24-Jan-2005
Title: Howl 7/?
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
Warning: Subplots deal with the establishment, child-bearing... oh, and werepervs. Yes. That's right. Werepervs.
Pairings: Various, but predominantly 2x1, 1xR, 2xR, 4x3, 5x3, 1x3, 4xC, 3xH, RxD, 5xM, and a few others that may come and go.
Disclaimer: No, don't own 'em... Hey! Could that be a sigh of relief from Bandai?
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
Notes: This chapter is written in thanks for a generous donation of $145 by Ravensilver and Gail, to MSF and UNICEF for their tsunami relief funds. Thank you, you two!
"Sounds of trains in the surf / in subways of the sea / And an even greater undersound / of a vast confusion in the universe"
---Lawrence Ferlinghetti
The summer city lay dying in the last heat before autumn, entering that month of dull in-betweens, when the flat yellows and whites of summer would become browns and reds before turning gray under midday clouds. The stale air, replete with pollution and the scent of sewer and incinerator, would be blown across the streets by the autumn winds. Soon, but never soon enough.
Trowa lit another cigarette, and watched the cars huff in traffic between the diner and the DPM. Mustard-gas taxis and brown government vehicles, unchanging scenery. Inside, the same: he knew the waitresses, moving with timeworn monotony of old shoes broken in and split at the soles. Hollow eyes and plastic smiles, uncaring past noting his frayed cuffs and old tie, to find him lacking. No tip from his table would be enough; buy a new hair-tie, a pair of stockings, but forget about the bills on apartments too small and cluttered.
He wanted out, but fleeing the little diner, the stained formica tables, the plastic bench cushion cracked at the seams, and he'd only find another one around the corner, identical. A city of rows upon rows of barefaced buildings stared down at him through the diner window, reminding him of his inevitable uselessness.
"Hey," Heero said, sliding into the booth across from him. The question was there between them, and Trowa held out his hand, offering the smoke. Heero took it, inhaled, handed it back.
"Just in a mood," Trowa said, shrugging, not sure why he bothered to answer the unspoken things. Perhaps it was part of the exhaustion, the ennui, the machinery of every day and stale water. "I got word you've cancelled."
"She's pregnant," Heero said.
For a moment, Trowa thought he was having lunch with a stranger. Heero had always had a tousled look, casual--even dressed in a fine suit for some political dinner, he'd looked barely restrained at the edges. Perhaps it was the hair, thick and gently curling, refusing to stay in place. Maybe it was the eyes darting across spaces, taking everything in without a movement of the head. Fingers open, out, ready to strike: tension running through the tendons, wrist corded, wiry stress in the shoulders.
But now, Heero's lips curled, a fraction, at the edges. He looked nowhere but at Trowa; eyebrows raised, expectant. The edge was gone, replaced with delight.
"Congratulations," Trowa replied, to fill the space. He paused, frowned. "How did you--"
Heero shook his head, curtly, but never lost that tiny smile, and Trowa wanted to laugh out loud, startle the waitresses in their clockwork tromping back and forth across the diner's faded tiles. He wanted to lean back, laughing until the newspaper billboards on the walls rattled, the thick coffee spilled from the mug by the sound of his joy.
Instead, he took another drag, narrowing his eyes at the pleased, even abashed look on Heero's face. "You wear the expression of the well-fucked," he remarked.
"Perhaps." Heero's smile modulated, became smug, and the loose ends of his rebellion unraveled further. He leaned back, arms crossed: the sleeves rolled up, damp sticking white shirt to undershirt to skin.
Beads of sweat on Heero's upper lip; one drop rolled down his temple to slip along a stray hair. The shirt, open two buttons, not just one, the easy stance of the shoulders. Eyes open wide, the blue iris no longer flat gray but something deeper, like the distant desert skies just before sunrise.
"How's Relena doing?" Trowa stubbed out his cigarette, nodding to the waitress when she set a second glass of water down on the table for Heero, but Heero didn't note the intrusion.
"Morning sickness, but the rest of the time... " Heero didn't usually roll his eyes, but the expression was hiding in his tone. Exasperated, but fond. It made Trowa's heart ache. "Two of her regular guards have taken to wearing sneakers. Requested exceptions on the uniform policy, because otherwise they swear they can't keep up with her."
"Next thing you know, she'll want to come to the gym with you," Trowa commented.
Heero looked surprised, then smirked. "She's already making noises about that."
"She's pregnant."
"She's got energy for the first time in eight years." Heero shrugged, then noticed the menu by his elbow. He glanced it over, and pushed it aside, giving his order in curt tones to the waitress, who trundled off. "I woke up yesterday morning to find she'd started rearranging the living room."
At that, Trowa did laugh, and it felt like their small table, dirty plastic, their corner of grimy window looking out on the city--all a cage, but for once... Something in Heero stood between Trowa and the world in that brief moment and let him laugh, because with Heero, he stood outside the cage. Let the flat-faced waitresses stare, let the businessmen with their shabby briefcases wonder at the government drone who dared to throw his head back and laugh out loud.
Heero just watched, one eyebrow quirking, but with that same affectionate expression. And it dawned on Trowa while he continued to chuckle, stamping out his smoke, that Heero was truly in love. When Heero had announced--four years, had it been that long--that Relena had accepted his proposal, he could have been listing enemy munitions locations for all the emotion in his tone. When she was absent, so was his vulnerability. But now, it was there, and Trowa wondered at the idea that a child could bring such radical changes and not even be born. Or perhaps it was something else, something he would always be lacking.
"We've agreed we want you to be the godfather."
Trowa blinked, and sucked in his breath through his teeth, too surprised to manage a reply at first. "But... that's a legal role designated for married couples."
"We don't care." Heero was implacable. "We decided. If you're willing." He didn't look away.
It took no thought, no time. "I would be honored."
That smile was back. "We go back to work on Monday. No reason to sit around the house, and the doctors this morning said Rel's in the best of health. They're not sure how, but... " He shrugged. Either he didn't care, or he knew, and wasn't going to tell.
"I'll look for the formal paperwork in my box." Trowa leaned back, letting the waitress set their plates down. He waited until she'd walked off, again marveling that Heero didn't seem to notice or care. For some reason, the words fell from his mouth, as words had, long ago, when they were two orphans in boot camp. "I want out."
"Out... " Heero's eyes widened, puzzled.
"Completely." Trowa shoved his plate away, his appetite gone, and lit another smoke. He signaled to the waitress, requesting a beer and a shot of tequila despite her started look--and Heero's raised eyebrows.
"Work, Trowa."
"I'll tell Dorothy I'm taking a half-day." Trowa inhaled, and blew the smoke out over his head. It didn't matter any more, did it--then realized. Maybe it did. "I'm sorry. If I'm going to agree to be your--"
"You could work with me," Heero replied. "I know I could trust Relena with you. And you might be able to keep up with her, too."
"Ah. True." Trowa offered the smoke when Heero held up his hand, and they shared it, passing it back and forth like a secret. And perhaps, in some ways, it was.
"You've done some excellent work," Relena said, after finishing the last report. She stacked it neatly and set it to the side, then leaned across the desk, giving her best reassuring smile to the young woman across from her. "I'm glad to see my faith in you was well-founded."
"Thank you," Meiran replied, her smile a little crooked. She exhaled, blowing strands of black hair out of her face, and her smile widened into something less professional, more human. "I really appreciate the chance you gave me."
"I didn´t give you anything you hadn't earned with your vitae," Relena pointed out. "And you've more than proven your worth since then. And please don't think that I'll be taking everything back from you. I've promised my husband I won't work myself completely into the ground." She held her hand up, forefinger and thumb an inch apart. "Just enough to be flat. But not buried."
Meiran laughed, a bright sound, and the last of her veneer faded away in the amusement. "And he agreed to that? My husband would... " She shut her mouth suddenly, looking away as she cleared her throat. "Anyway, the report on the meetings--"
"Is everything alright?" Relena brushed aside the business Meiran was trying to raise, and followed her instincts. "I know we barely know each other, but your life is important. I believe our private lives should be fulfilling, or our public lives will be just as empty."
"Really." Meiran's reply wasn't sarcastic, but... hollow. She shook her head, and stared down at her hands for a long moment. When she spoke, it was a whisper, a breath of hot worry. "May I... may I ask you a personal question?"
"Depends," Relena replied. "Ask, and I'll tell you." She smiled inwardly. I sound like Heero.
"I heard you on the phone... I'm sorry for intruding, but I couldn't help but hear... that you were canceling your contract with the DPM." Meiran blew the wayward strands of hair out of her face a second time. "Did you and your husband... have companions?"
"Yes." Sometimes the best way was to treat it like an ordinary thing. As ordinary as the old computer on the corner of the desk, as utilitarian as the olive-green folders stacked on one side, the crack in the fake wood veneer under her hands. "Many people do."
"How did you... " Meiran's fingers twitched, and she clasped her hands together, tightly enough for the knuckles to turn white. "How did you handle it? Didn't it... "
"Drive me crazy?" Relena shrugged, trying to think back to how she'd felt when it began. "I suppose I came to the realization that I couldn't be everything. And maybe for the time being, I couldn't be my husband's sexual partner, but I could still be his best friend. And he be mine."
"I'm hardly my husband's best friend," Meiran snorted. "He's a jerk." She frowned at Relena's surprise, and shook her head. "Arranged marriage. He's brilliant, uncompromising, hard working... and arrogant as all get out. But still. He's my husband. I'd just never thought of... sharing."
"We always share." Relena busied herself sorting her messages, as though giving her hands something to do would make the conversation more mundane. "I can't monopolize Heero's time all day long. I can't be his top security force, or his launderer, or his doctor. I wasn't his sergeant. I guess I just put a companion in that category, of doing something I couldn't, and let it go." She paused, hands hovering over the stack of yellowed notes, indecipherable scribbles from some temporary office worker. "But then, I was also madly in love with my husband."
"I would think that'd mean you'd want more time with him, and more of him."
"Oddly, no. I couldn't change the world. I try, but I can't change all of it," Relena admitted. "So I could at least make sure he had everything he needed. And if that included sex... and it couldn't be from me... " She shrugged. "I don't know how to put it, and I guess it's not a logical thing." She glanced at Meiran, managing a smile. "But then, emotions never are, are they."
"Which is why our industry exists," Meiran observed. "If people were logical, there'd be no war."
"Or the wars would be far more brutal."
"Agreed." Meiran sighed heavily, and her smile lifted her face from its melancholy demeanor. "I'm sorry if I got too personal, there. I just... I wanted time for the two of us to get to know each other. Having a companion makes it feel like we're just two housemates."
"That happens." Relena nodded, knowing the days and months of that empty feeling.
"Did you ever... get jealous?" Meiran's head was turned; her profile girlish, but weighed down with sorrow, uncertainty. The late afternoon sun kissed her features, golden and strong. "I mean... "
"I know what you mean." Relena placed her hands flat on the desk, trying to sort through her memories instead. "I did. Sometimes. It's rather hypocritical, of course, given that we both have companions. And to hear that he'd rather be with me was, in the end, just frustrating. Because we'd decided, and that was that."
"So you just got over it?"
"Eventually." She shrugged, rueful. "Or maybe it's more that I realized Trowa wasn't going to take him away from me. Maybe knowing that was what mattered most."
"Trowa... " Meiran frowned. "Mister Barton?"
"That's the one."
"My husband's been assigned to him. Do you know him? Or are you not supposed to meet them... " Meiran sighed. "I really don't know how any of this works. I never thought I'd need to. Maybe I was being naïve. I had this idea marriage was somewhere over there, and if I just stayed in school... "
Relena chose to skip the topic of school, preferring to avoid her own secret jealousy of Meiran's advanced degrees. She'd wanted to do that, but between her father's death and the organization, and her health, it had been out of the question... Pay attention, she reminded herself. Stay on task.
"I've met Mister Barton," Relena replied. "He and my husband served together during the war. Maybe that's part of the reason it doesn't bother me, because they knew each other already."
Meiran chuckled, wryly. "That would bother me more! At least with a stranger, it's not like there's an emotional connection."
"But to me, that's what was important. I can't see my husband being with someone that didn't matter to him. That would hurt him, in the long run." Relena sighed, remembering the times she'd been eaten apart by illogical jealousy, knowing Trowa was getting to see a part of Heero shut away from her by society's rules. "I guess I just decided if it couldn't be me, it should be someone who cares for him as much as I do." She realized the flaw in that comment, completely useless as far as advice might go. "That really doesn't apply to you, I suppose. I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize." Meiran smiled, a bit brighter. "It's just nice to hear how someone else sees things. Helps me put my own ideas in perspective."
"Anytime," Relena said, and glanced down at the messages; the top one finally registered. "Oh, crap. Martins wants to set up a meeting?"
"Yes, on the riot control conference next week," Meiran answered. "I have notes on his requests."
"Excellent. That man can be such a jerk," Relena muttered. "If I never had to deal with him--"
"I'll take care of it." Meiran grimaced. "I've been dealing with him for the past two months. We can tell him it's your delicate condition."
Relena leaned back and propped her feet up on the desk, revealing her brand-new walking shoes. "And the minute he arrives for a meeting after I've done my one-hour lunch walk, the gig will be up."
"Walking!" Meiran made an exasperated sound. "I recall you weren't in the best of health prior to your pregnancy. You should be doing lower-impact activities."
"I've spent enough time lying in bed, thanks."
"No, like taichi." Meiran grinned widely, and the smile was a remarkable shift from the serious young woman into something more mischievous. "I've been studying for years. I'll start teaching you over lunch."
"Oh, I couldn't--"
"I insist," Meiran said, standing. "You let me impose. Allow me to return the favor."
Relena didn't even see reason to try convincing Meiran otherwise; the young woman was clearly as stubborn as Heero. She just smiled and nodded, and agreed to meet in the building's front courtyard at noon.
Heero padded to the bed, leaning over Relena to kiss her on the forehead. "Shower's yours," he told her, and she grumbled sleepily when he ran a hand across her stomach.
Almost two months, and she already had a bit of a belly. The doctors had confirmed she was truly pregnant, and sometimes he caught himself wondering if he was going to end up on the sofa for lack of room in the bed by the end of nine months. But her curves were softer, now, and her face rounding out--the high cheekbones less angular, more like the girl he'd first seen across a crowded protest field, six years before. Her eyes were bluer, lips redder, and she wore a permanent flush as though she'd just finished laughing a heartbeat before.
He couldn't help it. Something about it turned him on, and he wasn't surprised when she rolled over, grabbing his erection and stroking it several times. He groaned, and checked the clock.
"Just a quickie," she coaxed, and threw back the covers, spreading her legs. He growled, climbing on top of her and she didn't even hold his cock--she knew exactly how to angle her hips to catch him, thrusting upwards just as he pushed down.
That first heat of joining hit him, and he shuddered, watching through hooded eyes while she toyed with her breasts, a finger trailing across the tiny white scars over her heart. Like always, he kissed the scars, licking them, and then kissed her. Pushing his tongue into her mouth, matching the rhythm of his cock slamming into her, until he broke away, panting as the pace increased.
Faster, shorter, harder, rubbing up against her while she tensed, keening in his ear. Her orgasm exploded around him, pulsating, and he groaned loudly, strength leaving him as he thrust one last time, deep inside her. His body ran hot, cold, shivery, shaking, and he gentled his movements, hips slowing, rocking, until he sank down with a moan, head pillowed on her chest. Idly he tongued the scar across her breast, then sucked on a nipple.
She giggled above him, and swatted him lightly on the forehead, but he didn't stop. Instead, he shifted to get a hand under him, stroking her clit until she whimpered, coming twice, three, four more times. Only then did he lift up, rolling over so she could get up.
"I'm leaking," she announced, and swiped a hand across her crotch. She wiped her hand on his chest. "Now you'll smell like fuck, all day long."
"Rel!" He pretended shock, but the most he could manage was satisfaction. "Towel?"
A moment later the damp towel landed on his stomach, and he cleaned himself up, too sated to bother with keeping a straight face. It wasn't until he heard the water running that he got up, picking out his clothes for the day. He wandered into the living room to check the day's weather while he buttoned up his shirt and put on his tie. Same as the day before: dry, windy, with high pollution index from the strong winds.
With each layer of clothing, he could feel the world settling into place around him. When he had time to think of it, he could only feel disturbed, perhaps he might have even said disheartened, but that he would only admit in the dark of night while listening to his wife's steady breathing against his chest. Had he truly spent his life bound by rules, hemmed in on all sides? It had never felt stifling before, but comforting. He'd always walked the streets with a prickling sensation, aware of his surroundings. But now he fought the impulse to strike out, take down, break something until the illusions around him shattered--
The news anchorwoman's fabricated serious mien annoyed him, no less when it changed to suitably mild delight at a successful policy implementation by the government. Heero settled down on the sofa while he pulled on his socks, listening to Relena's movements in the bedroom. A riot in the southeastern district; schools closed in the southwest due to air conditioning malfunctions; a worker's strike negotiated peacefully in the northwestern suburbs. An outbreak of the E-18 virus in the northeastern district, and all registered residents were being required to present themselves for inoculations.
More drugs. He snorted and leaned over, lacing up his shoes. They pinched his toes, and he wondered why he'd bought them, and figured it didn't matter. Everything seemed to pinch, when he felt like he was bursting at the seams... but even that was fading, and it was becoming too easy to put his face back on, the one he'd always worn. The one that told the world it could kiss his ass because he had a job to do, the one that took orders and assessed risks and measured damages without flinching. The one that stood between Relena and danger, took the bullet and kept going and didn't give a damn about what would come the next day so long as she was safe in this one.
His shoes still pinched. He stood, frowning at the worn brown leather, looking up only once Relena entered. She must have a meeting with government officials, he realized, noting the soft blue suit, the skirt a bit shorter than usual. Her jacket wasn't buttoned, and if he looked hard, he could see the gentle curve of her body pushing against the suit's stern lines.
"You should be wearing something... " He scowled, not able to find the words. The anchorwoman's voice droned in the background. Outside, the dry brown world lightened with sunrise. "... Something more feminine."
"Hunh?" Relena paused in the act of putting in her earrings, giving him a surprised look. "You're turning into a romantic," she murmured, and kissed him on the cheek. "I think we have time for breakfast."
He nodded, and moved past her to begin the third part of the morning ritual. Dully he noted there were now four parts: shower, sex, dressing, food. Jackson would be knocking on the door in fifteen minutes, and that would begin the day. Relena packed lunches for each of them while he made toast and tea.
"You left the television on," she chided, wiping her hands on the dishrag before heading into the living room.
But after a moment, the news didn't stop, and Heero brought her a cup of tea and a slice of toast. She stood before the television, stunned.
"What," he said, and held up the items. "Rel, you need to--"
"Heero," she breathed, pointing at the television. He turned, seeing only the anchorwoman's false concern, hair perfectly styled, glistening under the studio lights. A frozen image hung over the woman's left shoulder, illustration of whatever latest disaster--
"It's Dog," Relena said, and knocked the tea and toast aside. "He's been shot. We've got to get downtown!"
"Hunh?" Heero stared down at the spilled tea, soaking into the blue carpet, then back at the television. The news played the clip again, segueing into a concerned citizen discussing the national policies on wild animals. Dimly he registered that Relena had the front door open, and was waiting impatiently. He shoved the toast in his mouth, set down the empty mug, and clicked off the television.
"Taxi," he ordered, and took her by the hand, locking the door-pad behind him without looking. "Let's go."
The taxi let them out in front of the police station, and the bored receptionist pointed them towards animal control, in the basement. Relena shoved the fire doors open and practically flew down the stairs, Heero and Jackson right behind her. For a moment Heero wished for sneakers like Jackson, but focused on his wife's clattering heels echoing down the long corridor.
"Dog! You've got my dog!" Relena dug frantically in her purse, pulling out Dog's registration and shoved it through the little window. Heero caught up with her, stepping automatically into place just behind her. Relena barely noted, her short fingernails tapping on the window's small ledge while the animal control officer pulled up the records. "There! That one! That's my address!" Relena thumped on the glass with her hand, getting the man's attention.
"Yes, ma'am, calm down. Let me check the status." The man looked like he was a few seconds from yawning. "I'm not sure you can pick up the dog. He was in bad shape when the officers found him--"
"I want to see him," Relena insisted. She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand, and pressed her damp palm against the glass, blinking furiously. "Please! He ran away almost two months ago and no one had--"
Heero put a hand on Relena's elbow, drawing her back, away from the glass. Time to play good-cop, bad-cop, or perhaps distraught cop, sane cop, he thought, almost amused but too upset--and too centered on not showing it--to care.
"We'd like to see the dog, now," he told the man, in the tone he reserved for giving orders to his security force. "Then we'll discuss arrangements for any medical attention it needs."
"Sir." The officer didn't salute, but he straightened at the tone, and nodded respectfully. He stood up, grabbing keys off the wall. "I'll be right there." He flipped the sign in the window, and a moment later stepped out of a door down the hallway. "This way, please."
Relena followed, sniffling, then she paused to catch Heero's hand, holding on tightly. He was surprised; she knew he wasn't comfortable not having both hands open and ready, but he suspected she needed the comfort more. He nodded to Jackson, who fell in line behind them.
At the end of the hallway, the officer unlocked the door and held it open, ushering them into a massive basement kennel. A light flickered over head, buzzing, and Heero wasn't surprised to see Relena holding a hand over her nose. The place stank of piss and shit and animal fur. Every variety of animal--dogs, cats, several rabbits, and Heero thought he saw a squirrel, as well--all barking and crying, some whining, and two cats hissed. At the end of the row, the officer stopped by a large chain-linked box. Dog lay on the concrete floor, apparently asleep.
"Dog!" Relena flew forward, fingers curling around the chain, and sank to her knees. "Dog, Dog, it's me... wake up... " She twisted to stare up at the officer, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Why won't he wake up? I want in there--"
"Ma'am, he's been drugged. He attacked three officers, and--"
"Of course he would!" Relena frowned, and turned back to the cage, trying to get her fingers through to reach Dog's tail, which lay a few inches from the cage's perimeter. "He was probably scared, and alone, and hungry and what would you think if men came after you with nets and sticks and--oh, Dog, wake up!"
"Rel, Rel," Heero said, kneeling down next to her. "He's okay. He's just sleeping. We'll get him--"
"Actually, he was injured," the officer said. He tapped on a small screen wired to the cage door, and shook his head. "Shot across the back left leg. He appears to be lying on that side, but anti-coagulants were applied."
"Was the wound closed?" Heero looked up at the officer, frowning. "Was it even cleaned?"
"Probably not. We had to use twice the usual tranquilizer dose on it. And until we've determined its origins, we aren't going in there to treat--"
"So you'll just let him die? Like, like, like a common animal?" Relena came to her feet, pointing at the kennel. "You don't need to determine its origins. He's our Dog, and that's all you need to know. And we want to take him somewhere to get him treated after--after--after your brutality!" She burst out, then unexpectedly put a hand on her stomach, and the other on her head, letting out a long moan. "Oh... "
Heero's first impulse was to give his wife a bewildered look; even when Relena had ever felt badly ill, she wouldn't have shown it if she could help it. His second thought--hopefully without too much of an obvious delay--was to catch her by the elbows, and wrap an arm around her waist. She nudged him, just barely, with an elbow, and he frowned, but covered by pretending to let her lean on him.
"My wife's pregnant," he told the officer, who looked astonished, then embarrassed. Heero hid his smirk in Relena's hair; she whimpered, a hand on her stomach. "The doctor's said she shouldn't get too upset, and I'm afraid... "
"I understand. My wife was the same way," the officer said.
"So if we could wrap this up," Heero replied, and turned to Jackson. "If you... "
"Of course, sir," Jackson said, taking Relena, and guiding her back to the door. His voice faded, his soliticious words, "you shouldn't be breathing this air, Mrs. Yuy," buried under the frantic yelps and barking and a cat yowl.
Heero turned to the officer, waiting pointedly.
"I suppose. I can't see a reason you can't take him, and at least it takes his care off our hands." He fiddled with the keys in one hand, and sighed heavily. "I'll let you in, and I'll be back with a carry-cart."
He undid the chain, leaving the door open, and Heero stepped into the cage, wary. Dog didn't react, even once Heero checked breathing, pulse, and pulled open Dog's eyes to see if the pupils reacted to light; they did, and Heero breathed a little easier. Then he rolled up his cuffs and slid a hand between Dog's flank and the concrete; his hand came away crimson and wet. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, and made a note to call Trowa. He was supposed to be security at a series of meetings, and Heero didn't want to pull Trowa out of that. He just hoped his wartime basic medic training would be enough to stitch Dog up and bandage him. Heero doubted a hospital would do it, and they couldn't even afford a veternarian's expense, not with a baby on the way. But he had his kit at home. Hopefully everything he would need would be in there, and if not, then he would call Trowa.
"You just sleep," Heero told Dog, running his hand across the matted dirty black fur. "We'll get you home and fix you up."
It was the sort of thing she never really considered, since on an average day Heero didn't go around bending steel to remind her just how strong he was. But seeing him carry Dog into the apartment and set him down on the table--without breaking a sweat--reminded her of how unusual Heero was. Yet in the circumstances she couldn't spare even an instant to go weak in the knees at his strength, let alone tease him for showing off.
She was too busy shoving the hot pads and table linens out of the way for Heero to lay Dog down. She'd bullied the animal control officers, guilted them when necessary, feigning weakness at the first sign the men would balk. It had gotten the three of them a ride in the animal control van with Dog--who'd slept through it all, though he'd started bleeding again when moved. She'd not said a word when Heero stripped down to his undershirt in the back of the van, using his dress shirt and tie to create a makeshift bandage against Dog's leg.
"Hot water, Rel," Heero called. He flicked on the overhead lights, and squinted. "Jackson, the reading lamp--"
"Got it," Jackson replied, yanking the cord from the wall and moving the lamp over by the table. He raised it, and Heero angled the light.
"There. Hold it."
"Should I boil the water?" Rel called out, not sure whether to be sick at the sight of so much blood on Heero's shirt, or proud of her husband's cool nerves. "Or just make it really hot?"
"One of each. First aid kit, in the cabinet--"
"Right here," she said, bringing it to him. "Bandages?"
"Towels will do. We'll need all of them, just in case." Heero popped open the case and sorted through the packages and plastic containers. Putting on a pair of gloves, he ripped open the gauze package with one hand, and squirted out something from a tube onto the gauze. "Scissors... and bring my razor from the bathroom."
Jackson stayed at Heero's side, remarkably calm despite the blood and the fact that Heero was performing battlefield medicine on a dog that weighed probably more than Relena. But then again, Heero had blood on his face, his hands, across his shirt, and the smell of it pervaded the tiny apartment--and he never flinched, never winced. She marveled at his complete calm, low voice requesting something and never once snapping or getting frustrated with progress.
She held the bowl of water while he shaved around the wound, finally forced to turn her head away. The wound had been a cruel gash, but to see it exposed and hairless only emphasized the cruelty of the shot, tearing through the muscle and up across the hip. Dog whimpered once or twice, but calmed when Heero put a hand on Dog's head for a moment. The tail wagged, then fell still.
"Passed out," Heero said, and for a moment there was a ghost of a smile across his face. He dropped the razor in the bowl, and began cleaning the wound one more time. "Dump that water out, and bring me the boiled water."
Relena nodded, keeping her head turned away, and felt like retching. Already did that today, she reminded herself; she'd taken a few minutes in the bathroom to throw up when they'd first brought Dog in. It had seemed like a pragmatic thing, to get it out of the way. She poured the bloody water into the sink, watching the hairs catch on the drain, and picked up the pot of boiled water. She thought twice and snatched pair of tongs from the utensil bowl on the counter; she didn't want Heero sticking his hand in bubbling water to get the boiled instruments. Just because he could bend steel didn't mean he had hands made of asbestos. The thought made her smile despite the grim scene of her husband standing over Dog.
Heero had put on a clean pair of gloves, and was feeling along the edges of the wound. It began bleeding with every finger-prod, and Relena found herself holding the lamp while Jackson staunched the wound as Heero investigated. Finally Heero nodded, picking up the threaded suture needle, and placed it against Dog's skin.
The first push through the interior muscle, and Dog came awake, yelping. Relena nearly dropped the lamp, grabbing for Dog's head.
"Shh, shh," she cried, petting Dog's head, the lamp stuck under her arm. Heero waited, while Jackson held down Dog's hip and rump. Relena sniffled, ignoring the tears blurring her vision and dropped to her knees to be eye-level with Dog. "It's okay, we're fixing you up, Dog, Heero's taking care of you... "
"It's almost like you think he understands," Jackson murmured.
"He does," Relena protested. She petted Dog one more time, and he whined softly. "He knows we're just trying to help him." She sighed. "Don't we have anything... oh! I know!" She set the lamp down on the table, and dashed into the bathroom, scrambling through her medications for the painkiller. Finding the bottle, she ran for the makeshift operating room, trying to guess Dog's weight. "Two? No, three?"
"Start with two," Heero said, and shook his head. "We should've done that first."
Relena shook out two pills, and carefully opened Dog's mouth, pushing the pills down his throat like Jackson instructed. Then she smoothed down Dog's throat until he swallowed, and she cooed over him, kissing him on the face and not caring that he was filthy and matted and stank of blood and trash. It was Dog, and he'd be okay once Heero could sew up the wound.
"Okay," she said, picking up the lamp and shining it on Heero's hands. She kept her other hand on Dog's head, stroking the long ear and smoothing the matted fur, tugging at the tangles with her fingers. "We're ready."
Heero smiled at her, and just as quickly the expression was gone. He no longer saw her, but only Dog, and the work to be done. He bent his head, and began sewing the wound with quick, tiny strokes. Dog whined deep in his chest, and his paws scrabbled for purchase, but Relena shushed him each time. By the time Heero had finished the first row of interior stitches along the muscle, Dog's eyes were unfocused but his tail wagged whenever Heero would speak, directing Jackson to change the gauze.
"Okay, done," Heero announced, leaning his head back. He cracked his neck, shoulders settling into a relaxed line, then began cleaning as though he'd never taken a heartbeat to show his exhaustion and worry so openly.
Relena continued to pet Dog until Jackson and Heero had finished cleaning and set up the clean towels, a winter blanket, and a set of sheets laid across on top. Dog's hip had been packed with antibiotics, covered with gauze and ripped sheets, and tied in place. Relena had no idea how it'd stay on when it was time to take him for a walk, let alone how they'd get him down the hallway. Then she inhaled a deep sigh of relief, wrinkled her nose, and changed her plans.
"First things first," she said. "Put Dog in the bathroom. He needs to be washed."
"Not with those bandages," Heero replied, shaking his head.
"I'll do a sponge bath," Relena retorted. "But he stinks!"
Jackson chuckled. "Mrs. Yuy is right."
Heero grumbled, but he carried Dog into the tiny bathroom and set him on the tiled floor. Relena waited until Heero had escorted Jackson to the door before stripping off her work clothes and changing into Heero's old cut-off sweatpants. She put on one of his workout tank tops, and fetched a large bowl from the kitchen, filling it with warm water in the bathroom sink.
It was messy, and not the cleanest Dog would ever be, but it worked. It took forever to get the soap off Dog, and she finally told Heero to call into work, only to find he'd done that while she was dealing with Dog. She figured the government could stuff it, as far as she was concerned, although Meiran had probably gone ahead to the meeting and dealt with it just fine on her own.
Heero returned from the phone calls to lift Dog up, holding Dog's lax body against him while Relena cleaned the other side, rinsing it down until they were as wet as Dog. The bathroom floor had an inch of standing water, and Relena could feel wet dog hairs stuck to her body, but it didn´t matter. Dog was alive, safe, and home where he belonged. She patted him down with the towel, then Heero carried Dog into the living room.
There they laid Dog down, and both spent several minutes petting Dog and whispering to him with their own secret languages and pet-names. Dog's tail thumped once, and Relena sat back, leaning against Heero.
"He's going to be okay?"
"Yes," Heero said, and hugged her with one arm. "But now I need a shower. Unless you'd rather go first?"
"No, you go." She poked his stomach, and gave him a quick kiss. "Get that blood off you."
"Be back shortly."
She smiled when he kissed her on the cheek, noting that Heero kept one hand on Dog's shoulder. Only once Heero's step had faded into the bedroom did she lean over and whisper to Dog, "welcome home." She paused, smoothing back the damp hairs, and muttered, "and if you ever do that again, I'll... I'll kick your ass."
Dog's ear twitched once. Relena snorted, figuring that was as good of a response as she could expect, and probably not much better than she'd get from her own husband.
"I'm a fool to fall in love with one stubborn idiot," she murmured, lying down next to Dog so she could keep petting him. "So you'd think I'd learn not to fall in love with two."
Or three, she thought, but didn't say that out loud.
Trowa came by just after dusk. Like Heero, he'd worked with animals during the war, but unlike Heero, he'd grown up with them. He rarely spoke of it, except to say that he preferred cats over dogs. Heero had never had either, so he'd never seen reason to press for more information. But failing any other experienced person that he'd also trust in his apartment, Heero had settled on calling Trowa. What he hadn't expected was Trowa's reaction when he entered the living room.
"Holy fuck," he whispered, blinking several times before falling to his knees in front of Dog. His fingers dug through the long fur, and Dog raised his head, whining softly.
Heero frowned, confused and not a little jealous--though he wasn't sure why, and made a note to consider that later--at the way Dog's tail wagged at Trowa's touch. "Do you know Dog?"
"Know... " Trowa sat back, surprised, then smiled, but it looked too secretive. He shook his head. "No, this is a Scottish Wolfhound. They're pretty rare. Most of the ones still around are in use by the military."
Dog growled, just a little, but Trowa never stopped running his hands across Dog's body, finally peeling the bandages away to inspect them. He nodded, giving Heero a pleased look, and set the bandages aside.
"Leave them exposed," he instructed. "They'll seep, and you'll need to clean them, but it's better for healing."
"I'm making tea, and dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes," Relena said, coming to sit on the sofa. She smiled at Trowa: a weary look, but a truly content one. "Thank you for coming to check on Dog. I'm sorry if we interrupted your evening's plans."
"Nothing I didn't want to get out of anyway," Trowa replied, but didn't elaborate. He moved away from Dog, sitting down on the chair, chatting with Relena about dogs and their physiologies while Heero set the table.
Before he left, he accompanied Relena to take Dog out for a short walk. She reported upon their return that Dog had stumbled a few times, limping, but seemed somewhat alert otherwise. Then she tried to shove two more painkillers down Dog's throat while Heero mostly chuckled at Dog's attempts to balk her, until she chided Heero. With Trowa showing him how, Heero prised Dog's jaw open so Relena could get the pills down his throat. Dog's ears were back flat against his skull, and he seemed grumpy until the medicine kicked in.
When Trowa left late that night, he took a moment to say goodbye to Dog, whispering into Dog's ear too low for even Heero to catch the words. The dog's tail thumped once, and he licked Trowa's hand. Heero wondered what Trowa had said, but didn't ask. It seemed like a private discussion, and he wondered when he'd really begun to believe that Dog understood everything around him.
He put it out of his mind.
Three nights later, Relena woke him when she screamed. He sat bolt upright in the dark bedroom, hand on his gun immediately, and realized the scream had become incoherent babbling, but it didn't sound terrified. No. Overjoyed, and it wasn't coming from the bed next to him, but from the living room. Panicked, he came to his feet. Dog. Had something happened to Dog?
Heero kept his gun ready, ghosting to the door, checking the corner out of pure instinct, before entering the living room. He nearly dropped his gun at the sight.
Relena curled on the dog bed, with Duo--naked, no less--halfway across her lap. He didn't raise his head, and looked to be asleep; when Heero finally collected his senses and set the gun down, turning on the nearest lamp, Duo didn't react.
"He's come back," Relena said. She yawned, and rubbed her eyes, wiping away tears. "You'd think he'd at least knock. He could've gotten on the sofa, instead of kicking Dog out. But he must be exhausted, he's not woken up, and... " She stopped, looking around. "Wait... Where's Dog?"
"That is Dog," Heero breathed, unable to move. "He's... Duo is... a dog soldier."
"A what?" Relena giggled, half-asleep and probably still in shock. She never stopped smoothing Duo's braid, rocking him gently against her bare chest. "Silly, those were outlawed after the war. Improper use of animals--"
"Dog soldiers aren't animals," Heero said, crouching beside Duo to study the ugly gash on Duo's thigh. He lowered his hand, still uncertain, and gently touched Duo's skin. It shivered under his fingertips, and he shook his head. "I had two assignments with a dog soldier. A shepherd, I think it was. Female."
"Wait, wait," Relena protested. "Dog soldiers were stray dogs used to carry munitions and dump bombs--"
"No, they were soldiers who signed up for an experimental project. Their DNA was combined with dog chromosomes. The project was halted because of the side effects. Most of the dogs died, that weren't killed in action."
"Oh." Relena stared at Heero, and he realized it was finally sinking in. "You mean... oh, fuck, we had sex with a dog?"
Heero laughed, despite himself. "We had sex with a man who has dog genes. I don't think it counts."
"But he looks fully human, now." She ran a hand down Duo's ribs, to caress his hip, above the wound. His leg hairs were mostly stubble in a clear patch around the gash.
"I don't know. The shepherd I partnered with understood orders and could read. I heard rumors the dogs would sometimes be human, but I never saw the shepherd be anything but a dog. I figured it was just rumors that they would change back and forth. I know it was code-named were--"
"Wear?"
"Were." He spelled it out. "It means half. It's been ten years... I was fifteen or sixteen when we--" Relena held up a hand, and he broke off, realizing Duo was coming to.
"Ow," Duo murmured, and nuzzled Relena's breast. One hand twitched, and he grumbled, scratching his stomach, then moving to scratch his thigh. Relena caught his hand.
"No, don't do that," she remonstrated. "You have to leave it alone."
Duo's mumble was clearly disgruntled, and he tugged half-heartedly at her hand before his muscles relaxed. Then he tensed, twisting his head to stare up at her.
"Rel... gg... " He made a face. "Y... g'me... druh... "
"Painkillers," she corrected, pushing his hair out of his face. "They were the only thing keeping you from chewing on the stitches."
"Nnn... " Duo snorted, one leg pushing at the blankets for a moment, then stilled. "He... b... "
"Heero's right here," Relena whispered, and leaned back so Duo could roll onto his back to see Heero staring down at him. Duo's grin was lazy, half-asleep.
"Duo... why didn't you tell us?" Heero wasn't sure whether to be annoyed, or to find it all quite amusing.
Somehow it just felt right that Duo had to have been a soldier, too; there had been too many things he'd done even in his short stay that showed he knew how to move around Heero's instincts. And if there were anyone Heero had known that struck him as tough enough to go through the rumored Dog Soldier project and come out alive, it'd be Duo. He didn't know much, but he knew that much with a gut certainty he'd not felt since the day he'd proposed to Relena, and the first time he'd felt Duo's cock inside him.
The thought of that made Heero flush, a little guiltily, and Duo shrugged, his lips curling into an almost-smirk. Heero sighed, and put his arms under Duo's shoulder and knees, easily lifting him up. Relena followed, her eyebrows raised, her mouth a round 'o' of surprise at the rare display of strength.
"He can sleep in the bed, now," Heero told her. "We'll only have to deal with long brown hairs rather than a shit load of black ones."
She giggled, leading the way to the bedroom, and then going back to click off the light while Heero got Duo situated in the middle of the bed. Relena crawled in on Duo's other side, pulling the light blankets over both of them while Heero slid his gun back into its holster on the bed frame, and curled up facing the two.
They were quiet for several moments, listening to Duo's even breathing.
Relena sighed, and shifted under the covers. "Do you think... our baby's okay? If he's... "
"I doubt he would've said yes if it would have been a danger to you, or if the baby wouldn't be normal," Heero assured her.
He hoped that was true, but it felt right. He leaned over Duo, kissing Relena, then kissed Duo on the temple. The sheets rustled; Relena mimicked his action, kissing Duo on the cheek. Heero lay down, one hand on Duo's chest, the other draped across Duo to clasp Relena's hand.
"But," he added, and yawned, "we're still going to have a talk with him when the painkillers wear off."
"Okay," Relena whispered, and soon she was asleep as well.
For the first time in almost two months, everything--and everyone--was truly where it belonged. He was going to be a father, Relena was healthy and safe, and their other lover was now also safe at their side. Heero didn't know how they'd make it work, being with a Dog Soldier who had to be on the run if he were an escaped government project, but they'd figure that out in the morning... after Heero dressed Duo down for not sticking around in the first place, let alone admitting that he'd been with them that whole time.
Then again, Heero suspected that Relena would probably give Duo a piece of her mind for running away and making her worry all that time. Heero smiled into the dark. Yes. Everything he needed was right where it should be, safe, and home.
End Part 7
hey, I found a stopping place! Check that out.
Word count: 8300 words, exactly. Woo. Went over allotment by 700 words. Of course. Sheesh. But this hopefully will hold everyone until I pick this back up again. And now, two chapters of Echoes and I am off to the wonderful scary world of writing my own crap. Heh.
(:./sol/howl7)
