The comb paused in mid-stroke, Heero’s arms frozen in the air, as the quiet words shattered the silence. He could hardly believe that he’d truly heard what he thought he heard, but his imagination would never have produced that soft, raspy voice. After a moment, the soft hair under his hands moved, as the boy half-turned his head over his shoulder; not far enough to meet his eyes, but nervously searching for a response.
Heero resumed the motion of the comb, in firm, gentle strokes. “So you can talk after all,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder.”
The boy only ducked his head and didn’t reply. After another minute of silence, Heero completed his strokes and set the comb aside, shifting position until the two chairs faced each other. Heero studied him for a moment, trying to dampen his elated thoughts; fear still glittered in the boy’s eyes. Heero kept his voice quiet and undemanding as he asked the question that had plagued him for over a week now. “What’s your name, anyway?”
There was no reply for an interminable space of time, until Heero started to think perhaps he had imagined the words after all. Finally, though, the boy answered. “Duo. My name is Duo.”
“Duo,” Heero repeated softly, pleased that he finally had something to call the boy. “I’m Heero.”
Duo nodded obediently, but Heero had the sneaking suspicion that the boy... no, Duo... had already known. “How are you feeling?” He shifted the subject, hoping to elicit some more conversation. Duo’s voice was scratchy and raw, hoarse with disuse, but underneath the rasp the sound carried almost melodic overtones; Heero wanted to hear more, after a long week of silence.
After a long moment of hesitation, Duo replied, keeping his eyes on the ground to the side. “...Tired.”
“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Heero probed. Duo didn’t answer, though, except with a nod of acquiescence, much to Heero’s disappointment. Still, a yes-or-no motion of the head was at least some communication.
Re: Spoil of War, prologue
Date: 2006-02-27 11:21 pm (UTC)The comb paused in mid-stroke, Heero’s arms frozen in the air, as the quiet words shattered the silence. He could hardly believe that he’d truly heard what he thought he heard, but his imagination would never have produced that soft, raspy voice. After a moment, the soft hair under his hands moved, as the boy half-turned his head over his shoulder; not far enough to meet his eyes, but nervously searching for a response.
Heero resumed the motion of the comb, in firm, gentle strokes. “So you can talk after all,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder.”
The boy only ducked his head and didn’t reply. After another minute of silence, Heero completed his strokes and set the comb aside, shifting position until the two chairs faced each other. Heero studied him for a moment, trying to dampen his elated thoughts; fear still glittered in the boy’s eyes. Heero kept his voice quiet and undemanding as he asked the question that had plagued him for over a week now. “What’s your name, anyway?”
There was no reply for an interminable space of time, until Heero started to think perhaps he had imagined the words after all. Finally, though, the boy answered. “Duo. My name is Duo.”
“Duo,” Heero repeated softly, pleased that he finally had something to call the boy. “I’m Heero.”
Duo nodded obediently, but Heero had the sneaking suspicion that the boy... no, Duo... had already known. “How are you feeling?” He shifted the subject, hoping to elicit some more conversation. Duo’s voice was scratchy and raw, hoarse with disuse, but underneath the rasp the sound carried almost melodic overtones; Heero wanted to hear more, after a long week of silence.
After a long moment of hesitation, Duo replied, keeping his eyes on the ground to the side. “...Tired.”
“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Heero probed. Duo didn’t answer, though, except with a nod of acquiescence, much to Heero’s disappointment. Still, a yes-or-no motion of the head was at least some communication.