lightening, fading from the black of night to the deep purple of predawn. He knew he had to rest, knew he would not be at his peak later today if he had gotten no sleep. The boy had shocked him tonight. The prisoner that he thought he had silenced had spoken. A madman's dreamy words from the depths of a cell locked so tight that no one, not even the insane, could break free. But how had that scruffy little American seen so far down? How had he known the boy was there? How had he managed to upset the smooth tracking of the Perfect Soldier's mind?
The boy:
It's simple, Heero...he's just like you...he's a terrorist, a guerrilla fighter, a saboteur...getting inside the perimeter...that's his job...and oh, Heero...I think he's done it quite admirably...don't you?
Heero felt the wave of fatigue coming, as if the boy in the cell had sent it with a movement of his hand. He dropped back onto the ground, shivering with sleepiness, and pulled the heat blanket over him. He knew he would have to do something about the boy inside. Couldn't let him even think he could get control again. They would both die before Heero would let that happen. But the prisoner had surprised his jailer. And that was a bad sign...a very bad sign.
The body finally gave itself up to sleep. Heero had hoped that sleep, when it came, would be dreamless and deep. But instead, he spent the remaining predawn hours wrestling with a violet-eyed imp, his hands tangled in loose, silky hair, his will to win almost gone.
xoxox owari xoxox
(:./kumiko/2shot6)
