Duo had found Heero pressed against the window of the space station, staring out into space. Out at the brief, deceptively tiny flashes of eye-tearing brilliance that were the only evidence of Heero's handiwork; mobile suits, exploding. Soldiers, dying, on a cold and vicious battlefield that would allow no survivors. All of it done by Heero's command; and so, though all the vast depths of cold and sterile space separated Heero from the battle, the blood still covered his hands.
"Heero...?" he said; softly, ever so gently. No sounds of violence reached across space to drown out his words, or the ragged sound of the other pilot's breathing, but in the dim light Duo could see Heero's body shudder with each distant explosion. Lit only by the harsh starlight, Heero had the face of an angel -- distant, cruel, cold ... and too beautiful to ever be approachable by mortal men. And to think that he had the temerity to call himself the God of Death... He had taken the name in bitter mockery of faith, knowing that there was no God, and yet the unearthly sight of the perfect killing creation in front of him inspired awe in his soul. But still, somewhere behind the shell of ice-cold barriers that encased him, there was a human being -- a young boy who felt pain and loss and desire, just like Duo did. So he simply waited, giving his partner an offer of... something. Presence. Comfort. Salvation.
At last, Heero stirred, and Duo could make out his whispered words. Hardly spoken at all, little more than lips forming over soundless breath, but Duo could see them moving in the dim light, and all at once the words came clear.
"Tasukete... onegai..." Heero breathed. The words were foreign to Duo, but their meanings were not, as the Japanese boy lifted his eyes to meet Duo's. "Tasukete, Duo... tasukete. I'm lost, cold. Help me... please..."
Duo took the steps forward, and pulled Heero into an embrace; the other boy was cold, so cold, and he clung desperately to Duo's warmth like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. "What do you need?" he said quietly into Heero's hair.
"Show me... something worth living for," he stuttered, breathing in Duo's scent as he absorbed his heat. "Give me something worth fighting for. Something worth feeling. I... I need..." He ground to a halt, unable to shape words that fit his terror, his desire. "...need something..."
Re: Break
Date: 2006-02-21 10:19 am (UTC)Duo had found Heero pressed against the window of the space station, staring out into space. Out at the brief, deceptively tiny flashes of eye-tearing brilliance that were the only evidence of Heero's handiwork; mobile suits, exploding. Soldiers, dying, on a cold and vicious battlefield that would allow no survivors. All of it done by Heero's command; and so, though all the vast depths of cold and sterile space separated Heero from the battle, the blood still covered his hands.
"Heero...?" he said; softly, ever so gently. No sounds of violence reached across space to drown out his words, or the ragged sound of the other pilot's breathing, but in the dim light Duo could see Heero's body shudder with each distant explosion. Lit only by the harsh starlight, Heero had the face of an angel -- distant, cruel, cold ... and too beautiful to ever be approachable by mortal men. And to think that he had the temerity to call himself the God of Death... He had taken the name in bitter mockery of faith, knowing that there was no God, and yet the unearthly sight of the perfect killing creation in front of him inspired awe in his soul. But still, somewhere behind the shell of ice-cold barriers that encased him, there was a human being -- a young boy who felt pain and loss and desire, just like Duo did. So he simply waited, giving his partner an offer of... something. Presence. Comfort. Salvation.
At last, Heero stirred, and Duo could make out his whispered words. Hardly spoken at all, little more than lips forming over soundless breath, but Duo could see them moving in the dim light, and all at once the words came clear.
"Tasukete... onegai..." Heero breathed. The words were foreign to Duo, but their meanings were not, as the Japanese boy lifted his eyes to meet Duo's. "Tasukete, Duo... tasukete. I'm lost, cold. Help me... please..."
Duo took the steps forward, and pulled Heero into an embrace; the other boy was cold, so cold, and he clung desperately to Duo's warmth like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. "What do you need?" he said quietly into Heero's hair.
"Show me... something worth living for," he stuttered, breathing in Duo's scent as he absorbed his heat. "Give me something worth fighting for. Something worth feeling. I... I need..." He ground to a halt, unable to shape words that fit his terror, his desire. "...need something..."