Dead Trees and Technophiles

by APs

A/N: Alright, so one shot is neither of the stories I have going, but I've been feverishly working on a couple things and needed a bit of a break. Also, no beta on this since it was a weird little scrap that fell out of my head at random. Also, writing from a Heero focused limited third person was just as odd as I thought it might be. Thoughts would be greatly appreciated!

He glared as the tiny, older woman shuffled on ahead, guiding them through the close, beige hallways. The walls swallowed sound, the cheap fluorescent lights made everything sickly yellowed, and the distinct smell of dust and cardboard was pervasive. Decidedly not the worst place he'd ever experienced. That didn't make him like it.

Their petite pathfinder was talkative, "I suppose it's good that /someone/ is getting some use out of this stuff. I mean, we keep it, but no one ever checks them, anymore."

He turned his glare on his partner, Chang Wufei, but the man was already answering, "We realize it's rare."

"Rare would be an improvement," she laughed, setting her highly permed, auburn curls bouncing. "Getting a call from Preventers that some agents actually wanted to go through the archives... Heh, well, we thought it was a joke at first."

Exactly, he thought to himself, finally catching his partner's eye as they stopped at an unremarkable door and waited for the woman to unlock it. He knew he was glaring fit to make most men whimper, yet Chang's gaze never flinched. Cool, even and serene, he got the distinct impression he was not being taken seriously.

Their guide was oblivious, separating a key from the bunch she was carrying, "Here you go. You have free reign, just remember to lock up when you leave."

Respectfully accepting the key, his partner bowed slightly, "Thank you."

The matron smiled warmly, glanced once in his direction to receive a stony nod of what could have arguably been gratitude and set off back the way they had come. Without a word, he preceded the other Preventer through the door and into the claustrophobic room beyond. It wasn't a small room in dimensions, but the low ceiling coupled with row upon row of shelves bearing paper filled boxes left little in maneuverable space. His partner closed the door and stopped, so he turned and waited.

Chang's arms were crossed with a knowing smirk in place as dark eyes easily held his gaze, "Yes, Yuy?"

"This is a waste of time," he stated.

His partner closed his eyes and took a deep breathe, which he had observed meant exasperation, "We agreed that the investigation has stalled."

He nodded.

"We agreed that someone had missed something," his partner continued with a sigh. They had gone over this the day before and he still didn't see how the line of logic ended with them in the local archives.

"I'll find the missing data," he asserted.

"If it exists, I'm sure you would," the other man reasoned, "But in the more remote areas, sometimes things don't get filed and, considering our suspect, money misplaces many things."

"Yet you suspect a paper trail?" He knew it hadn't sounded much like a question, but Chang would know regardless and that's all that mattered. Chang always understood.

His partner snorted, "Everyone has a paper trail."

He had to concede that, despite the fact that it was obsolete, or more perhaps because it was obsolete. No one actually thought about erasing a paper trail anymore, because no one checked for one anymore. Yet, he would not be deterred, "It's inefficient."

A smirk actually touched his partner's lips, "I realize you technophiles find dead tree format distasteful, but at the moment it is what we have. You can set up your laptop in the corner, I'll bring the first box over."

He blinked at the Chinese man before him. Chang's inquiring look told him he'd paused too long, so he explained, "Paper has not been made from trees in centuries."

Sighing the other Preventer pushed past him into the stacks of files and he found himself heading to the corner to set up alone. Chang considered him a technophile?

Eleven hours, thirty-seven minutes later they were several boxes of paper deep. He was setting up new search parameters when his partner let the file he was reviewing drop into his lap, leaned his head back against the wall, and sighed, apparently taking a small break. He stopped his typing and studied the other man. Chang had discarded the Preventer's jacket, loosened his tie, and rolled his shirtsleeves up past the elbow. A few strands of hair had escaped from the Chinese man's normally uniform ponytail and his relaxed pose and calm, deep breathes gave him a peaceful, soft quality, which was always shattered when those sharp, dark eyes were open.

"Yes, Yuy?" The question came without any movement.

He waited a long moment, watching, "I don't love technology."

A subtly amused smirk washed over serene features, "How long have we been partners?"

He felt himself frown at the odd question, "Sixteen months, twenty-three days."

It was actually sixteen months, twenty-three days, thirteen hours, and roughly fifty-two minutes, but he had quickly found that most people preferred less specification in such answers. When he had finally decided to join Preventers, after effectively disappearing for roughly two years, Une had immediately assigned him to Chang. Whether this was meant to assure his cooperation, prevent another disappearance, or to make each of them optimally effective, he neither knew nor cared. He respected Chang and they were well matched in most respects.

The other still hadn't opened his eyes, "In a year and five months, you've spent more time with that laptop than with any living person."

"It's a highly effective and versatile tool," he expounded, working to keep a defensive edge from his voice, "Maintaining the key instruments of one's livelihood does not constitute love."

That got Chang to look at him. Those intelligent, dark eyes settled on him, eyebrows raised, "What does constitute love, Yuy?"

They stared at each other. Chang always did this to him, asked him strange unnecessary questions that lacked proper, direct responses. He was beginning to think the other enjoyed it. He turned away and resumed his typing. His partner didn't push the subject, never did. Chang appreciated his limits and never talked down to him on issues of emotion or social interaction. Of course, exploration of those had been his primary reason for joining Preventers.

He had desired to maintain contact with his fellow pilots, yet was somehow unable to commit to prolonged social commitments. Within two years of the war, each of the others had some affiliation with Preventers and he had concluded that a professional relationship allowed for an acceptable amount of interaction. He trusted Duo Maxwell with his life, but the American seemed obsessed with lecturing him the moment he showed the slightest sign of incomprehension. Quatre Winner was much the same way, though the blond took a softer, pitying approach, which only managed to frustrate him more. Trowa Barton understood him enough to know when not to comment, which he found didn't help remedy his social ignorance in any way. They were not detrimental, yet prolonged exposure generally ended in anger and frustration, neither of which he communicated well.

Chang was different. His eyes drifted from his screen to steal a glance of his partner, fingers not even slowing their dance across laptop keys. The man was lost in the file he was reviewing as relaxed as though he were meditating, the only motion being the gentle tapping of pen against lower lip. Yes, Chang Wufei was different. He wasn't sure how, or when, exactly, but the Chinese man had realized he not only had emotions, but he also trusted them deeply. His best guess for a time frame was the Mariemaia Incident, though it may have been earlier. It didn't matter.

What did matter was that Chang didn't lecture and certainly didn't pity. Social idioms were related succinctly and elaboration was easily requested. His partner was a wealth of cultural knowledge and etiquette. For emotional issues, the man only asked questions. It toed the line of annoying, but Chang never pushed him. Then again, questions assume an answer by nature.

Even as he continued sorting through copious amounts of data, the question festered in the back of his mind. What constitutes love? Unbidden, he started to break it down. He had already denied that it was based in time spent with something, though from his observations, it did seem to play a part. Proximity often indicated fondness. Love being an emotion, the significance must be in the enjoyment of and/or desire for time spent together. Therefore, proximity would be a product of love, not the other way around. That wasn't an answer, but at least it solidified his original negation of his proposed technophilia.

He had been told there were many types of love, such as that between parent and child, siblings, friends, and, of course, lovers. He had neither siblings or children. He barely remembered the man he considered a father. He was loyal to his friends and they were loyal to him, despite their various faults and idiosyncrasies. After attempting to simply walk away, he had found that his life was better for having them in it, perhaps because of those selfsame faults and idiosyncrasies. He admired and trusted them implicitly and would therefore always work to maintain their trust as well. If he could be said to love his friends, then those things were also parts of love.

As for lovers, to date he had had none. It was not for lack of possibility nor availability. Physical attraction did not necessarily denote love. He had often become physically aroused, which was a common physiological response easily dealt with or ignored. It was an animal response, considered healthy. If anything, he supposed his lack of lovers stemmed from a deficiency of trust. Letting another person that close when so vulnerable went against his every sharply honed instinct. Yet it had to be at least some small part of love, as he had observed it.

He was broken from his processing by Chang, "I believe I may have something."

"Hm?" They had now been there twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes, it would be just past two in the morning, local time.

His partner handed him a sheet of paper. It appeared to be a simple immunization record for a young woman, but the name on the facsimile of the check that had been used as payment belonged to their suspect. When he looked up, Chang was smirking, "He vaccinated his mistress and paid by check."

He stared. The man before him was disheveled, far from the general crispness he tried to portray in the office, yet not really seeming out of his element. Satisfaction and smugness lit a new fire in dark eyes. He had known Chang was attractive. He realized just then that Chang Wufei was attractive to him. He blinked and turned back to his computer, "I'll check the bank."

He could feel Wufei's eyes on him as the silence stretched. Finally, the other snorted, "I'll see what I can find on the mistress, then."

"Wait," he found himself demanding before the steps could vanish into the stacks. He turned to stare at a vaguely interested Chinese man.

"Yes, Yuy?"

He frowned, "You never use my first name."

"You address me as Chang," his partner reminded him mildly, then seemed to have thought better of it, "It's a sign of respect."

He dropped his gaze to the floor in thought and nodded. "I respect you, too. I trust your judgment and abilities with my life. I admire your intellect, passion, and the balance you've found between them. I have and would fight at your side. Despite your unlikely attachment to paper, your indulgence in the humanities, your failed attempts at cooking, and your cryptic questions, I both enjoy and desire your company. Observations suggest that you reciprocate to some degree."

Wufei was starring, wide-eyed at him, "That's the most I've ever heard you say."

He shot a blue eyed glance up at the other man and frowned, waiting for an answer to the non-question of reciprocation.

It shook his partner out of his surprise. His friend took a few steps back his way and sat, so they were on the same level, "You are an excellent friend and partner. That was why I requested to be paired with you."

"Requested," he parroted for clarification.

Wufei smirked, "Yes, I requested you. Now what's all this about?"

"My life is better with you than without you," he articulated, then furrowed his brow. That had seemed much clearer before he had vocalized it.

"Ah, thank you, but what does that mean?" The other man seemed confused, yet not unsure, attempting to guide him even in uncharted areas.

"You understand me," he attempted, coming at it from a slightly different angle.

Wufei nodded slowly, but maintained eye contact, wary of possible misinterpretation, "We've known each other since the war. We've been through a great deal together."

"We strive to be of mutual use and have become increasingly symbiotic since my return," he acknowledged. His partner blinked at him and he wondered if the man was lost or shocked. The silence was starting to congeal, so he continued, "You are also very attractive."

A barely distinguishable blush touched Wufei's face, "Don't be an idiot." He glared and the other man sighed, "Now, based on those observations, what are you trying to say, exactly?"

He took a deep breathe and licked his lips, "Aishiteru, Wufei."

"...I don't speak Japanese, Yuy," his partner growled, yet the fire in those dark eyes was pure curiosity, almost a dare.

He flicked his tongue over his lips yet again as the tension sang between them. It was the war again, that moment before battle. There was nothing left to say. They were focused completely on each other. A strand of black hair swept across piercing dark eyes as thin lips gently parted. He sprang, claiming those lips with his own. Bruising as teeth clashed. Forcing Wufei back on his heels, wide eyed. A frozen moment passed. He pulled away and back, but Wufei remained still, leaned back supporting his weight with his arms, swollen lips parted, and staring at him.

"What was that?" Wufei managed, though it was unexpectedly soft.

His blood ran cold, "A kiss."

That brought the scowl to the Chinese man's face, "Obviously. You know damn well what I meant."

"Aishiteru," he smirked, continuing before the other could protest, "I love you."

Wufei quirked an eyebrow, brushing a hand over his mouth as he sat up, "You love me?"

He nodded sharply, yet the other didn't seem convinced.

"This is because of my question earlier," his partner realized flatly.

"That does not negate its validity," he countered.

Wufei pinched the bridge of his nose, "You can't possibly know what you're saying. You can't just decide you love someone."

He glared, "The emotion predated the analysis."

Wufei sighed, "And you follow your emotions."

He cocked his head to the side, "You don't feel similarly."

"I..." His partner growled, ran a hand back over black hair, and scowled off to one side. He decided it was a display of frustration, not hostility, and certainly not negation. When the man spoke, it was crisply articulated, "What matters is that you do not rush into something you do not fully comprehend."

"Is my logic flawed?" It was one of his non-questions, challenging without sounding interrogative.

Dark eyes bore steadily into him, evaluating, weighing. Nearly a minute later, Wufei's mouth quirked into a hesitant frown, "No, it's just... Here, I'm going to try something. Can I touch you? You did say you trusted me."

He smirked and nodded. Wufei took a deep breath and swept the tie from his hair to rebind the strands that had strayed, but he caught the his partner's wrist. Dark eyes moved from the hand on restraining his wrist to rapt blue stare, then conceded with a small, wry smile. Moving slowly, Wufei leaned closer, placing one strong hand gently on his shoulder while the other alighted on his cheek. He could feel the other's heat, breath in the scent of wet earth and paper and sweat. One of his hands tentatively reached out, caressing black silk. Then the hand on his jaw was tenderly tilting his head to the side, lips on his lips.

It was soft and inviting. Like water on a hot day, it washed over him. The hand slipped down and around his neck, hot against exposed skin. Then something soft brushed against his mouth. He jerked back, tried, but the hand on his neck was strong and the reflex fleeting. They flowed slightly back together and the soft muscle made another sweeping request. Lips parted slightly, with a tongue's gently assistance. Tentative, slow, it sought out his tongue, explored, touched, caressed. The taste was slightly sweet, sharing breath, wrapped in heat.

Then it was gone. Lips and hands retreated, black silk slipped his fingers. Blue eyes blinked open to find Wufei watching him closely, dark eyes unreadable. The suddenly cool room sent a chill down his spine, though he managed not to openly shiver. The realization that he was panting came slower than it should have and he found it difficult to correct, much like his racing heartbeat.

Finally he licked his lips, "That was..."

"Something worth considering," Wufei explained when it became apparent that he didn't have any ending in mind. There was something in those dark eyes, beside the obvious calculations and evaluations, that was simply out of place, a wariness, a shadow of doubt.

He couldn't name it, so he nodded. Great, more questions. Wufei turned away as he redid the customary ponytail, but was halted once more.

His partner smirked and ran a hand through inky hair, "I have a lead to follow."

He nodded again, but managed in his usual tone, "May I call you Wufei, now?"

A smile touched thin swollen lips, "Yes, Heero, you may."