Title: Iron Fists

Authors: Miss Murdered & ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: 1x2x1, post EW, physical violence, m/m sexual relations, cursing, you know – the typical angsty stuff!

Author's Notes: Miss Murdered mentioned this little inkling to ELLE one day and several weeks later after ELLE's desire to get into a fight peeked, ELLE asked if they might team up and write some delicious, sexy fight scenes. All Duo's chapters are Miss Murdered's, all Heero's are ELLE's. Enjoy!

(And since ELLE pestered Miss Murdered, she got to name the fic after a Coheed and Cambria song as that's how she rolls…)

Disclaimer: If Gundam Wing was ours, there'd be ONE damned cannon kiss. All for fun, fun for all! :D

1.

The place was packed, the air ventilation system inadequate, and heat permeated the place. A film of condensation gathered on the ceiling and dripped down the walls from the mass of bodies jammed into the small amphitheatre.

Those who had never visited the place didn't know the heat. Didn't know how packed it was on a Saturday night as the drifters and smugglers and criminals all converged on the old, disused colony in the L3 cluster as the first rounds of fights begun.

The first rounds were never much interest for the hardened gambler or spectator but it was important to gauge the crowd and see the level of enthusiasm for the sport. Blue eyes scanned the crowd as a young braided man made his way through the predominately male crowd, sliding through people carefully and avoiding contact with the sweaty bodies around him as much as possible. Duo knew these guys and was careful not to knock over people's drinks or get in the way of the action but he kept an eye out for any sign of trouble.

He only wanted to watch one particular fight. Wade was young and so out of place in the criminal heart of the L3 colony cluster, but he was determined. Wanted to fight. As the young man entered the cage, the crowd started making noises of disbelief at the newcomer – the gasps and jeers suggested just what the patrons thought his chances were.

He'd told the kid plenty of times to get out – find the first crooked captain willing to take him off this shit hole for a blowjob and go back to Farmville USA or wherever the fuck he was from. The kid kept saying no – kept turning up at the gym in the morning, kept getting his ass kicked by not only Duo but any sparring partner he could find. It seemed a pointless exercise but then the fight was early on in the night's line-up, a little warm up for the bigger events and maybe, finally, getting the living shit beat out of him in the cage would be enough for the little farm boy to get out before he got himself killed.

As Wade looked around at the crowd through the mesh, Duo thought about the first time he'd met him – yet another fighter in the long ass line of shitty rookies who'd end up pummelled. The gym had been empty as it was damn early but Duo preferred to be the only one in the gym and made sure he was there before the fighters surfaced. He'd only turned on enough lighting to walk through the gym without tripping over any equipment to reach a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

His hands and wrists were wrapped carefully. Maybe he didn't fight in the cages anymore – did his stint when he first arrived – but he still trained and he still felt like his knuckles were never quite healed from the punches across jaws and the indents of opponents teeth. He trained because there was little else to do on this godforsaken colony apart from sleeping and hanging around and waiting for Kerrigan's plans to become apparent, to accept him into his inner circle.

Duo unzipped his grey hoodie and threw it down to the floor leaving his chest bare. He knew he was in better shape than he'd ever been – definition to him that hadn't been there in his teens, strong pectoral muscles, arms that he now wondered whether he could bend damn steel with. He was paler than he'd been since he was a Sweeper living aboard shuttles in the dead of space. His skin tone had returned to its old pallor, the tan of the years on earth fading on a colony without even a hint of artificial sunlight. The colony had never been intended as a permanent residence. It had been built for accommodation between mining satellites for workers and never had any of the upgrades a living, working colony had. It didn't attempt to recreate the earth like later designs and models – it was all very utilitarian and grey. Impersonal and harshly lit.

When a colony made the slums of the L2 look like a pretty nice place – it made Duo realise he was in the fucking ass end of the earthsphere.

He took a glug of the water bottle he was carrying before setting it down on the floor and brought out a small music device, putting the little white buds into his ear and clipping the device to the waistband of his shorts, cables trailing down his chest. He turned the music up loud, the blaring of some old pre-colony band in his ears. He'd always hated fucking silence – he'd played similar stuff in the cockpit of Deathscythe – heard the others bitch at him for his sometimes incomprehensible responses to transmissions over the comm channels due to the volume. It was easier that way. Always had been. The sounds of battle and violence drowned out. Created a sense of detachment.

Duo began with an easy rhythm, right hook, left hook, return fists to a blocking position before repeating, gradually building up force to make the bag swing back and forth, pendulum like.

It wasn't anything like the cages. There was the feel of flesh and bone, not the soft leather of the bag, there were no rules to the cages and there was no protection. Boxing was the sport of kings or something – remembered hearing that but that was boxing with gloves and helmets. Cage fighting was the damn opposite – the sport of the poor and the desperate willing to spill blood, knock teeth out and break bones for a fee. The only rule was to beat the shit out of each other. Use whatever method. The fights were made worse on weapons nights – when pipes and crowbars and blades were thrown in for added spice. A little extra blood pads, only to be wiped away later – the memory of some damned stupid sucker right along with it.

It had been fun, those first few fights – letting loose like he'd not done since he was behind the controls of his Gundam. Played up to the crowd, knew what they thought when he stepped in – kind of scrawny still, muscled but not like his opponent, the braid making them think he was some bitch. Heard the catcalls and wolf whistles. Only smirked as he slammed an elbow into the 6'4" guys face and had broken his nose within thirty seconds. Sure as hell got him noticed. By the crowd, by the bookies, by the goons hired to keep the punters in line and most of all by Kerrigan who ran this whole operation.

Duo knew his fighting style had little flair. Knew his forte was more in speed than brute strength even with the training he'd done before arriving at the colony. Even with Wufei offering him martial arts training as he was the only one with enough damn patience to teach him fighting techniques – knew Heero didn't have the patience to teach him and would've just descended into them arguing. Or fucking. Both were not reasonable behaviour in the Preventer gym. Still, he'd been good enough to become a favourite. A few headliner fights. And it suited him. No rules. No fancy style. Just all out brawling – the sort he'd learnt on the streets.

It didn't last but it got him noticed. Got him where he needed to be when Kerrigan's goons had beaten to death one of the crew in front of his eyes and given him the opportunity to find a place in the organisation. One thing criminals always wanted to make sure of is that no one talked and giving Duo a place outside of the cages and working with new fighters meant he was now one of them. And he wouldn't say shit about the last guy who got beaten to death for trying to take a little too much off the betting money.

Duo swung his fists harder against the punching bag, blow connecting with more force, more speed, undercuts, gut punches – used those in the cage as he knew how breathless that had made him – sped up, moving his feet, bouncing on the balls of them, striking hard and fast. Thinking like he was still fighting in the cage, using his speed, tiring them out, ducking and dodging and aiming well timed blows.

Sweat dropped down his body, rivulets making their way down chest and back, a single droplet descending from underneath the braid and trailing down shoulder blades and back, past old and new scars, tattoos and down to where shorts hung low on his hips, absorbing into them.

His breathing became heavier, punching out on the exhale, faster, harder, the music in his ears creating a fast beat that he replicated with his body. Faster. Faster.

The indication that he was no longer alone came when the harsh strip lighting snapped on and the entire gym flooded with bright glaring light. He removed the ear buds, letting them trail down to the floor and leaned over to grab his water bottle, taking a deep swallow, allowing some water to trail down his throat to mix with the sweat on his heaving chest. He put it back down and glared in the direction of the newcomers. His personal gym sessions were never disturbed. He hadn't even jumped any rope or done any weights.

"Duo – fresh meat!"

He could see that as the two men approached. The old guy spoke – he went by the name of Jim but that sure as hell wasn't his name, just as hardly anyone used real names in this place. Duo used his own name as it had never truly existed. No birth certificates or documents and then after the war, his data had been officially scrubbed out of any records to avoid any repercussions for the war time actions of a minor. All the Gundam pilots had their identities and pasts sealed – they were no heroes and the only thing that was recorded in the history books was the hulking machines they piloted, not the boys who manned them.

Jim seemed a decent guy doing a very fucked up job. He patched up the fighters before and after the bouts – he was an ex-Alliance field doctor who'd spent his life patching up the worst kind of wounds. Duo got him talking once – patching up a large gash from a knife fight – and Jim sure had some grim stories. Stories of exploding heads in space and missing limbs and men alive on battlefields with parts of mobile suits through them. Logically, Duo knew the damage he'd done during the war but he'd always hoped that people just fucking died – he'd never really thought about those he left just barely alive. He was the God of Death, after all, not the God of the Seriously Wounded. Poor assholes.

The kid standing next to Jim was just that – a damn kid. No older than nineteen, so he figured. Duo supposed he wasn't that much older – twenty-three was not that damn old but having never had a childhood and spending his teenage years blowing shit up – he'd always felt older than his actual years. The kid looked so fresh it hurt. Usually the sort of fighters that came looking for a few bouts were at least criminal looking – ex-soldier types or at least smugglers or something. He looked like a farm boy.

Duo gave him one look.

"Fuck no."

He turned and grabbed the hoodie, putting it on but not zipping it up, leaving his chest exposed. He didn't pay attention to Jim's words – already decided he was not going to train a kid who wouldn't last one bout – and instead wrapped the headphone cable around the music device before putting it in his pocket.

"Just give the kid a chance – played some football or somethin'. Got kicked outta school. Might got some potential."

Duo laughed harshly. "Yeah, well, shit, that must make you totally badass or something. Wow. Getting kicked outta school. Fuck, I think I went to school for a total of one week, kid."

The kid knew he was being mocked but met Duo's eye defiantly.

"I can fight."

"Okay. Show me."

He didn't move, unsure of what Duo just said. He eyed him cautiously but Jim had stepped back, knowing what was about to happen.

"Don't just stare at me, kid. Hit me."

There was a pause as the words sunk in and then there was a punch thrown. Duo stopped the fist, using the momentum of the other body to throw the kid off balance, a quick kick out making the boy fall to floor in a heap of limbs. Duo offered his hand to let the kid get to his feet which he took with wounded pride and a look of humiliation.

"That your best shot?"

"You didn't follow the rules. You don't use your feet."

"You are so fucking kidding me – have you watched cage fighting?" Duo chuckled at the kid's pout. "Rule number one – no rules. Got me?"

He nodded.

"You got a name, kid?"

"Wade."

"Now, Wade, take my damn advice. You walk outta here. You find a shuttle to get you off this hunk of metal and you don't come back. You'll get killed here."

Wade didn't take his advice. Kid was stubborn. Maybe it was an admirable trait but then it led to this. Duo walked up stairs past the other members of Kerrigan's crew to the VIP area that allowed a vantage point of the fight from above. They nodded at him knowing this was one he'd trained from scratch and they looked ready to provide some sympathy. Everyone seemed to agree that Wade was going to be beaten within an inch of his life. He'd seen Jim near the door to the cage, ready as always to take the bloody fighters to the back room for a patch up. He could hear a few noises from the crowd, a few gasps, a few damn cheers and he suspected that the kid was already fucked. It was an early fight in the night. It didn't need to last long – just needed to get people drinking and betting and losing their inhibitions.

The VIP area was quiet – the bar was better – carrying more than piss water cheap beer and watered down spirits and only a few of Kerrigan's crew were around. No Kerrigan. He wanted to ask where he was but then it was early. Kerrigan only tended to watch the headliners – too busy with other shit until that point.

Duo walked over to the bar, one of the goons leaning against it and glancing down towards the cage.

"Fresh meat to the slaughter."

"Ain't it always?" Duo said, wearily.

The bartender didn't bother asking for his drink order, just poured a whisky and pushed it over – Duo was tempted to drink it in one swallow and ask for another but he always had to be too damn cautious here. Like any place he was undercover. One slip up and boom! – months of work down the drain and only a short time frame to get out the hell outta dodge. He walked away from the bar to the edge of the balcony to see the action.

It was an unfair match up. Wade wasn't built enough for his opponent. He was already bloody and Duo could see the red clock counting down the first three minute round – 54 seconds to go – he'd make it, maybe, but he wasn't going to survive round two. Sure as hell knew that.

He took a sip and saw another fist make contact in Wade's stomach.

"Block, kid, fuck it."

Wade hadn't listened to shit – or maybe it was the whole thing that he trained in a gym with Duo and that was totally different to a cage in front of a crowd baying for blood – his blood – and now they were getting it as a punch went across the kid's face and teeth and blood followed from split lips. Duo downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down with enough force to break it before making his way to the floor and pushing his way through the throng of spectators to get to Jim. There was a second of silence as he walked through them and that was always the worst thing sound you couldn't hear in the amphitheatre. The moment of silence. The collective gasp. The knowledge that one of the fighters is close to being totally fucked.

Blue eyes couldn't see due to the amount of people blocking the view but he didn't need to know as a siren blared and that signified end of the bout.

"Win by knockout," came the announcement over the PA system.

A few cheers, some shouting, some swearing at the kid on the floor from those gamblers who liked long odds and couldn't resist the idea of winning that much money.

Duo pushed through enough to get to door of the cage and see that Jim and another of Kerrigan's boys was holding the limp form of an unconscious fighter as the other paraded for the crowd – acted up and got a few cheers. As they came out with Wade's prone and bleeding body, Duo gestured towards the other member of the crew who relinquished his hold and let Duo help move the kid out of the cage and towards the medical room.

He was alive. That was good. Duo had thought it was possible that he wasn't but he was in bad shape – split lips, broken nose, his wrist looked… odd, held at an angle that didn't look quite natural and there was already the signs of harsh bruising colouring his chest.

"Should've listened, kiddo," he said ruefully.

Wade sure couldn't hear nor could Jim above the sound of the crowd but he supposed he wasn't talking to them. Just talking.

They laid him out on the old gurney that every fighter in this place had done time on and Wade made a noise, which was a relief. Suggested that perhaps he wasn't as badly hurt as Duo first feared.

"What ya think?"

Jim didn't answer straight away and Duo stepped back away from the kid to lean against the wall and let the doctor work. He watched and heard the noise of the crowd from outside their little room as the next fighters reached the cage – the usual fanfare and announcement to raise anticipation levels. The crowd hoping for a longer fight and more blood.

"He'll live."

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding – he wanted the kid to realise that he wasn't cut out for the fights but this had been a more brutal introduction than Duo had intended. Of course, Duo didn't pick who fought who. Kerrigan did. Probably wanted the first fight to be a blood bath. He knew Kerrigan had a thing for watching near death fights and that was one of the reasons he was still on this damn colony watching this shit.

Those rumours. The fights to the death. The exclusive guest list. The 25 year old scotch and Cristal brigade. The only reason he was still on this shit hole and not back on earth with Heero who would probably still be pissed about him taking another long term undercover op – but least he'd get laid and try to use his touch as a weapon to placate him.

Frustrated, Duo ran fingers through his bangs and watched Jim work, removing blood with cotton swabs and water and anti-bacterial shit that stung like a bitch. Wade made a few noises. Stitches would be next.

Another loud cheer from outside the room. Another fight coming to an end. Another fighter probably needing patched up.

A knock on the door distracted Duo from his depressing thoughts as he watched Wade getting patched up. He opened it to see Wallis, one of Kerrigan's right hand men.

"Kerrigan wants to see you."

He thought for a second about saying that he wanted to stay with the kid, see how he was when he came round, but he knew he couldn't say "fuck no" to Kerrigan. Not if he didn't want a beating and he seriously didn't – he didn't want to be on the damn gurney bleeding like Wade was.

"Look after the kid."

"Always do," Jim replied as he began stitching.

Kerrigan's office was not somewhere Duo went regularly. Hell, he wasn't sure if Kerrigan liked him or trusted him – probably didn't as men who got their own criminal empire tended not to be the most trusting. He was led there by Wallis. The burly guy was a long-term member of Kerrigan's crew and had been part of the team that beat the last guy to death. He indicated to the door and Duo knocked and opened it to see Kerrigan behind his desk, his scarred and bearded face looking up at him as he entered.

"Duo… we have a new fighter I want you to work with."

It was only as he stepped entirely into the small office and closed the door that he saw the other man. The office was no bigger than a broom closet and that meant the door had obscured the man who stood leaning against the wall.

Duo had spent enough time undercover that his face didn't give anything away. His pulse had quickened and his pupils had dilated but there was no expression as his eyes met the cold blue eyes of his long-time lover.

Heero.

Fuck.