snipfest

[windandwater]

The low double bed was piled high with every available quilt, blanket, sheet and towel that the braided boy could get his hands on. And as the wind continued to howl and the temperature continued to drop, Duo had abandoned his perch directly in front of the fireplace to bury himself under the nest of blankets, grumbling the whole time. Trowa, for his part, had ignored the American's unending soliloquy about the weather as he hunted about the small cabin to look for anything to insulate himself against the cold. The Latin pilot had remained sitting in what Duo had termed "his" chair at the kitchen table, reading through a dog-eared novel as the other boy bustled around before finally succumbing to sleep.

And, from his place at the kitchen table, Trowa watched as Duo tossed and turned for a few minutes before curling into a ball in the middle of the bed. The braided boy's features smoothed out in his sleep and it amused Trowa that the American was completely covered by the blankets, only the top of his head and part of his face exposed to the rest of the room.

But... there was something wrong with this picture.

As his green-eyes continued to watch Duo's peaceful sleep, Trowa could feel a pity of restlessness start to build up in his chest. He abandoned his book, focusing his attention on the sleeping American, as if -- through his sleep -- Duo could tell him what was wrong. But sitting there, in the straight-backed chair with his back to the cold window, watching the chestnut-haired boy slumber easily only served to make the despair grow greater in Trowa's heart.

Duo made a soft mumble and turned onto his back.

Trowa's hands twitched.

What was Duo doing, Trowa asked himself. What he was feeling was completely illogical. All he was doing was watching the other boy *sleep*. People slept at night. It was normal. So why was Duo's deep slumber bothering him so much? Why wasn't he climbing into the bed himself to get a few hours of respite before the sun climbed up and brought a new day of war to the world-weary soldier? Trowa didn't know why he didn't just succumb -- as Duo had -- and just go to sleep.

Duo rolled over again, a silent name on his lips.

Trowa's hands twitched again. And the Latin pilot was surprised to find that his pistol was sitting in his grip, pointed at the sleeping American.

Startled, Trowa lay his weapon on the kitchen table carefully, turning his emerald gaze to it instead. The cold piece of metal lay quietly, the dying light from the fireplace making the smooth surfaces of the gun seem to glow. Absently, Trowa started to disassemble his weapon, laying every piece carefully on the tabletop. Then he stared at the numerous pieces, as if *they* could give him the answers he wanted.

The bedsprings squeaked. Trowa's eyes darted over to see Duo sprawled out again, one arm falling out of its nest as if reaching out through the cold air to him. "... Solo..."

Trowa flinched.

Then he began to assemble his weapon again.