11 Sep 2000

Oh, lord. I am supposed to be doing anything but writing fics, and yet--well, here's another one. Sorry, sorry....
--Lilias, still not thrilled by the end of this one

Rating: PG-13
Pairing: 1+2 (1x2? I'm bad at this.)
Disclaimer: Don't own, neither do I intend to infringe.
Warnings: Shounen-ai/references to yaoi, angst, sap.
Notes: Takes place after the war(s)--should be vague enough that you can pretend it's happening after the end of the series _or_ EW, but you can think of it as AU if you'd like. Part of the "Complicated" arc--goes between "Secret World" and "It Would Be Life" (a bit I haven't finished yet).
Lyrics are from Paul Simon's "Further to Fly," from the album _Rhythm of the Saints_.
Feedback: always welcome!
// denotes thoughts, [] denotes lyrics

Interlaced by Lilias

[The open palm of desire wants everything, wants everything--
it wants soil as soft as summer,
the strength to push like spring.]

The screen door slammed behind Heero as he came down the uneven wooden steps. The others were already sitting down to the noon meal, but no one had seen Duo since morning. It was taking them all a while to adjust to the rhythms of peace; but for now, the five of them seemed content to stay here in the rented cottage, hiding out from a world that hadn't quite made up its mind whether they were heroes or hazards. Quatre and Duo, at least, had places to go back to--the Winner estate anxiously awaited the return of the Winner heir, and Hilde called at least once a week to see if Duo was ready to come back to the salvage business--but neither of them showed much interest in returning to normalcy. The abnormal had become routine, after all, and all of them approached little things--like, well, lunch--with the trepidation of inexperienced explorers.

Some of them even missed meals, on occasion, from sheer lack of practice. Naming no names, of course.

There he was; in the usual spot, after all.

Duo was sprawled on the sunny slope that extended toward the deeper woods behind the cottage, just beyond the reaching shade of a maple tree. One forearm covered his eyes; the other hand lay, palm-up, at the far end of an outflung arm. Long fingers moved lazily, almost reflexively, against the grass--even mostly asleep, he couldn't hold still. There was something intensely private about the slow curling of those fingers, as if they took secret delight in the warmth of the grass, the moist coolness of the soil beneath the stems.

But he wasn't asleep, at least not completely--at Heero's approach, the sheltering wrist shifted enough for Duo to peer out from under it. He smiled.

"Hey."

"Hey." Well, that had been an eloquent exchange. Heero thought about heading back to the house--but that would have meant turning away, and he wasn't ready to stop staring just yet.

"Something you wanted?" Duo's voice sounded as if it had been steeped in the sunlight that drenched him--warm, and golden, and irresistible.

Better to stick with simple things. They hadn't been together-- not like that--since the middle of the war. "Lunch is ready."

"Lunch can wait. I'm having the best nap of my life."

"Every nap is the best one of your life. You're always smiling in your sleep."

Duo was smiling now, lazily--but awake, for once. "You should try it sometime. Especially now that there's no chance of taking sniper fire from the treeline. Less chance, anyway."

"I only sleep when I'm tired," Heero pointed out. "You nap about every five minutes. You really ought to seek professional help."

"I'm making up for a year of sleep deprivation, you know." Those entirely too-perceptive eyes were measuring him again, brilliant under the protecting curve of Duo's forearm. "You could stand some catching up, too--those circles under your eyes make you look like a damn raccoon."

"I'm in bed eight hours a night."

"Yeah, but it hardly counts as sleeping. Are you ever going to stop with the nightmares, or do I have to start micro-managing your night life again?"

The words were light, but the memories they invoked made Heero's knees suddenly untrustworthy. The first time Duo had ever gotten through to him, it had been a late-night nightmare-exorcism session.^[1] One that had worked like a charm, even if Duo's methods had ultimately done more to disrupt Heero's sleep than to secure it.

Lunch could definitely wait. Heero dropped onto the grass, sitting so that his shoulders were well within the shade; he could see much better without the sun in his eyes. Duo didn't move--his outstretched arm put his hand only inches from Heero's bent knee, and he didn't seem interested in shifting away. He had let his other arm fall back over his eyes, not bothering to ascertain the effect of his bombshell.

Heero realized he was staring, and shook his head in some confusion. //I thought we were being strictly friends, Duo--what exactly was _that_? Are you reading my mind again, or is this all you?//

There were a couple of ways to find out, but he didn't feel like asking questions. Not out loud, anyway. Reaching out instead, Heero drew a line down each of those extended fingers, one by one, as if taking attendance. Then he traced a slow spiral across the roughened palm, not looking up at Duo's swift intake of breath. It was a revelation that, after all the violence that hand had known, it could lie so innocently here in the grass--perhaps there was hope for them in a peacetime world, after all.

His bent arm sliding to the grass above his head, hardly daring to breathe, Duo watched the brown hand move against his paler one before letting his eyes climb to Heero's intent face.

Eyes solemn with concentration, Heero aligned his own fingertips and palm with those beneath him, fitting their hands together. When Duo's fingers curled automatically to clasp his hand, Heero let his eyes close and returned the pressure. //Just like this. Never letting go. Is this what you want, too?//

Duo held on, too, but refused to look away for fear he would miss something. He had never expected a throwaway comment to have such dramatic results. //Throwaway, hah--be honest with yourself, for once. That was more like a targeted missile strike.// He knew how Heero felt about holding hands, too, which made it even more significant--this entwining was more intimate than most embraces.^[2] Cautiously moving his thumb to stroke the hand that held his in a death grip, he lifted his free hand to brush back the spiky brown bangs.

"Heero? You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. Not yet. No words could be as important as this.

End

Footie-notes:
(1) This is documented in "Beauty"--Part 3, as I recall.
(2) This was partly inspired by a website (Hikaru no Page) that talked about hand-holding and intimacy in Japanese culture. (Thanks, Q-sama!)

(:./lilias/interlaced)