Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Coffee Stains and Dents in the Wall ❯ Coffee Stains and Dents in the Wall ( One-Shot )

Title: Coffee Stains

Author: OrangeFlips

Pairings: 1x5, 2x5. Sort of one-sided, because it's Heero's POV, and doesn't reveal Wufei's feelings. 3x4 mentioned.

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Guilt makes us all go crazy. Heero POV. One-shot.

Comments: A bit of angst. Quite crazy. I don't know, it made me a bit sad at the end.

Warnings: Unbetaed. My beta doesn't know much about GW. Beta, anyone? Leave me a review and your email address and I'll contact you, love.

Standard disclaimers apply.

 

He stumbled in, hands grasping at the door frame, wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead, draping over his deep Prussian eyes. A clap of thunder sounded behind him, and he nearly started, but instead stepped fully in to the house and closed the door firmly shut. There. No more shrieks of agony masked in thunder, no more sheering sounds of rain ripping through the air. The safe house was soundproof, of course.

 

“Yuy? Status?” Wufei's eyes were slightly wide, feet plastered to the floor. He cradled a cup of tea in his hand, and the steam rose up, misting up his glasses. Wufei frowned, settling the cup on to the wooden table, snarled with age and too many coffee stains. His eyes winced slightly as they grazed over the coffee stains, before looking back up at Heero.

 

When one lived with Duo Maxwell, one was bound to get coffee stains on the table.

 

Heero was “Fine.” Perfectly, bloody fine. Finer than the finest silk, sweeter than any flower, gayer than Duo on caffeine...

 

Okay, so maybe he was lying to himself. He could tell Wufei didn't believe him either.

 

“I'd like to take a shower.” He paused for a moment, as Wufei stood rooted to the spot, firmer than the oldest old oak tree on Earth, before adding, “Please.”

 

Wufei nodded slowly before stepping out of the way, but Heero could see the slight hesitation in his movements, as much as Wufei would have loved to mask them with his graceful steps.

 

Truth was, Heero knew it was just a statistic, just a couple of numbers, just an adjective attached to a noun. The current estimate is 99822 dead. A memorial service is being held tomorrow, on Earth at—. And that was where Heero had stopped reading, had torn the newspaper into so many little pieces it was as though dirty snow was falling to the ground, horrifying screams slicing straight through his iron heart as though it were butter, the leathery feel of the recycled material ripped soundly. He'd thought they were screaming at him, telling him to die, blaming him for the dead, cursing him, until he ran away, driving so fast in his Preventer-issued car he turned on the siren so he could get ho—back to the safe house quicker without being arrested by his own people.

 

He watched the mixture of dirt and soap slip off his body and down the drain, eyes dazed. 99822. Had he torn up 99822 pieces of paper? Had he torn up that many lives, ending them with one swing of a joystick?

 

No. A shudder ran through him, despite the gentle misting of the scalding water against the glass shower doors. No, he hadn't torn up 99822 lives. He had simply ended 99822 lives. There were the families, the friends, the injured...

 

If each person had an average of twenty friends and family, he would have destroyed 1,996,440 lives, his mind quickly calculated. Almost two million. How could a murderer work for peace? He didn't belong here, among the living, happily living every day of their feeble lives.

 

He finished, quickly dressing and opened the door to a pair of wide eyes, Wufei's hand poised to knock. Wufei. He couldn't relate to Wufei like he could relate to Duo, for Wufei was a creature who tried so hard to uphold the traditions of his clan, the Dragon Clan. He was Heero. He didn't even know if he had any ancestors to curse in Japanese. They were so far apart, so far away in their ideals it was impossible to put them together, because time is the farthest distance two people can be from each other. It made sense; Heero was 01, and Wufei was 05.

 

“I'm sorry, Yuy. I was wondering if you were having any difficulties. You were in the shower for longer than usual,” was Wufei's excuse, and he made a little bow and a motion to move away.

 

“Wait.” The word escaped from Heero, and he was as surprised to hear it as Wufei, but it still held the metallic, cutting edge Heero had developed during his war days. It demanded attention, and it received it.

 

But the actions that followed it were so out of character for Heero it did not match his tone, as he grasped at Wufei and pulled him in an awkward embrace. It was warm, and it wasn't pulling back in disgust... Heero felt oddly at home, warmth caressing his heart. What did... Wufei feel about this?

 

The fist that connected with his stomach and threw him roughly against the plaster wall, hard enough to make a dent, answered his question. Wufei's body spoke volumes as Heero lifted up his head to look at Wufei. Wufei's eyes were wide. Shocked, Heero noted. Wufei was surprised, unhappy... slightly worried, but maybe not necessarily terribly angry. Heero had learned over the years not to trust Wufei's body behavior - he could control every muscle, ever tendrils of anger that seemed to sweep through Wufei's body and roll off on the wood flooring.

 

Heero could feel the dent his body made in the wall, but he did not speak.

 

“What are you on, Yuy?!” Wufei shrieked in disgust, but his eyes were still wide, calculating him. When Heero did not respond, Wufei was suddenly kneeling on the floor, one hand gently covering the place where Wufei had punched him only a few moments before, the pain having dulled to a slow throbbing, and the other on his shoulder, looking at him nervously.

 

“C'mon Heero, you're stronger than that. You know you didn't do anything wrong in the war. You know you deserve this peace, everything's going to be all right, all right... just fine. Nothing wrong, nothing wrong. Here” Wufei babbled, leaning in to wrap his arms around Heero, whispering, “Just fine. You just surprised me, that's all.”

 

Heero relaxed, loosing himself to the pair of soulful black eyes. And Wufei relaxed, bringing up the hand on Heero's shoulder to brush off the air against his brow. It was wet, soaked with tepid water from the shower, and Wufei wiped his hands on the back of his pants to dry them.

 

“Gods, Heer—“

 

“Do you love me?” Heero whispered fiercely, quickly, interrupting Wufei. He knew it was selfish, to ask Wufei something like this when they barely knew each other in the first place, had barely spoken to each other before besides in missions, and when the guilt still hovered heavily over Wufei's body, changing him.

 

“I-what? I, uh. Yes, Heero, I love you,” Wufei stumbled over his words, but Heero forced himself to believe them. Heero knew Wufei was no Duo Maxwell and told lies when the situation required it, but it was so sweet, so alluring, he wished he could believe it. There was a pause, before Wufei cautiously added, “Are you feeling okay, Heero?”

 

Heero nodded, slowly standing up and pulling Wufei up with him. He pressed a small kiss on the corner of Wufei's mouth, startling the other, but Wufei did a good job of covering it up. He could just imagine what Wufei's therapist was saying to him: Be nicer to the others, don't lash out at them too much, or they'll go completely crazy like that cute kid, Duo.

 

Heero knew Wufei believed he was the cause of Duo's insanity, and he took advantage of it, because secretly, he was as sick as Duo had been. So sickly in love with Wufei and entangled in guilt over the war, it'll only take a simple rejection to push him off the edge and in to a mental house alongside Duo. The therapist did not know this, of course. He simply knew of Wufei's love of solitude.

 

“Did you love Duo?” Heero asked, blue eyes staring piercingly at Wufei.

 

“I-I... I don't know. Yes. I think so.” Heero could tell it wasn't completely a lie. Wufei cast his eyes down, short, Asian eyelashes sweeping so beautifully on his lower eyelids all Heero wanted to do was touch them and cradle Wufei in his arms.

 

“Can I kiss you?” Heero asked hoarsely, hands grazing roughly over one smooth jaw. He felt like a beggar haphazardly asking a princess for her hand in marriage on the street. But Wufei nodded his consent, and Heero leaned in, felt Wufei's mouth open, and swept his tongue in to Wufei's hot cavern, so sweet, so addictive.

 

“Can I make love to you?” Heero whispered, and Wufei nodded again, letting Heero carried Wufei up to his bed, cradling Wufei as though he were a delicate baby in his arms, pressing kisses feverishly on him. “I love you, Wufei,” Heero breathed over Wufei, and Wufei shivered.

 

“I'd die for you, Wufei,” a few more articles of clothing left Wufei, “And I'd die along with you. I'd kill myself if you died.” And Heero knew the words trapped Wufei, Wufei's guilt so strong it didn't allow him to escape, forced him to love Heero, but oh, Heero couldn't help it. It was the truth. He was so sick of the peace, so broken on the inside; he needed this type of comfort, needed Wufei more than he needed his gun he always had at his hip, more than he needed anything.

 

And Wufei laid there, eyes devoid of all emotion, but Heero imaged there was a tender loving slant to his eyes, imagined it was good, imagined Wufei loved him.

 

So the closest Heero ever got to the mental house was to visit Duo, to bring him flowers maybe, a puzzle to play around with when Heero had to leave. And Duo would laugh, ask him how his Wuffers was, and they'd sometimes share stories about the war, sometimes about Wufei, if Duo had just taken his pills. If not, Heero would simply stare at Duo's crazy grin on his face, occasionally clutching a picture of Wufei in his hand. And when Duo started muttering Wufei under his breath, it was too much even for the Perfect Soldier, because the Perfect Soldier knew he was cheating Wufei, and knew he should have been exactly alongside Duo, instead of under the constant care of Wufei, and the guilt overcame him. So he'd leave, drive back to the safe house in a craze, and envelop himself with the smell of Wufei until all thoughts of Duo were driven from his mind.

 

Heero couldn't ever get enough of Wufei, his opium, his drug. Heero didn't need sedatives and antidepressants like Duo, because Wufei was his little box of white pills. Sometimes, he wondered if he could ever live a normal life. And then he'd think of Quatre and Trowa, and was incredibly happy they were far, far away, far away from this guilt-ridden safe house with its coffee stains and dents in the wall.

 

Endnotes: Yeah. I imagined that Wufei actually loved both very, very much, but wouldn't admit it. But you could have your own spin on it, of course. I leave it pretty open-ended, I believe.

 

Oh, and 99822... I got that number from Maldoror's (totally totally awesome) fic called The Arrangement. I'm not sure if that's the real number, I just used it. Hope it isn't terribly off. Well... that's it! Thank you for reading. Feedback is much appreciated.