Responses of any kind are appreciated, since I feed off of them. Flame me, compliment me, give me a hard critique--just TELL me what you think.

My eyes are gummy with sleep when I wake to giggling.

excuse me but can I be you for a while

Duo is snickering at a doushinji. I sigh; it will be a long day, no doubt. Duo. That beautiful boy never has to worry for anything. Besides physical beauty, he has a personality that attracts people to him. He's always happy; I don't think I've ever been that happy.

my dog won't bite if you sit real still

I sit up in bed, rub the sleep from my face. People like Duo have no appreciation for the gifts they have.

"Morning, Trowa!"

I nod, try to be civil. "Buenas dias, Duo."

He grins. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for breakfast."

Breakfast which I will cook.

I got the antichrist in the kitchen yelling at me again

I stretch a bit, and slide my legs out from under the covers. They're still gangly; years of being underfed in a mercenary corps still show beneath all the muscle. I pad to the bathroom, taking off the loose white undershirt as I go. I splash cold water on my face. I look in the mirror to shave, and I realize, as I always do in the mornings, that I don't associate what looks at me in the mirror with myself. That the face that looks at me isn't my real face, and that only I ever see my real face. I comb my hair down over my eye, as I always do; trying to hide the false face that I wear.

I leave the bathroom, and change my boxers before pulling on jeans and a shirt. I walk to the kitchen, to see that Duo has already parked himself at the kitchen table. He isn't looking too expectant, so I pour a bowl of cereal for myself and stick some toast in the toaster.

"Trowa?"

yeah I can hear that

I sit down and begin to eat the cereal. The toast pops up; I leave it there to cool.

"Trowa." I look up at him. His expression is unreadable, those bright eyes looking at me.

"Aren't you going to make something?"

"There's toast." I stick a spoonful of cereal in my mouth. I hope I don't look too defiant; this is part of my personal rebellion.

been saved again by the garbage truck

His expression becomes measuring. "Yes. I guess there is." He gets up, picks up the toast. "You know, Trowa, if you don't want to do things for me, you just have to say."

Well, Duo, I would if I could. Really. I'm trying.

"You get run over a lot, don't you?"

I got something to say you know

"Trowa?"

Yes, I'm listening, Duo.

but nothing comes out

He sighs. "Fine. I give up. You're impossible, you know that?"

The cereal bowl is empty now, and I stand to put it in the sink. His hand touches my arm, and before I think, I jerk it away.

I'm learning. I'm getting better, I swear.

I'm washing the bowl when he puts a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Trowa. You know you can talk to me."

yeah I can hear what you think of me

I nod, briskly, and rinse the bowl. I hang it on the strainer.

"I thought when I was put here with you, 'Great. Perfect. I'm with the one without the personality.' But that isn't true, is it." It's more of a statement than anything else. I don't think he expects an answer. I don't think I can give him one.

you never shut up

Silence. Duo sighs, and I take that as my cue to leave.

It's nearly midnight, and I can't sleep. This doesn't surprise me; sometimes my demons come back at night. There are worse things at night than nightmares.

Nightmares that Duo seems to be experiencing, by the amount of panting and whimpering coming from his bed.

yeah I can hear that

So he's had an easy life, and he still has nightmares. Maybe I'm stronger than I thought.

Or maybe he's just weaker than me.

He pitches awake, sits up. His breath is coming fast and hard. "Shit," he mumbles. The bed's springs creak a protest as he pitches backwards.

but what if I'm a mermaid

"Not again."

I lie here quietly, hoping he'll think I'm asleep.

Eventually his breathing evens out, and I sit up. I slip from the bed, head to the living room.

in these jeans of his with her name still on it

I sit down on the couch, folding my feet up under me and wrapping my arms around my knees. I curl myself into a tight ball, protected from the outside world.

I'm not sure what I think of Duo Maxwell, but I do know that it's probably wrong. That I'm just as sick as those men said I was, that I must like it,
that. . .

hey but I don't care because sometimes I hear my voice

But he's so beautiful, and kind, and intelligent, and funny, and everything I ever wanted to be and couldn't be. He's so amazing, so incredible, and I know that I want him, that I care about him, even though it's wrong.

Even though I am wrong.

I said I hear my voice and it's been here

I hear footsteps, and immediately, I uncurl, try to look normal. His face is a mask of tears, and I don't know if he sees me sitting in the dark. He sits in the armchair, his knees folded up to his chest. "Solo," he whispers, and sobs aloud, like a little child.

Like the child I never got to be.

We sit in this tableau until I hear a soft snore. I know what it is to cry yourself to sleep, to hurt so much that only sleeping can ever help, and sometimes not even that can ease the pain, the hurt and humiliation. Carefully, I stand. I walk to the chair, pick Duo up and carry him to his bed.

He curls onto his side, his tear-stained face soft with sleep. I pull the blanket up to his chin, and he immediately tangles his hands in it. I walk silently to my bed, and lie down again.

silent all these years

Duo has been going on about Relena at breakfast this morning.

so you found a girl that thinks really deep thoughts

Figures.

She's another person that everyone seems to love. Everyone except Wufei. This endears Wufei to me, not that he knows it.

I want to know what's so original about wanting peace. Isn't that what everyone wants? I want to know how she plans to do it. No one has been successful yet; and she has no strategy, no head for politics at all.

what's so amazing about really deep thoughts

I sit through this speech, and when Duo finishes, I can't help thinking about another little girl who wanted peace. That girl had a plan, and as far as she was concerned, the ends justified the means.

Perhaps that is the way to go. Perhaps Midii was correct.

I cough a little, and stand. Duo and I have been between missions for quite some time now, and I know it bothers the boy that I don't talk much.

boy you better pray that I bleed real soon

"She's incompetent. She has hardly planned for everything she wants. Her intentions are good, but she will doubtless be deposed by someone who is not so moral."

how's that thought for you

Duo stares at me. Then he nods, once.

I must've fallen asleep, because I'm dreaming. I know I'm dreaming. I can taste it. The colors are too bright here. THEY are here, they're watching me, I can feel it, I can taste it. I don't have a name anymore. I'm Nanashi, no one, nobody, nothing, worthless.

my scream got lost in a paper cup

It's a cold feeling when the world slows down and you can't wake up no matter how hard you try. I'm dumbfounded, too frightened to scream, too stunned to do anything but whimper a little, my mouth hanging open in surprise.

do you think there's a heaven where some screams have gone

Their hands are on me again, breaking through my years, my barriers and everything. . . They laugh as they make me little again, small, shaking, and pitiful.

I wake up on the couch, my head lolled uncomfortably against the arm rest, my body slumped. I can't do anything or feel anything for a minute or two. I just sit there, my hands cold, my neck cramping, my legs asleep. I take in the feel of this place, which is not theirs. Not theirs.

But everything is theirs and no matter what I do, I can't get away, and no matter how fast I run, they catch up, and no matter how far I go, they find me, and no matter how well I hide, they drag me through my own private hell, raise up my hands to hammer in new nails that can rust like my blood, but all I really want is some peace, some quiet, some serenity.

I got 25 bucks and a cracker do you think it's enough to get us there

I stagger to my feet, my entire body protesting. I wonder how long it's been since I've eaten.

I turn, and Duo is there, just standing. I don't know what to do.

but what if I'm a mermaid

"It's frightening to hear someone scream in his sleep," he says simply.

Yes.

His usual smile is gone, and his eyes are compassionate. I immediately drop my gaze, recognizing myself for the unworthy man I am.

in these jeans of his with her name still on it

"I'm hungry," I say. Tengo hambre. I have hunger. Tengo sed. I have thirst.

I have another hunger, and another thirst. I want to stop running.

hey but I don't care because sometimes I hear my voice

He nods, and we go to the kitchen. He pulls out a chair, gestures me into it. I sit as he pulls out an apple and tosses it to me before pouring me a glass of water.

Stop running.

I said sometimes I hear my voice and it's been here

Stop.

silent all these

"Duo," I say. He nods, and sits, pushes the water across the table.

years go by will I still be waiting for somebody else to understand

"I was--little when it happened. Un chiquito."

years go by if I'm stripped of my beauty and the orange clouds raining in my head

"And they were mercenaries. They were. . ." I can't look at him. "Bigger than me and stronger and no matter what I couldn't stop them. I had to listen to them taunt me, tell me I liked it that way. They put out their cigarettes on me, cut me, bit me, bruised me, used me, whatever they wanted, and I couldn't do anything, I was pressed against them, and I was thinking 'You gotta get out of this one,' but there was nowhere to go and no one to hear me scream, and no one cared."

years go by will I choke on my tears until finally there's nothing left

I don't dare look up at him, to see the scorn, the hatred. I reach for the water and drain it, set the glass down with a clink on the table. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have told him.

What if. . . what if he's like them? Will he use me, too? Jesus, what the hell was I thinking! I push my chair out from the table, and I start to go back to my room.

one more casualty you know we're too easy easy easy

"Trowa."

He's standing there with his arms open.

I love the way we communicate

I stumble to him, my head buried in his shoulder. He holds me lightly, one hand rubbing my back.

your eyes focus on my funny lip shape

I cry, cry the tears I had to swallow before, the tears that no one ever let me have. I find that he's not the only one who can sob like a small child, as my pain seems to part my lips and force itself out.

He's holding me like I'm fragile, like I might break. I might break. I've been broken--patched up with glue, but not put together right, or the glue didn't hold--and the pieces are the thing I've become.

let's hear what you think of me now

I've cried myself out, and all that's left are hiccupy breaths that make it hard to talk.

"Trowa."

Is that who I am? Trowa Barton. The name conjures up images of a frightening man. Is that what I've become?

"Shh. You're safe here, I swear." His voice is hoarse. I lean back, look at him, and I wasn't the only one who cried.

"Duo?"

but baby don't look up the sky is falling

He kisses me, his lips brushing against mine. They're softer and fuller than I expected them to be, but I'm so dumbfounded that Duo is. . . Duo is. . .

Duo is like them. I look at him, and his hand shakes a little as he brushes my cheek. There is something in his eyes that's too familiar.

your mother shows up in a nasty dress

Duo is not like them. There is something frightened, small, and shivering deep within his eyes, an abused child wailing for someone who never came.

Duo is not like them.

Duo is like me.

and it's your turn now to stand where I stand

I kiss him, slowly. I almost feel like a virgin, almost as shy, almost as pure.

I don't know how long we stand there, arms twined around each other, before he presses a kiss to my forehead and lets me go.

everybody looking at you

The silence is the same silence that hung between us the night that he cried in the living room. His mouth works, but it is a fair amount of time before his voice works.

"I woke up in my bed this morning."

here take hold of my hand

I don't pretend not to know what he means. I wait, calmly, knowing that there's something that he has to say.

"I. . . care. . . about you. And pulling stunts like that. . . if you don't mean. . . then just don't." Fear, anger, and--hope?

"I don't do things I don't mean." I hope that he understands, and I wait for his reaction.

A soft sigh through those lips.

yeah I can hear them

I step forward, open my mouth to say something, but he is leaning forward too, and we're kissing again, but this is less safe. His arm is wrapped around my waist, and one hand smooths my hair. I can't move, can't breathe, can't. . . But this is Duo. Duo would never, ever hurt me. Never.

Right?

His tongue is in my mouth, and I don't know if it's unpleasant. He tastes sweet, and he's being careful, but I can't think of anything but THEM watching me and laughing. He puts his forehead against mine, breaking the kiss, and looks into my eyes.

but what if I'm a mermaid

"Say the word and I will stop, Trowa."

Stop. I never said it then, simply because it never occurred to me to say it.

Stop.

I put an arm around him gingerly. His body is warm, muscular, but the skin is smooth, soft. I can feel my eyebrows wrinkle as I think about these sensations, which used to be so painful, but are now. . . different. Sweeter, softer.

in these jeans of his with her name still on it

I kiss him, his lips parting under mine, and I am, finally, safe.

His hand is slipping under my shirt, fingers trailing delicately up my stomach, erasing other, less kind, touches. His breath is ragged as he finds my nipple, and I realize that my breath is harsher, too. I know he can feel the scars, and his face twists.

I'm suddenly insecure again; am I damaged goods? Doesn't he want me?

"Those bastards," he mutters, his mouth pressed against my neck.

hey but I don't care because sometimes

I slide my hands under his shirt, caressing his muscular back, and I wonder if I make shivers run up his spine. I can feel the goosebumps on my arms being warmed by the heat of his skin, and I just want to hold him here, like this.

But something else cries out for more of Duo, a hungry, selfish, demanding part of me that I didn't know I had. So I start to pull his shirt up, and the next thing I know, he's helping me remove his clothes.

We're going at my pace, I realize, no faster. His erection is pressing against my leg, and he has to be painfully hard, but he isn't pushing me at all, simply trying to smooth away all those years of hurt. I grab his hand, and he leads me to the bedroom, pressing kisses into my palm, licking my inner wrist. The tongue on the underside of my arms is a strange sensation, but I think it might feel good.

I said sometimes I hear my voice

I'm helping him undress, and we're both standing in the bedroom. He's naked, and I'm fully clothed. His eyes are a question, and as I start to pull my shirt over my head, he is helping me, starting to unzip my jeans.

There is a patently Duo moment as he snaps the hem of my boxers, and I giggle, forgetting myself enough to laugh at his silliness in such a serious situation. He laughs with me, and then the boxers are gone, too. He's staring at me, and I blush a little, knowing that I'm nothing to look at. He slowly extends his hands, as if he's afraid I might spook, and grasps my hips, the calluses of his hands playing oddly against my skin. He looks up at me for approval as he kneels on the floor before me. I nod, and my fingers slide into his hair, gripping the silky strands as though to use them as weapons against my own memories.

His mouth is on me, kissing, sucking. His tongue swirls around the base of my erection, and I gasp, pulling on his hair as I toss my head back. I am warm, I am comforted, I am protected, and there is almost something sacred about the way his mouth is touching me. My thoughts jumble into a pleasant haze as my hips buck forward against his mouth.

and it's been here

He's still kneeling, looking up at me as he swallows a part of me I never thought anyone could ever want. His tongue flickers out to lick his lips, and he whispers huskily, "Do you want me to stop?"

No. Never.

I shake my head, and he stands, moves to his things. He pulls a tube of something out of his underwear drawer. "Lubricant," he explains, "so it won't hurt so much."

I'm staring at the lower half of his body, and wondering exactly how he is managing to be so coherent. I remember that. . . No, not anymore. That part of me is retreating, the scar tissue pulling together as Duo nears me.

He kisses me harder, his hands roaming over my back. It feels good, and I try the same on him, eliciting a groan of pleasure. We're stumbling toward his bed, but we can't get enough of each other. The next thing I know, he's picked me up and laid me out on it. I look up at him as a shadow of his familiar grin crosses his face.

Air is passing over me; he's blowing on my brand-new erection. I make a noise of impatience, and he stops immediately, looking up at me again.

Go on, Duo. I can't hide forever.

silent all these years

My legs are sprawled over his shoulders and one of his hands is on me, drawing light circles on my inner thighs.

The other is hovering over my buttocks. He exhales softly, and inserts a first finger.

My body tightens immediately in response, the memories rushing back--"Just say the word"--and then they're running as I start to relax.

Violet eyes are watching my every move as a second finger slowly begins to probe the innermost part of me. A third finger, and I think I am ready.

I suppose he thinks so, too, because the fingers are gone, leaving me empty and a little frightened. But then, I can feel him perched at my entrance. Slowly, so slowly, he slides in, deeper and deeper, hitting a spot that makes me moan in pleasure even as my fingers form fists around the sheets. Deeper, and deeper, and I feel as though he's purifying parts of me that no one else could ever even know about.

Finally, he begins to pump in and out, his hand stroking me in rhythm with his hips. He comes within me, his essence filling me, soothing away all the old blood and scabs and pain that no one had ever reached before. It makes me come, too, and the white liquid spills over my stomach.

He collapses a little; we roll to face each other on the narrow bed. His arm snakes around my hips; I nestle against his chest.

There is nothing I need to say to make him understand, but I say it anyway. "Gracias, mi corazón."

He surprises me: "De nada, chiquito."

silent all these years

~OWARI~

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