16-Feb-2001
Hi hi! Long time no post! I hope everyone is enjoying the New Year. It's the year of the Snake now, isn't it? (mental shrug) At any rate, without further babble, here is my humble little out-take. Hope you enjoy.
Title: Who's Got the Dew? A Duo and Trowa Out-take
Author: TB
Archive: please, at GW Addiction if it's not a bother to the magnificent Tyr and Tyr's amazing helpers!
Catagory: uh... silly, but not the point of fluff, I would hope
Pairing: 2, 3
Rating: PG (for language)
Warnings: mild enuf language, and nothing else except a little silliness
Spoilers: none
Notes: Marsh, the dear, looked this over for me, as did Tiffany. Thanks to them for humouring me.
Feedback: thanks ^_^
Disclaimers: Should, by happy circumstance, I ever come to own or at least hold stock in Gundam Wing, I promise that all of you will be the first to know. Until such a wonderful day, however, I, like all of you, place happy disclaimers on my innocent fiction stating that I not only do not intend to profit by said innocent fiction, but in fact would firmly and politely refuse any monetary gifts that were extended to me in payment for entertaining someone. But I do take food, so anyone who really wants to show their appreciation can please mail anything with sugar to Desperate College Student, 9th Lvl Hell, USA (zip code 666). Thank you.
Trowa sifted two long fingers through the dust at his feet. "Our information was wrong," he said finally.
"No shit, man." Duo resettled his weight, grousing. The American had long since lost patience with their vigilant watch on the compound below them. In fact, Trowa had been fairly certain that he'd heard the other pilot snoring earlier. He'd said nothing, however-only the damp wind from the smelly valley was keeping him awake.
"Let's go." Trowa adjusted his equipment so that it lay firmly along his spine, and made to stand. "There's no point in dragging this out."
Duo, wedged into a tiny crevice of rock and wearing a decidedly grumpy expression, waved him off. "No point leaving, either. Mr Perfect Soldier'll only chew us out, if we don't come back with something. I don't want to deal with the Death Glare this late at night."
"What are we supposed to come back with, exactly?"
Duo pushed himself even further into his small cave. "I dunno. Troop movements, maybe. Guard shifts. Alarm frequencies. I'm not going back without something to take the edge of Heero's attitude."
It made sense, in a way, though the logic was uniquely tinted by Duo and Heero's relationship. Trowa considered it none of his business that Heero didn't quite believe he was expected to take Duo seriously, or that Duo had complicated and very mixed feelings of resentment and admiration for the "perfect soldier." However, Duo was right-there was no need to write off an entire day's painful surveillance as a failure. With a silent sigh, Trowa sank back onto his haunches, resuming the easy balance he'd maintained stoically for hours already.
Perhaps an hour later, Duo produced a candy bar from somewhere. He judiciously, and generously, broke it in half, offering one end to Trowa. The taller boy accepted it gratefully. "Good," he said, by way of thanks.
"Makes mouths happy."
Trowa swallowed a bite. "Melts in your mouth, not in your hand."
"Whatever it is I think I see, becomes a tootsie roll to me."
Trowa snickered. "So kiss a little longer, stay close a little longer, longer with Big Red-"
Duo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. "They call it Mellow Yellow…"
Trowa dropped into a tailor's seat, crossing his long legs and smiling an unfamiliar smile. "Jingles," he muttered. "We really are bored."
Duo laughed quietly. "Yeah. Kinda fun."
Trowa gazed down at their intended prey, remote and still far below, couched in imposing rock. "You know, even if we come back with information, it won't make up for not destroying the target."
The long-haired boy paused from licking chocolate off his fingers. "You wanna try it anyway, then?"
Trowa considered in silence for a long time. "No," he decided at last. "No. I don't. Do you?"
"I'm all for blowing shit up, but not at the expense of my own hide. Did I tell you, I had a close call about a week ago?"
Trowa untied his coat from around his waist, and slipped into it, tugging the hood down over his hair. "No."
"I got a scar. See it?" Duo turned his face, displaying a long scratch that had split his left eyebrow and trailed all the way to his pointed chin. "I got the bastard who did it, of course. I hope it isn't permanent. It's an injustice."
Trowa snorted softly. "Oh, yes."
"It is!" Duo squirmed about, trying vainly to achieve a more comfortable position. "You know, we're really a very handsome group of guys. Men like us don't come around just everyday, you know? God only has so many good looks to hand out. Catholics, of course, get first pick." He smiled smugly. "After that, though, I mean, well. So it's something we have to protect, y' understand? An investment, kind of. Or maybe a point of honour."
"Wufei might contest that."
"Yeah, well, Wu-bear isn't as handsome as I am." The braided pilot thumbed his nose at the absent Chinese. "Of course he'd say that."
Maybe it was the chocolate, but Trowa found himself willing to play along with Duo's good-natured attempt to make the time go a little faster. "I will admit," he said slowly, "that you are better looking than Wufei. I'd even say that you're more handsome than Heero, but that could have something to do with being better groomed."
"And better dressed."
"Spandex versus the white collar," Trowa mused. "I'll get back to you on that one."
"You know, you're a handsome devil yourself. You must understand how it is. There's a certain something about truly spectacular looks that sets us apart from the common crowd, you know? Huh, Trowa? You can see why I was so pissed about this scar."
"Yes, I can." He tried to stretch. "Mind, I wouldn't say that your looks are spectacular. Your forehead is a little high, you know. And your eyes are set too far apart. If you looked like me, now, then that scar would truly have been a disaster."
Duo nodded, thoughtful. "Very true. Hmm. You do have a rather amazing face. But the hair works against you."
"I might do something about that someday. So you see, Duo, that scar you have there, while being distressing, isn't quite the tragedy it could be, if you were more than just surpassingly handsome. And don't forget, you're short."
Duo blinked. "Short?"
"Extremely short. Oh, come on, Duo. Even Wufei is taller than you."
"Only since he got that last growth spurt!" Duo scowled, kicking one leg out in an attempt to ease a cramp. Slowly, a sly look crept across his face. "The ladies have never complained about my height. I make a perfect dancing partner. I'm perfectly positioned to look lovingly into their eyes, to whisper sweet nothings in their ears. You, on the other hand-they'd be dancing with their heads in your armpits. So I think that my lack of your truly awe- inspiring handsomeness is balanced by my height."
Trowa chuckled. "It's a convincing argument."
Grumpiness relieved, but with nowhere else to go with their banter, they fell silent again soon. Trowa glanced up in time to see an expression of disgust cross his companion's face. "What?" he asked.
"Dude, you smell that?"
"I've been smelling it all afternoon. You would have, too, if you'd been awake."
Duo ignored that. "I wonder what it is."
"Garbage, maybe?" Trowa didn't really care. "Sewage, possibly."
"Nah, it's different."
Trowa discovered a relatively soft spot in their hiding place to lean against, and worked on laying his body against it. "You think on that, then, and I'll sit here and wait for them to change the guard."
"Trowa? You ever hear of marsh gas?"
He sighed. "No, Duo."
The braided boy was quiet for a while, chewing on one fingernail and glowering at the far-off compound.
Trowa wiggled, to dislogde a pebble from his shoulder. "Why?"
"Jus' thinking."
"Think softly. I can hear you all the way over here."
Another quarter hour had passed before Trowa realised, quite suddenly, that he was alone. He sat up, staring that the spot Duo had occupied. Where had he gone? How had he gotten away so silently that Trowa hadn't even noticed?
Swearing to himself, he grabbed his rifle, and climbed out a little onto a nearby ledge, raking the nearby area with his eyes, searching for the black-clad pilot. In the end, it was only a trick of the moon-light that he found Duo at all-sneaking slowly and surely away from the OZ compound.
By the time the insanely grinning Shinigami scrabbled back into the natural hollow of their sniper point, Trowa was furious. "Why didn't you tell me you were going?" he demanded.
"Chill, man." Duo slid past him, and collapsed on his back, panting. "You were busy."
"What the hell were you doing?"
"I wanted to find out what the smell was."
"I thought you said it was marsh gas." Unwilling to simply let go of his anger, but unable to puzzle out why Duo seemed so pleased with himself, Trowa eased down next to the other boy, eyes suspiciously squinted.
Duo grinned up at him, and swept sweaty bangs back from his face. "It was," he announced.
There was a long pause. "And?" Trowa finally added.
Duo shrugged. "And, we should be able to go soon."
"All right, Maxwell. Quit playing. What did you do?"
Duo sat up. "Look," he said. "Marsh gas. I read about this when I was at school. It happens sometimes in mines. Back before technology, miners used to take birds down into mines with them. If the bird stopped breathing, it meant the miners were out of oxygen, and everyone knew to put their candles out real fast, because it was likely there was marsh gas around." Seeing that Trowa was still uncomprehending, he added, as though it were obvious, "Marsh gas is flammable."
"Duo, what does that half to do with you sneaking over to the compound?"
"Think, Trowa!" Duo smacked him lightly. "I went down there, and I'm pretty sure it's marsh gas. Well, I don't think it could be anything else, anyway. I don't know too much about it except for what I told you. Anyway, if it is marsh gas, it's flammable. So, I had a flare in my pack, and I lit it up and left it outside their big ol' back door."
Duo obviously expected applause for this work of genius-but Trowa still did not understand. He felt his bad mood coming back as he stared at the braided boy, wondering why he was supposed to be impressed. "And?" he repeated, at last.
"And? And-and kabloom!" Duo threw his hands up. "Ka-bloweee! Bam! Boom! Nada. No more Ozzies."
"I don't get the connection."
"The flare. Flammable gas. All that equals explosion. Dude, even I get it!"
"So the air fizzes for a while. Duo, that's useless. Because it's OUTSIDE the compound!"
Duo laughed. For a moment, he looked more smug than a cat who'd hit cream. "Not anymore, it ain't."
Trowa hesitated. "How?"
"How what?"
"How is it not outside anymore?"
Duo's grin was about to split his face. "I knocked on the door."
Trowa's jaw dropped. "You didn't!"
"Did so. Opened right up, too. Even Ozzies have some manners."
The taller pilot slowly shook his head. "Start over," he commanded. "Why would you do that? Even you have to understand how stupid–"
"Relax, man. Look." Duo folded one leg under him, and cleared a small patch of rubble aside to draw in the dirt. A box-like structure took shape. "This is the compound. The gas is, like, all over, and the Ozzies either don't know about it, or don't expect a brat with a flare to come along.
You brought up the point that the gas is outside." Duo drew a stick-figure next to the box, and added a tail that Trowa supposed was supposed to be the American's braid. "This is me. This is me knocking on the door and running to hide. This is a stupid Ozzie opening the door. This is a stupid Ozzie leaving the door open while he runs and calls for whole bunch more stupid Ozzies to go look for me with dogs and big-ass guns. I threw a couple of rocks and stuff to keep them looking for a while, and then I let them ‘find' the problem–a very pissed-off bird who thought maybe it was the stupid Ozzies who'd plucked one of her feathers." He snickered.
Trowa studied Duo narrowly. "Okay," he said. "I think I get it. Correct me if I'm wrong. You lead the soldiers on for, what, ten minutes. The gas seeps inside?" Duo nodded. "And you light a flare and leave it in there, where it promptly explodes?"
"Yep."
Trowa turned and looked eloquently over his shoulder, at the still and very much un-exploded OZ compound.
Duo stuck the tip of his braid past his lips, chewing vigorously on the chestnut strands. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Go ahead, pop my bubble." He let his braid fall. "Well, maybe it takes a minute. I've never done this before. And anyway, if it doesn't work, we're no worse off than before."
Silence stretched between them as they waited expectantly. Duo's excitement began to leech away, predictably, as his grand plan came to naught. "Admit it," Trowa told him, not unkindly. "It didn't work. The smell was probably sewage, after all."
"Shit. And it was such a good id–"
Trowa nearly jumped out of his skin as a fiery-red explosion crumbled the right half of the compound. The sound hit them a bare second later, deafening them, and their mountain shuddered violently. Duo hit Trowa from behind, knocking him onto his stomach, and Trowa coughed into the dirt as the other pilot covered their heads with his arms. For nearly three minutes, pebbles and the occasional fist-sized chunk of OZ rained down on them.
Long minutes passed. When it seemed to be over, Trowa shoved Duo aside, and sat up, gingerly rubbing his head. "You almost broke my neck, you idiot," he snapped.
Duo was covered in dust, but he was grinning from ear to ear. "Sorry," he said, not sounding very repentant at all. "Ahem–you were saying?" He pointed toward the compound.
Trowa turned to look. He said nothing for a moment, determined to be stubborn; but eventually, knowing it was useless, he had to admit that the shell of walls and collapsed, still-burning rubble was, indeed, impressive.
Duo stood, and bowed flamboyantly. "Thank you!"
"This is going to go to your head, isn't it?"
"Most probably," the jubilant boy agreed.
Trowa pretended to scowl, but mostly to hide a smile. "That's certainly one of the more creative ways we could have done that."
The euphoria of his triumph eventually settled into a kind of cheery contentment. Duo rubbed his stomach, and looked about him speculatively, obviously no longer seeing their rocky surroundings. "You hungry?"
"I thought you'd never ask." Trowa grabbed his pack, and took Duo's offered hand, using it to lever himself up. He spared one more glance for the ruin behind them. "Does Italian sound good to you?"
"Breadsticks?"
"Among other things." Together, they began to trudge back down the tiny path they'd used hours earlier to climb to their watch point. Trowa considerately brushed a particularly thick patch of dust off of Duo's black jacket.
"Works for me. You know, it was a good day."
Trowa laughed very softly. "Yeah. It was."
The End
(:./erin/dew)
