05-Jan-2005
Title: Devil's Trumpet
Author: Mookie
Pairing: Heero/Duo
Rating: PG
Warnings: shonen ai, slight bastardization of historical events
Notes: Written for the Yaoiful Yuletide
Contest. Sequel to Hanami
and Flight
of the Penguin.
Word count: 1,457
Duo brushed the hair out of his eyes as he left the shuttle, looking up at the bright sunlight. After all the time he'd eagerly waited to return to space, he'd never expected to find himself so eager to return to earth.
He zipped up his jacket against the chill in the winter air.
Eager? Shit, he was nervous as hell.
It was all Trowa's fault.
He didn't begrudge Trowa for succeeding where he had failed. He'd like to think failure was a premature, harsh word for his progress, but the best ideas he'd come up with, the ones practically guaranteed to get the desired reaction, where all too extreme, too much a matter of taking advantage of the little he knew of the boy known as Heero Yuy.
The sunlight was making his eyes water and he blinked the forming tears from his eyes, walking across the carpet of white snow and leaving a trail of fresh footprints in his wake. Spring seemed a long way off.
Time never seemed to be a linear thing, Duo mused. Had it only been a few years since he'd felt animosity toward Trowa for his seeming betrayal, perhaps even the slightest bit of envy? It seemed, paradoxically, like only yesterday that Heero had self detonated his Gundam in Siberia, and on the other hand, like a lifetime ago as well.
For Heero, it literally had been.
Duo wondered if their definitions of failure coincided. All of them had had the same overall mission and basic objectives in the beginning, but each of them went about their accomplishment with their own brand of warfare. It was what had ultimately made them such an effective team.
He checked into his hotel, hesitating only slightly before signing the name he'd adopted as his own so many years ago. What had Heero been thinking, to enroll in school under the name of someone he'd barely met enough times to count on one hand? He tried to picture Heero standing in front of yet another classroom full of gullible teenagers, introducing himself and uttering a name that didn't belong to him. It was completely different from his use of the code name he'd been given. He'd been shocked when Heero told him, and even now he wasn't sure if it had been merely an effective way to remain undercover or if there had been a deeper meaning.
Heero had always been one to speak plainly, but Duo had long ago realized that there were layers of meaning, even to the most blunt comments.
He shook his head. And sometimes, he chided himself, a cigar was just a cigar.
Later that night, when he turned off the bedside lamp and lay on his side, staring at the glow of the alarm clock, he hoped that Trowa had been right.
It was overcast the next morning, and Duo hated to think what that might portend when it came to his mission. It had taken a lot of soul searching and second guessing himself, of discarding one idea after another, before going to the person he'd briefly considered kidnapping, just to lure Heero out of hiding. A motivational poster hanging in the waiting room was the impetus for his leaving before exchanging a word with the receptionist.
People don't fail; they merely give up.
It was that message he'd forced as his mantra throughout the next few days. It was so eerily fitting for the person he sought, he had to believe that it was something to believe in. Even if Heero himself considered many of his actions failures, he'd never turned tail. No, Heero persevered, even when it seemed that he viewed his own survival as inconsequential.
Hadn't they all?
Following Trowa's advice, finding the right bait, had been near impossible despite all the ideas that had seemed brilliant when they first flitted through his mind. Then he'd start to plot them out, only to realize how ridiculous, juvenile, or downright desperate they were.
Duo's pride didn't allow for the maxim of desperate times, desperate measures, and he had Heero's pride, and his trust, to consider as well.
He decided against breakfast, his stomach far to nervous for more than a glass of seltzer water. He purchased a map of the area from the desk and headed for the park featuring ice sculptures as part of its snow festival.
It was far too early in the year for the cherry blossoms to bloom, but Duo had waited long enough. Part of him wondered why he was bothering, but he reminded himself that it wouldn't be failure because he had no plans on giving up.
Not right away.
Besides, Duo had never been the most patient of men. It would be pointless to wait for the planets to align and the sun's position over the earth dictate when to act. Not when the right bait had been used, and especially not when it came to Heero Yuy.
He resisted the impulse to sigh. Pounding his fist against the button on the control panel of his Gundam had seemed so much easier.
It was because he'd been so focused on this particular quest that he thought he was hallucinating at first. He blinked, rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, and blinked again, tamping down the rising hope in his chest. If his eyes didn't deceive him, he'd hit pay dirt.
Duo didn't call out a greeting, but he made no effort to be silent, his boots crunching over the frozen ground as he approached the sakura tree.
"Took you long enough."
His back was to Duo, his left hand splayed against the trunk. He'd grown a bit, as they all had, but now that he was in sight, Duo was sure he would have recognized Heero anywhere.
The right bait. Funny how Duo had never realized, when they were aboard that shuttle, that it had been set out years ago.
Heero took a few steps forward and bent down to pick something up from the ground. A flower. He spun it in his fingers before turning to face Duo, then traced the crimson beard in the center of its petals with the pad of his index finger.
"White is a symbol of purity in many cultures," he said thoughtfully. "A clean slate, a new beginning, a blank page."
"A bandage for old wounds," Duo murmured.
Heero canted his head to the side. "This flower shouldn't be blooming," he said, "but sometimes an aberration happens." He brushed the white petals against his lips.
"A long time ago, these flowers were completely white. Before the Hogen Rebellion, the ground was clean and unsullied." Heero made a sweeping gesture with the flower. "And then brother was pitted against brother, friend against friend, neighbor against neighbor. Blood was spilled, staining the ground and tearing apart the fabrics of unity and loyalty. All for political power and control."
He rotated the flower slowly in his hands. "Mankind never learns. The tides of war will never be held at bay. Not forever. Not while a mere handful of individuals choose pacifism."
"Not while others are willing soldiers," Duo breathed.
Heero handed the long horn-shaped bloom to Duo. "The flower forever bears the stain of spilled blood. It's a living testament to mankind's bloodthirsty nature, a reminder for generations to come that no soul remains without sin."
Duo brought the flower to his face and breathed deeply. He took a step closer to Heero and brushed the petals lightly over Heero's lips as the other man had done earlier. "That makes it no less beautiful," he said quietly, trailing the flower along Heero's jaw before pressing his lips against Heero's.
When he pulled back a minute later, both relieved and jubilant at Heero's response, he realized the clouds overhead had parted. It wasn't until his eyes left Heero's that the sun reflecting off the ground brought the term 'snow blind' to mind.
"So," he said, "it seems you're quite a font of trivia."
A guilty smile played about Heero's lips and Duo found himself laughing in response. "You made that story up, didn't you?" With the flower he dusted a few freshly fallen snowflakes from Heero's bangs.
Heero's fingers sought Duo's and laced through them, and a light tug brought their lips together a second time. It was a chaste kiss, and Heero lightly swiped his tongue over Duo's lower lip when it was over. He smiled again.
Two sets of footprints led away from the sakura tree. Behind them, a single blossom lay on the ground, the small bit of brightly contrasting color slowly being swallowed up in a blanket of white as more snowflakes lazily drifted to the ground.
The End
(:./mookie/devil)
