04-Aug-2002
This fic is for Zazreil, who won the 'Confessions' game/challenge. Despite the title (there's a very sad old film also called 'Waterloo Bridge'), it's a happy fic. ^_^
Title: Waterloo Bridge
Author: Psyche (email L2Psyche00@aol.com)
Feedback: I'd absolutely adore some, darling. *chuckles*
Archive: nowhere *sad face*
Category: shounen ai
Pairing: 1+2+1
Warnings: mild angst, slight WAFFness at end. Won't make your teeth
rot, but certainly sweeter than my previous ficlets.
Spoilers: slight spoilers for the very end of Endless Waltz
Disclaimer: property is theft
Notes: The umbrella incident in the fic actually happened to me, on
Waterloo Bridge (although my jacket is beige, not blue like Heero's).
When Zaz asked for a tender moment between Duo and Heero, I knew that
had to go in. The rest just sought of grew up around it, and when I
was trying to think of a title, 'Waterloo Bridge' jumped out at me
and insisted upon being used. As happens so often with landmarks...
Please note, sap isn't really my strong point...
For Zazreil. Hope you like it!
Christmas, AC196.
Relena stood at the podium, addressing the crowd. She was idealistic still, it was true, but she understood that peace was something more than a politician's decision, a little piece of paper. Peace was something which grew, slowly, from the hearts of the people. And the people were ready; for the most part, they were finally prepared to struggle for peace. And for Relena.
She would be okay.
Heero turned, and walked away from the spot where he had been silently watching over the young leader. Left the city and carried on walking, jacket thrown carelessly over one shoulder, one foot after another, one after one after another until well after midnight.
He rested for a few hours under a bus shelter, and then carried on walking, one after one after one foot after another.
Five days later, he reached the coast.
He took a temporary position on board a commercial airliner for the duration of the journey, and then carried on walking.
One after one after one after one foot after another.
Walking.
He spent his nights in stations, or simply slept rough, depending on his location. He never slept more than four hours at a time in any case.
He stole food from any shops which happened to be nearby whenever he was hungry, which wasn't often, eating as he travelled.
He could have found himself a high-paying job. Or he could simply have hacked money into his account.
He could have, but he didn't feel like it.
He just carried on walking.
One after one after one after one after one foot after another.
And then, one rainy April day, he found himself in London, standing on Waterloo Bridge, gazing absently toward the Strand.
His jacket, sodden and useless in the downpour, clung to his skin, doing more harm than good.
His bangs were matted down against his head, water running down the contours of his high-boned face from the ends of his ordinarily silky hair, pooling in the slight hollows above his collarbone, before continuing on its path, seeping into every remaining patch of dryness.
The cold ate away at his bones, and a lesser man would have shivered. A less apathetic man.
Someone stood beside him, holding an umbrella above Heero's head; sheltering him.
"Pretty nasty weather we've been having, wouldn't you say, stranger?"
"Duo."
"So you still remember my name," Duo chuckled, his eyes taking on a faintly dreamy look; remembering the past.
Remembering the last time he felt alive.
Silence. Stillness. Rain thrumming against the umbrella, pummelling the surrounding pavement, turning everything around into a blur. Cars speeding past, spattering the two boys with dirty water, eager to escape the depressing greyness of a rainy London day.
Duo moved to lean against the railings, managing to get the back and elbows of his formerly only semi-soaking coat absolutely wet through within a few seconds.
He cursed, scowling at the river below them.
For the first time in months, Heero smiled.
Duo glared, mouth dropping open, angered by his old comrade's amusement.
And then, he laughed. And Heero began to laugh too.
And then, before they knew what was happening, there were tears streaming from their eyes.
The sun came out.
The rain stopped.
Rainbow.
Heero touched a finger gently to Duo's cheek, lifting away a tear to inspect.
"I don't think I've ever seen you cry before," he said, looking earnestly toward the American, who turned his eyes to the ground.
Thinking he must have done something wrong, Heero started to apologise, only be left speechless and perplexed by a warm, tender smile, and a companionable hand on his shoulder.
"I don't think I've ever seen you cry before, either."
The two boys regarded one another, gazes almost but not quite meeting.
Heero's expression was soft; much more so, perhaps, than had ever been the case during the war. He closed his eyes, trying to understand what had just passed.
Duo began to move away, humiliated, perhaps, by Heero's seeming indifference. However, his little retreat was halted when Heero, acting purely on instinct, grasped him firmly by the wrist, jerking Duo's hand back to its former position.
The action took Duo completely by surprise. He toppled forwards.
Straight into Heero.
The two friends ended up lying face to face in a puddle on the pavement of Waterloo Bridge.
They helped each other up, and then, once again, they laughed.
And then, before they knew what was happening, they were kissing.
For the first time in months, that night, Heero slept in a bed.
The End
(:./psyche/waterloo)
