And now a bulletin from Disclaimers'R'Us: Gundam Wing? Not mine.
---
Prodigal
---
The gunshot echoed in my ears.
My hands were moving automatically, packing my rifle back into the shielded case. They might as well have belonged to someone else.
The rifle was packed and I was headed along the last leg of my escape route via the subway. Once I would have moved quickly, trying to look like just another commuter in a hurry. Now I didn't bother. I was tired. I dragged along, buffeted by the crowds. If I didn't catch this train out, I'd be more likely to be caught and questioned. Searched.
Being sloppy—that was definitely unlike me. Certainly not part of my reputation. Nothing but top dollar for my services. Maybe they guessed who I really was. I didn't bother to find out.
I suddenly picked up my pace to a lope and barely squeezed through the doors of the train before they closed.
--
Someone first approached me a little over four years ago. I don't know how they got my name. I didn't ask. I just took the job. I don't know why. I don't know why I kept on taking them.
Maybe I rationalized it the first time by telling myself that the target had OZ connections that might lead to trouble for me later. It wasn't long before that excuse didn't fly anymore. And the money—I didn't care about it. It went through my meticulous filtering process into a new account and just sat there. I didn't bother to keep track of how much was in there. I could've been well on my way to being a millionaire, I suppose.
No, my doing this had nothing to do with politics or money.
I closed my eyes, shutting out the press of people around me on the subway car. I felt a pathetically unsubtle grope for my wallet, and smirked to myself. I carried nothing on a job except my weapon and my rail card, which was safely tucked into an inside pocket of my coat. Unless the pickpocket was really a pervert trying to cop a feel, he wasn't going to get anything. Five years ago I would've turned around and broken his wrist, maybe a few fingers. Today, I just waited.
The hand withdrew and left me alone, and I opened my eyes, letting them drift unfocused, staring at nothing. I've learned that it's a good way to make ordinary people avoid you. They assume you're drunk or high, or a few rungs shy of a ladder.
Wearily, I turned my mind back to the job. I'd been told the target would be there at that time. What they'd forgotten to mention was the target's nine-year-old daughter skipping along at his side.
Of course, there'd been no question of my hitting her by accident. I was too good for that. My employer knew it.
And who was I to complain about being hired to murder a family man? I'd done it before, I was sure.
But seeing that little girl marked the moment when all my—not enthusiasm…all my professional interest in the job, let's say—just trickled away from me like dirty bathwater.
I'd done the deed, of course. Finished the job and gotten my ass out of Dodge, as usual. All over except the shouting. And the paying.
--
I missed my stop, and had to get off at the next station and walk the mile or so back to the bar. I didn't mind. It was cold out, but that never bothered me.
The scenery around me began to sink in as I walked. Most of the stores I passed had lights up, and a lot had big HOLIDAY SALE signs in the windows or along the sidewalk. I squinted into the chilly breeze, up at a bank sign that was alternately blinking the time, temperature, and date. It was December 26th.
I hadn't really paid attention, but I knew I must have thought about Christmas at some point during the season. I still got invitations from Quatre to his Christmas party every year, even though I hadn't gone for four years. I had had my phone turned off, and I had let all my e-mail accounts expire…but my physical address had remained the same since I returned to L1.
And without asking myself why, I kept every invitation tucked in another inside pocket of my coat.
I strolled into the bar, and stopped at the counter to order a beer. I never drank the stuff if I could help it, but I had to seem somewhat normal.
I sat down outside the main flow of traffic and set my "briefcase" on the floor beside me. The smell of the smoke used to be strong enough to make me gag, but I'd gotten used to it. I pretended to sip my beer and waited.
A few minutes later, my contact sat down with me, setting down his glass. "You're late," he muttered.
I shrugged. "Traffic."
He eyed me oddly, leaning forward, ostensibly to pull his chair in and push his beer further from the edge of the table, and beneath its surface, I felt a crisp roll of bills pressed into my hand.
For a few moments, I was tempted to shove it back at him. But I knew I couldn't. People who do something in my line of work and refuse payment stand out. People who work for hard cash and stay bought—they're reliable. As reliable as a criminal gets, anyway.
I pushed the bills into my pocket and pretended to take another swallow of the beer. I'd gotten used to the smoke, but the sour smell of the beer still made my stomach turn. "Merry Christmas," I murmured.
He snorted. "You've got another offer, by the way. Your clients adore you." His eyes glittered in a nasty way, but I just pretended to be fascinated with the pint of amber liquid in front of me. "Shall I give you the details?"
"No."
That shut him up for a second. He blinked. I just went on examining my drink.
"What?"
"No. I'm not taking it."
He sputtered. "Why?"
"I have my reasons," I said coolly. A pretend sip wouldn't produce the necessary effect here. I tipped the glass back and took a long swallow, and managed not to gag.
He got control of himself and glared at me, but I simply stood up, pushing my beer aside and picking up the case beside me.
He seemed to be groping for some sort of parting shot, but I turned and looked him straight in the eye. His face went from nearly livid to a sickly sort of gray in the neon non-light, and I held his gaze for a measured count of three.
I turned and walked out.
I stepped into the chill of the evening, and paused. Then I turned—not in the direction that would take me back to my shabby little flat, but in the other direction.
I knew where I was going.
What I was going to do when I got there…I'd burn that bridge when I came to it.
---About eighteen hours later—one o'clock in the afternoon, local time—I was standing on the brink of it.
I'd ditched my rifle en route to the spaceport. Someone would probably find it and pawn it, or fence it. I didn't expect to need it again. I still had my pistol, safe under my thigh-length coat, and it was all that I needed.
I hadn't allowed myself to think beyond the next moment. I spent the redeye shuttle flight staring out the window. With no luggage, and no interest in the cheesy shuttle magazines, there really wasn't much else to do. I'd taken a taxi out to within ten miles of the Winner estate and had myself dropped off at a hotel in a commercial district. I'd walked the rest of the way.
So here I was, standing at the fence, my reckless courage—or stupidity—beginning to quail, no longer able to keep from wondering what the hell I was doing.
I'd left everything. My clothes, my few books—even my laptop was still back at the apartment, though that wasn't really much of a loss. They'd taunted me during the war about how dependent I was on that thing—Duo was always saying I was joined to it at the hip, or the same sentiment in cruder terms—but in the last couple of years, it'd just sat and collected dust. I'd cleared every last file from it when the war ended; it was just a placeholder. Whoever broke into my apartment first would probably sell it, if my landlord didn't throw everything out as soon as I missed a rent payment.
And I realized at that point that I had no intention of going back to L1 at all.
---
There was security, of course, but as lightly as I was traveling, it was nothing I had to worry about. They were guarding against assassins—which I was—and burglars—which I wasn't—but they weren't protecting the estate against former Gundam pilots.
I found myself at the side door among the gardens, a little dry and brown in the winter weather. The walls on this side were set liberally with large picture windows, the curtains were open, and I could see inside the house quite clearly.
I was looking into the living room. On the opposite end of the room was an enormous Christmas tree, at least nine feet tall, twinkling with lights and tinsel. The floor of the room was an obstacle course of big black plastic bags brimming with torn scraps of ribbon and wrapping paper.
It looked like they were only gradually squirreling their gifts away to their rooms, because there were still empty boxes, half-assembled models, and clothes with the tags still on them scattered around. A game console, trailing controller pads and half-buried beneath a pile of game CDs, was hooked up to the television, and the wood-and-glass cabinet holding dozens of DVDs was standing ajar. This room was the hub of the holiday wheel.
I stepped up to the garden door and gripped the handle. It swung open silently under my hand, as if in invitation, and after recovering from a moment of wary surprise, I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me.
The warm room smelled of candle smoke, spices, and fir needles, with faint traces of the scents of tea, coffee, and hot chocolate, and something that might have been hash browns and bacon for breakfast. My stomach growled, and it occurred to me that I hadn't eaten in over twenty-four hours, not counting that swallow of beer.
What am I doing here?
Whatever part of my mind had prompted this trip was without an answer for that one, so I moved slowly out of the living room. The house seemed to be deserted. It was odd—I'd always assumed mansions had to have a few dozen servants bustling around all the time. It had seemed that way when I'd been here the last time, but maybe that was just the Manguanacs. Quatre could have given them a few days off for the holiday—that would be like him, and it would explain the state of the living room.
I passed through the kitchen—three times the size of my entire apartment—and went by the huge formal dining room. The door to the hall closet stood open, and most of the hangers were empty—no coats or wraps. They'd all gone out somewhere, then.
I shook my head and smirked a little. Leaving the side door unlocked for anyone who wanted to come in—though, granted, most people would have a harder time getting past the outer security than I had. I had to admit that was quintessential Quatre—brilliant strategist, unparalleled businessman, and occasionally capable of the most mind-numbing feats of brainlessness imaginable when it came to small everyday details like locking the outside door to the living room.
I wandered upstairs, still stepping quietly. I heard nothing as I moved except my own feet crushing the pile of the carpet, and the very soft tick of a clock somewhere.
I couldn't remember exactly who had selected which guest bedroom last time, but Quatre's room was easy to identify by the beautifully carved wooden music stand in a corner by the windows, and his violin case on the chair beside it.
However, I recognized the room at the end of the hall. I'd chosen this one the last time I was here, so that when I went to bed early, I wouldn't be disturbed as much by the night owls—namely, Quatre and Duo—tromping up and down in the middle of the night when they finally decided to go to bed.
Of course, that hadn't made a difference the day after Christmas, when Duo had decided to wake everyone up for a 1:30 a.m. pillow fight—I'd enjoyed it thoroughly when Wufei had trapped Duo in the master bathroom and decided to punish the baka with a 1:45 a.m. freezing shower. I think that was the last time I remember laughing.
But Duo notwithstanding, the back room was the quietest, the smallest, and the one that Quatre, when it was apparent that I favored it, had told me was mine.
I went in.
I looked around, and froze.
The bed was made up and the corner of the covers was turned down. A towel and washcloth were folded neatly on the end of the bed, ready for someone to use them. I glanced around, wondering—with a small spark of annoyance—if someone else was staying in the room, but there were no bags in here, as there were in the other guest bedrooms. The room was waiting for an occupant.
Me?
I felt very tired all of a sudden…and I no longer cared if anyone discovered me here. Let them. The worst they could do to me was kick me out. What I'd do if they did that, I'd decide when it happened.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, my fingers fumbling at the laces of my boots. I kicked them off and started to lie down, but was immediately nudged sharply by my gun in its shoulder holster. I sat up long enough to remove the pistol, slipping it under the topmost pillow. Then I stretched out again, without even taking my coat off, and closed my eyes.
I hadn't slept for longer than I hadn't eaten—before the eighteen-hour flight had been a full day, and I'd only caught a few hours of sleep the night before. I'd gone without sleep for much longer periods of time, especially during the war…but right now, I simply didn't give a damn about trying to stay awake. Within a couple of minutes, I was drifting off.
Quickly enough that I neither heard nor sensed the towheaded figure that gazed through the slightly open door at me, and then moved quietly away.
---
Five years ago
I was awake, but I could not move, I could not drag in a deep breath, and I felt a terrible crushing weight on my chest.
Night terrors. I'd read about them. Part of the brain wakes up, enough for the subject to feel and remember as though they were awake; the rest of the brain remains asleep, preventing them from moving or from breathing on their own outside the automatic rhythm of sleep…and continuing to produce a potent little atmosphere of horror for the subject's benefit.
I'd smirked a bit over the data at the time. Not that I'd ever expected to experience the phenomenon, but I'd figured that knowing what it was would make it nearly laughable.
I was wrong.
I lay there like a corpse, fighting to take a breath on my own, straining to sit up, to struggle, and failing…only able to lie there and feel the pressure on my chest and the trembling void underneath me, that would let me fall at any moment—
A hand grasped my shoulder firmly and shook.
With barely a jerk, I was fully awake, and instinct took over. My hand immediately slid beneath my pillow in a motion made fluid by years of practice. My arm snapped straight with my pistol cocked, my finger squeezing the trigger as I aimed at the indistinct outline of a head and shoulders above me—
A second hand wrapped around my wrist and squeezed, the thumb putting pressure on nerves in my wrist. My fingers went numb almost immediately, slipping off the trigger, and my arm was pushed aside as the gun fell heavily to the bed.
"Heero, it's Quatre. Calm down. I felt something wrong and I came in to wake you."
Shaking, I sat up slowly, stiffer than ever, my back and chest aching, looking at Quatre incredulously in the dim light from the window. Somehow he managed to look angelic even with his hair mussed and wearing a white t-shirt and boxers. The wash of horror at what I'd almost done abruptly ignited.
"K'so!" I hissed. "Idiot! I could have killed you!"
His blue eyes shone silently back at me in the dimness. Just as suddenly as it had come over me, the anger melted away and I started to shake.
I've rarely been truly helpless, even when captured. Even if it was a dream, or whatever it was, the experience of it did not sit well with me. It was the real reason I'd snarled at Quatre, although that wouldn't occur to me until far later. I stared down at my clenched fists, my breathing sharp and rough, and tried to regain some measure of control over myself.
A pair of gentle hands came to rest on my shoulders.
My eyes went wide. I felt the mattress sink slightly as Quatre sat down; and when I didn't protest or resist—I could hardly understand what was happening—he began, slowly, to knead the rigid muscles along my shoulders.
The other pilots had given me a hand up or down on occasion (or, once in a rare while, carried me) when I needed it, and vice versa. We had tended each other's injuries when no medical staff was available to do it. But I couldn't recall any time when I had permitted them to touch me outside of necessity.
Well, except for Duo's propensity for poking me, or shoving me, or leaning over my shoulder. He had a cavalier attitude toward physical contact, and I'd eventually learned to get used to it simply because not even my gun in his face seemed to make any difference. It was second nature to him.
But this…
I sat very still, but slowly the knots in my shoulders began to unravel, and the aching in my chest and back subsided. Something hollow in me—something I'd always assumed was supposed to be empty—was being filled, and it left me utterly speechless. Something else, something frozen, was screaming in protest.
--Soldiers feel nothing!
Quatre is a soldier. He feels everything
--He is weak!
The image of Quatre's eyes, gazing steadily back into mine, was burned into my mind's eye.
He is stronger than I am.
Suddenly it was too much. That hollow place had little capacity; it was overflowing, and with a soft noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper, I tried to pull away from Quatre's hands.
He let go, murmuring something gentle-sounding in Arabic. There was a silence broken only with our breathing. Mine was still uneven; his was slow, soft, and peaceful.
Gradually, my breathing subsided to match his. I stared into my lap and didn't look at him.
But he stayed beside me, and somehow I knew that he stayed because he could sense that I didn't want him to leave.I don't know how long we sat like that. It was long enough that I began to feel drowsy again, and I didn't realize I was losing the struggle to stay awake until my head nodded abruptly.
Quatre didn't laugh at me. He just reached out and started pulling the covers over me again, and I lay back down. He tucked me in as if I were a child, and I would have sneered at him for that any other time. Tonight I just closed my eyes and rolled on my side to face away from him.
I felt his hand on my shoulder again. "You're welcome," he said very softly. Then his hand slid away, and the door closed behind him with a barely audible snick.
---
I woke up in darkness in the guest room, not remembering where I was. My gun was in my hand and aimed at nothing. I waited, my heart pounding, and I heard a dull thump and a brief, faint spurt of voices downstairs, which quickly subsided.
The door was still open, as I'd left it. As I sat up on the bed and scooted to the edge, I saw that my boots lay undisturbed where I'd dropped them upon taking them off.
Was it possible I hadn't even been discovered?
If I had been, they'd left me alone. Whether I had been or not, I could slip out as easily as I'd slipped in.
Another spate of voices rose downstairs as I retied my boots and raked my fingers through my hair. Then I got up and crept down the hall and down the stairs unhindered. The electronic music of a video game was tinkling clearly from the direction of the living room.
"No, no, no!" I heard Duo wail, and the dull thump of fist against carpeted floor. "You unimaginable bastard!"
"Duo, if you scream at that moronic game one more time, I'm going to take it away."
"Ooooo, 'Fei, I'd love to see you try."
"Don't tempt me, Duo."
"Duo, please stop yelling," Quatre interjected. "You're distracting Wufei, and he's too easy for me to beat when he's distracted."
"I beg your pardon?"
Someone chuckled. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it was Trowa.
"Oh my God, Quatre, did the Silent Wonder just laugh out loud? Somebody pinch me!"
"Don't tempt me, Duo."
"Wufei!" Quatre sounded halfway between amused and scandalized, but he was nearly drowned out by a long fox whistle from Duo. Followed immediately by:
"Dammit, no, no, no!"
"All right, that does it." A chair creaked.
"Ack! 'Fei! No! I just forgot! No!" A scuffle ensued, and then the electronic music from the game cut off abruptly. "'Fei!"
"I warned you," Wufei's voice drifted back serenely as the chair creaked again.
"I just forgot!"
"Too bad."
"You didn't even set terms! When do I get it back?"
"Come and take it from me, if you think you can."
A second scuffling sound was followed by a shout from Quatre. "Duo, no! You are not going to fight over that game in here. Do it somewhere else, later. Wufei, it's your move."
"Aw, man…" Duo complained. I heard him flop back onto the floor.
And I found myself moving down the hall toward the living room, instead of going to the front door.
"Well, why don't I go up and check on Heero?"
I froze.
"No," Quatre said again sternly.
"Why not? You said he was awake."
There was a long silence.
"He's tired," Quatre finally said softly, but clearly. "I don't know what's been going on with him, but I'm afraid that if we gang up on him, he'll leave again. Just let him alone, Duo."
To my surprise, Duo's voice was just as low in reply, and no less firm. "Look, Quatre, you may be the only one who held out hope that he was going to show up, but you're not the only one who missed him. And how do you know that he won't decide that we're leaving him alone because we really don't care, and take off anyway? We gotta talk to him, Q."
I leaned against the wall, my head spinning in a way that wasn't entirely due to my empty stomach or my afternoon nap. That room –was– prepared for me, then. He still thought I would come. They still -wanted- me to come.
"I don't think he's just gonna take the hint on this one," Duo said. "If we walk on eggs around him, he's just gonna bail out again. You were the one that convinced me he'd eventually come back, Quatre, and he did. Nobody twisted his arm. He wants to be here, and I wanna make sure he knows that he belongs here, no beating around the bush."
There was another silence from Quatre.
I felt his hand on my shoulder again. "You're welcome," he said very softly. Then his hand slid away, and the door closed behind him with a barely audible snick.
Was that what you were trying to tell me, Quatre?
Duo's right. I'm not very good at taking hints. I didn't understand. I knew I wanted what you were offering, but I wasn't sure what it was, and I ran from it.
The part of me that had protested before rose up again, but it was nothing but a brittle shell now. It would shatter under a powerful enough blow.
And I wanted it shattered.
I heard footsteps coming toward the door into the hall, and froze again, but I was too close and it was too late to pretend I hadn't been there all along. So I simply waited where I was.
Duo stepped out into the hall and actually backpedaled when he saw me, violet eyes going wide. The expression on his face was well worth being discovered. I smirked, and said nothing.
He recovered quickly, of course, and put both hands on his hips, his slight backward lean shifting from off-balance to casual as he grinned at me, eyes a-twinkle. "Well, hey, Heero. Didja miss me?"
---
A short while later, I was settled on the sofa, sipping at a steaming mug of coffee and waiting on Trowa to return with a cup of soup for me. The other three were trying valiantly to act as though everything were normal, but I could feel Quatre's anxious eyes on me every so often.
I hadn't really taken a good look in a mirror for a while, but I knew I was too thin and probably too pale. Not to mention that my stomach seemed to be gnawing on itself; it was unsatisfied with just the coffee, and making sure I knew it.
I finally glanced up and caught Quatre doing his hovering-and-wringing-hands dance again, and spoke. "You can stop that. I'm all right." My voice came out a bit sharper than I intended.
Quatre looked a little abashed, but Duo snorted loudly. "You'd say you were all right if you were trying to hack your own leg off with a spork, Heero." That got a smile back on Quatre's face, which he tried to hide.
I shrugged, and gave Duo a dirty look that didn't quite measure up to a death glare. He just grinned, as I knew he would.
Trowa reentered with a hot mug and handed it to me, murmuring something about being careful. I nodded, and blew on the liquid a little before starting to sip at it.
And then I almost spilled it in my lap when Duo suddenly leaped and tackled Wufei out of his chair and onto the floor.
"DUO!" Wufei and Quatre shouted in unison.
"Gimme it—rrrgh…gimme it—" If I hadn't overheard the earlier conversation, I'd have thought I was hallucinating; Duo was trying to pin Wufei and full-body search him at the same time. Knowing Wufei, that'd be a good way for someone to wind up in traction pretty quick.
Sure enough, after a handful of seconds of wrestling, Wufei managed to turn the tables on Duo and flip him over. All that martial arts practice stands him in good stead. I know from experience that restraining a physically aggressive Duo is like grappling a monkey on amphetamines.
"I hid it while you were in the hall," Wufei informed him calmly, climbing off Duo and brushing himself off.
"'Fei, that's CHEATING!"
"And I knew you'd try to tackle me for it. It was stupid. If I'd had it on me, you would've broken it. Why else do you think I hid it?" Wufei righted his chair, sat down, and studied the chessboard. Miraculously, none of the pieces had been knocked over. Quatre was facepalming and shaking his head.
Duo got up, grumbling, and then grinned maniacally at me again. "I'll get him next time," he muttered conspiratorially. Over at the table, Wufei grunted.
I turned my head slightly to watch Wufei. He gazed at the pieces before him, moving his fingertips over them without touching them, as if exploring their possibilities. There was a different air about him than I remembered. He sat no less straight in his chair, acted with no less sternness, but something had changed. His face was more open—a tiny smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth as he considered his move—but that wasn't the whole of the change.
Duo draped himself over the back of the couch beside me, demanding my attention. "C'mon, Heero. How about a game? Quatre got me all kinds. Racing, fighting, RPG—"
"I knew that machine was a mistake," Wufei remarked in the background.
"Nobody asked you!"
"Talk to me like that and you'll never get it back." Wufei moved a rook.
"Sheesh, sorry," Duo muttered. Then I was the object of his—temporarily—undivided attention again. "C'mon, one game?"
Duo certainly was keeping to his word, as always. He refused to tiptoe around me even if he knew it meant risking bruises. Still, I had to try very hard to fight down a smile. It wasn't a struggle I was used to anymore. "The last thing I'm going to do is egg you on."
"Hey, the only way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it!" He winked. "You know you want to."
"I do not."
"Do too!"
I was wise enough not to fall into that trap. I simply returned my attention to my soup.
Now Duo turned to Trowa, but without looking up, the tall brunette, curled up with a book in the recliner nearest the fire, shook his head before Duo could speak. "Don't even think about asking, Duo. I'm happy right where I am."
Duo sniffled melodramatically. "Fine. I'll just go drown my sorrows in some ice cream—"
"Oh, no you don't, Duo," Wufei growled. "I remember what happened the last time you loaded up your bloodstream with sugar after 9 p.m. And the time before that," he added, as Duo began to protest, "and the time before that—need I go on?"
"Oh, c'mon, I replaced your shoes! And your rug!"
"Right, and I don't intend to let you happen to anything else."
Duo looked at me again, his face the very pinnacle of wounded innocence. "See how they treat me?"
Something that felt very much like a grin was trying hard to manifest on my face. With a great deal of effort, I twisted it into an uneven smirk. "They know you, baka."
Duo's Bambi-on-dope expression metamorphosed back into a careless grin, and he resumed his place half-draped over the sofa back. I had just finished swallowing the dregs of my cup of soup when he spoke, too low to be heard by anyone but me.
I was ready for jokes, taunts, cajoling, being called "Hee-chan".
"Missed you, Heero," Duo said softly.
I turned my head and found myself looking into a face I barely recognized. His smile was slight; most of it was contained in his violet eyes, catching mine and holding them. There was still laughter there, but laughter of a different kind.
And I knew that light in his eyes; it was the same that had shone from Quatre's eyes as he faced me in my room, in Quatre's hue of peace. This was Duo's joie de vivre shining back at me, but the message it contained was the same.
This is your place.
By the time Quatre and Wufei had finished their game, Wufei had managed to come back from behind, in spite of Duo's interference, and defeat Quatre. Trowa had begun yawning, and he put his book aside and said goodnight.
Once finished with my soup, I had let Duo coax me into having a cup of hot chocolate. I was probably going to be up half the night after drinking all these liquids, but between my afternoon nap and the coffee, I probably wouldn't feel sleepy for a while anyway. I didn't normally waste calories on sugary stuff, but the sweetness and warmth of the cocoa were oddly comforting, and I was glad I'd given in.
I glanced up from my mug as Trowa got up and stretched. He nodded at Quatre and Wufei across the room. Then he looked at me, tipping his head so that the shock of hair that normally hung in his face swung out of his eyes—and he honest-to-God smiled at me. I sat and looked at him like an idiot. He turned and vanished upstairs without a sound.
---
After Trowa went to bed, Quatre, proclaiming that he wasn't sleepy yet, decided to go upstairs and take a shower. He promised he'd be downstairs again afterward. "After that coffee I had, I'm going to need some warm milk to get to sleep, I think," he said with a grimace at his empty coffee cup—emptied thrice over.
I grimaced for a different reason. "That sounds disgusting, Quatre."
"It's not that bad," he objected. "Is it, Duo?"
Duo swung a good-natured fist at Quatre, which was ducked easily. "Don't drag me into this!"
I looked at Duo incredulously. "You drink warm milk to go to sleep?"
Duo was rolling his eyes. "Jeez…blabbermouth deluxe."
I swear Quatre had a wicked glint in those innocent blue eyes. "You had it coming for interrupting my chess match."
"It was Wufei I was distracting, not you! You've got no excuse!"
"Details, details…" Quatre wandered off upstairs, ignoring Duo's sputtering.
Then Duo remembered something—I didn't know what, because he wouldn't tell me, but it sent him racing off upstairs to his room. That left me with Wufei, who was just finishing putting away the chess pieces.
I found myself watching him again, trying to pin down that difference I'd noticed earlier. He seemed wholly absorbed in what he was doing, placing each piece in its place in the box with efficient motions that were still somehow reverent. But then another small smile touched his lips, and he glanced over at me expectantly. "Have I grown a second head, Yuy?"
I snorted. "No."
"What is it, then?"
"You're happy."
I have no idea why that came out of my mouth. I wasn't planning to say it. I wasn't even thinking it. It sounded more like a question than a statement.
Wufei raised an eyebrow at me, and then sat back in his chair. I didn't know what I expected him to say.
"I am," was his calm reply.
"Why?"
Wufei shrugged. "I don't know how to answer that."
"But you know you're happy?"
There was a touch of dry amusement in his eyes, but none of it spilled over to change the tiny smile. "Yes." He turned back to the chessboard and folded it back into the box—apparently that was all that needed to be said, as far as he was concerned.
Footsteps thundered down the stairs and down the hall, and Duo burst back into the room. "Here we go!" He crossed the room to me. He had a box in his hands, only a few inches square, and he stuck it out at me. It was well wrapped in shiny silver paper, and a small tag on it bore my name.
"I had that for you that first year you didn't show," he shrugged, putting his hands on his hips with a grin as I looked at it. "I would've just left it at your place or mailed it to you, but I wanted to make sure you got it, and you didn't live in the greatest neighborhood. So I just kept bringing it."
I nodded numbly, just holding the box in my hands, and he laughed, leaning on my shoulder. "Well, what are you waiting for, baka? Open it!"
Ignoring the pleasure he obviously took in the chance to turn my own favorite epithet back on me, I started unwrapping the little package.
Inside was a small, plain brown cardboard box. I opened that, and inside—
A key. Just a plain silver-colored key.
I looked up at him.
"What's this for?"
He rolled his eyes, like he couldn't believe how thick I was being. "It's a key, Hee-chan. You know, those things you use to unlock doors?"
When I just glared at him, he laughed again. "Do I have to spell everything out for you? It's a key to my apartment. Whenever you finally come to your senses and bail outta that crappy little closet on L1, my door's open, hey?" He grinned again and slapped me on the shoulder, and winked. "Now, I'm going to pretend to go to bed, so I can sneak back down later after 'Fei goes to sleep and look for my game." He merrily flipped the bird at Wufei and ran off upstairs again. Wufei just shook his head with a smirk.
And I sat, looking into the box, and thinking.
---
There was a soft knock on my door.
"Come in."
The door opened, and, as I had expected, Quatre poked his head in, then stepped around the edge of the door. He was wearing soft grey flannel pajamas, his hair was still slightly damp, and he was barefoot. "Sorry I took so long in the shower. I meant to come back down before everyone else went upstairs." He smiled apologetically.
I shrugged, sitting on the edge of my bed. I'd finally taken my coat off, and stripped down to the sleeveless undershirt and briefs I had under all my outer clothing, which was in a pile beside my bed. "It's all right."
"Duo gave you the key?"
"You knew about it?"
Quatre nodded, sitting down on a chair at the desk. "He told us all how he was going to surprise you with it back when he had the copy made a few years ago. I didn't know he still had it with him."
I was silent, and Quatre glanced at the mound of discarded clothes on the floor. "You didn't bring anything," he said softly. "No bags."
"Everything's back at my apartment. I'm not going back there."
I blurted that out without thinking about it, and stared down at my hands. Quatre's eyes widened a little.
"What happened, Heero?"
I told him.
Not everything. I told him enough for him to get the idea of what I'd been doing the last four years. No incriminating details, although I was certain that he knew current events—and knew me, and my abilities—well enough to be able to guess at some of my exploits. He hardly said a word except for an occasional soft murmur or nod.
When my words ran out, we sat in stillness, and slowly, bit by bit, I began to tense as it drew out. Suddenly I heard a soft sound of cloth against cloth, and it was unexpected enough to make me look.
Quatre had my coat in hand, and I could see that a white corner was peeking out of the inner pocket. He slipped his hand in and drew out four cards, a little bent and two slightly yellowed. His blue eyes widened again, as he looked through them.
"You got the invitations." He looked at me, and the incomprehension in his eyes was more hurtful than if he had glared at me. "Why didn't you come?"
I dropped my eyes. "I couldn't."
"Why?"
"I didn't deserve to," I gritted out. "I don't deserve to be here now."
"Don't give me that bullshit."
Hearing Quatre say that was like having a cold bucket of water thrown over me. I blinked and looked up. Quatre's face was controlled, his eyes steadily on mine, and when he spoke again his voice was hard.
"Do you think you're the only one who did things you aren't proud of? We all had to readjust after the war was over, Heero. Do you know how long it took the three of us to convince Wufei that he was worth something without a war to fight? Or how hard Duo and I had to work to keep Trowa from pulling back into his shell for good?" His eyes flashed. "And you don't know how hard it was to convince Duo that he wasn't the one who drove you off. And to convince myself that it wasn't me," he added more softly. "You had trouble finding yourself a new life, so you gave up and ran off."
My temper boiled up. I stood up and snatched my coat out of his hand, and he reached out and seized me by the wrist. I remembered that grip on my wrist five years ago, which had numbed my hand. I leveled a glare at him, and he matched it, eyes narrow.
"You're not going to run out of here again, Heero. So help me, you are going to listen. You chose to come here, and we want you here. We wanted you here all along. Because there aren't too many people out there who understand you."
My lip curled at that. "What makes you think I care?" I spat.
In answer, he simply held the four invitations in my face.
"We aren't going to turn our backs on you over what you did, Heero," Quatre said softly, and let go of me. "We're your friends. We want you with us. And we don't want to let you try to handle this by yourself. You don't have to. You shouldn't have to. We'll help you."
I don't need your help! The hollow, brittle ice inside me seethed. The words came to my lips, and it was harder than I could have imagined to bite them back.
Quatre simply stood quietly, watching me.
And I suddenly realized that the blow that shattered the ice would have to be mine.
In a step, I closed the distance between myself and Quatre. He didn't flinch, but I saw a flicker in his eyes.
My arms went around him—awkwardly—and pulled him to me.
He was stiff for a heartbeat, and then relaxed, returning the embrace. He hugged me tightly.
"Thank you," I whispered to him.
"You're welcome," he said very softly.
---
The End
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