Pairing: 2+1+2
Categories: romance, shonen-ai
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: elevated language

Notes: last line borrowed from the song "Never My Love" by The Association; written solely for Sharon's dating contest. Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is not mine, and this fic belongs more to my readers and my friends than myself.

Dedications: To Sharon, for providing the fandom with interesting contests and the resulting new stories and inspiration (not to mention mine in this fic); for Lyss, who provided an initial beta and correspondence regarding the revision; for Pond, because she always reads my fics for errors; for Presser, for being a fantastic friend; for Ais, just for being herself and so astute; for all of my readers (those past and present, and especially those that still put up with me despite my extended absence from the fandom); for Beck, who reads nearly all of my unorthodox work and gives me encouragement; and finally, Todd, for being himself and confusing me enough to require a fic to sort it all out.

Never
by Lily

He tells me so many things, and for all my intellect I cannot always comprehend the concepts he sets before me for inspection. It frightens me, and if I were to follow this emotion, I would probably run. Self-destructing is impossible now, because he says so. I don't know when this happened, that I began to relax, to trust, to allow him the control. He says I don't always have to have control.

That also frightens me. I am quite acclimated to the feeling of fear, the rush of adrenaline and the way that my heart quickens even as my outward appearance is one of deep calm. I've always been quite talented at belying my inner emotions: it's one of the few defenses that he could not penetrate so quickly. He believed that I was unreachable -- impossible. He believed that his careless touches went unnoticed. In battle I could school my expression into the coolest blankness, an unreadable slate.

He knew me better, even then, than he has ever realized.

It began, inconspicuously, with a knock on my door three years ago. In the darkest part of the night, he came to my apartment unexpectedly. I had never thought to cast my eyes back over my past, much less those that had inhabited it. At the first sound, I was immediately aware -- leftover soldier's reflexes -- and still clothed from the previous evening. I answered the door, and surprise must have registered upon my features. Duo -- there, I've finally stated his name -- was older then, and he'd grown taller than I would have expected. He had taken care of himself well, and he was visibly powerful. His eyes were still the colour of bruises -- just the way I remembered -- but the lashes, once so endlessly long, no longer seemed that way beneath his trimmed bangs.

But it was his hair that caused the shock to write itself across my face. A much lighter colour than I'd ever seen it, and loose between his shoulderblades, hanging to the middle of his back. It was shorter than it had been, but still as thick and beautiful. His legs were slender and long but gone was the gauntness of his youth. He was still thin -- I think he always will be, a consequence of his childhood -- but not the unhealthy way he'd looked during the war.

He was mature. He was definitively older. In a word: beautiful. He held out a hand and asked me to accompany him, and his voice was deeper, huskier.

"Hello, Heero. It's been a long time."

"Indubitably."

"Would you take a walk with me?" he'd asked. I raised my eyes to his, studying the vibrant dark colour. Never before had I felt like this. Amidst the fighting, at times I'd glance over at this wraith (who'd grown up so well), and that's all I could see. A bruise-eyed spectre with an impossibly long braid and a disposition that was never quite smothered by the cruelty that blossomed around him. It was those moments that I'd mentally step back and evaluate, and marvel that one so young, ill-trained, and physically damaged -- if still attractive -- could be so irrepressible. And he'd catch my eye and grin his trademark wicked grin and wink.

"And if I refuse?" I asked him, amusement and bewilderment warring beneath the surface.

"Then I will find a way of coercion," he replied, and I didn't doubt it. He was more intelligent than recollection would allow. Where had he learned it?

"I've been through school, Heero," he said, answering the question that must have flickered in my eyes. "I graduated in the top of my class, learned how to fly an airplane, and realized that happiness palled without someone to share it with."

"And?"

"I adore flying," he grinned.

"Not what I meant."

"I know."

"You're being laconic and difficult."

"You were always difficult, and never known to utter one more word than necessary. At times I learned from the best."

"And?"

"And I came back to ask you out for a walk. It's late, but the moon is high, and the gardens in the middle of this city are exquisite at night."

"Duo --" hesitation led to cessation of the query.

"Yes?"

"Forgive me if this is far out in left field, but are you asking me on a date?"

"Are you accepting?"

"Not until I know the full terms."

"Your acquiescence is required in advance."

"Explain."

"You'll allow me to make the decisions for the next twenty-four hours." I could feel heat spread over my cheeks. Never before had I blushed. To give him complete control was to give away part of myself. He was taller than me, but only slightly, thank goodness. I examined his eyes for signs that he was lying, but found only playfulness. Of course -- Duo would never lie.

"I accept the conditions."

"Then yes, Heero, I just asked you on a date. Although I must admit to a burning curiosity: where did you, of all people, learn American slang?"

"I've lived in Boston for several years. You are not the only one who can change." A date. I was inordinately pleased for some reason. It went against everything, but pleasure filled me. Never before had anyone cared that much. It would take a lot of getting used to.

Years of getting used to, in fact.

We did take the walk, and it was long and lingering and culminated in a bar. For all of his new sophistication, Duo was just as mischievous as he'd ever been, and he delighted in attempting to intoxicate me. He failed for one simple reason: I had indeed learned a great deal in the seven years since I'd last seen him. I had been drunk and loathed it, and I had figured out how to sober myself up -- and also how to control my intoxication in the future. Much of his pure laughter later, we left the bar and stumbled -- out of exhaustion, not alcohol -- onto a bench. As we sat, the flowers hued differently beneath the dark and moon, his fingers idly twirled his hair. At last he looked me, so very serious. Never had he seemed this serious.

"I had to know for certain."

"Know what?"

"This..." He searched my eyes, my face. His fingers explored the shape of my face, my shoulders, the slope of my neck. His eyes narrowed, and he looked for such a long time I felt the urge to fidget, another first for me. I fought it, and at last he spoke. "I was right, even all those years ago, as a naive and confused kid. I loved you then, Heero, and I love you now."

I couldn't speak. Words had always been available to me, even when I chose not to avail myself of them, and now -- I needed to dispute his claim, I had to say something, but the words had gone. He seemed to sense my dilemma, my inability. I had been emasculated by his words. Never had I found myself in this position. Always before I knew what to do, how to act. Indecision was unacceptable. And now, faced down by a haunting presence from my youth, I had no weapons left to me. He tried again, interpreting my body language in a way he could have only learned from watching me all those years ago.

"I had to know. All I could remember was a vague shadow and a warm feeling where there'd always been cold. I grew up. I remembered you." He paused. I splayed my hands out over the worn wood.

"I've never been anything but an instrument, Duo, I know nothing of love. I doubt I ever will." At last, the words poured forth -- albeit reluctantly. Were they even true? All my life I had believed them. Believed everything that had been force-fed to me, with no reason to dissemble. Now, my life tumbled into a chaos of confused and tangled ideals/threads, and he was the only thing still standing. Ashamed of myself, I tried to steady myself within his strong, powerful words. Words that lay stake on something I had not known I possessed.

"I'll teach you," he ground out fervently. "I'll teach you, Heero. You don't have to know. Love doesn't require action, it just is. You've got something I want, Heero, and I do intend to take it."

"But I can't give it to you!" Again, I was losing control. My voice raised, my iron-bred control slipping too fast to recover.

"It doesn't matter. You know well the art of war, and you know how to negotiate. All you have to do, Heero, is capitulate."

"Without full knowledge of the contract?"

"I'll grant you the knowledge of the contract soon enough." Duo turned so that he was facing me directly, and put his hands on my bare shoulders. "Heero, this sounds high-handed, I know. But do you remember your own advice?"

"What is it that you want, Duo? I have nothing to give."

"Your love." Helplessly I stared at him, struck silent once again. I did not know what love was. If anything, he already had every emotion I knew how to express. If I was capable of love, then he already had it. A complexity veiled beneath a simple enough premise. I swung my legs over the side of the bench.

"Let's go somewhere else," he suggested.

"In the middle of the night?"

"It's nearly dawn, and I know a place that opens early for breakfast." He leaned back against the bench, and I moved an inch closer. Whatever else I felt, whoever I was, this I understood. Duo was strong -- he always had been -- and the heat of his body beckoned. Despite it all I was cold. Fallible and prone to human conditions. Prone to even more human emotions? Like the plausibility of loving anyone, in particular another man? Duo ran a finger down my shoulder, stood up in one smooth movement, and waited. I followed, and we walked down the sidewalk side by side.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with Duo eating less than I remembered. He chose eggs, liberally sprinkled with cheese, and some toast on the side. I ate only a bowl of cereal, more than used to plain fare. After breakfast he went back outside, and began walking aimlessly, and I knew he expected me to follow. I was slow, hesitant. I'd never done anything like it before. In front of a museum, he stopped, and turned.

"Come on, beautiful," he called playfully. Warmth spread over me at his words. Never had anyone thought me anything even remotely close to beautiful. Never had anyone looked that close or cared that much. As if reading my bleak thoughts, Duo smiled. "You were always possessed of such a unique beauty and presence, Heero. You've just been too much in the clouds to notice." I did not know whether to be hurt by his words, until he strode back over to me. Before I could react he had embraced me within those powerful arms, and I was stunned but not displeased. Indeed, it was a fresh experience to let someone else have the control, but not an undesirable one. He guided my chin with his thumb, and found my mouth with his, and the kiss was yet another shock. It was possessive and strikingly intimate and I couldn't hold back. I relaxed, my head tipping against his shoulder, my lips reluctantly falling away from his. Into my ear, tongue tapping briefly against the skin, he repeated, "I love you. You, Heero. That's all you need to know, and all we'll need to make it. I promise." He released me then, and we spent hours wandering within the museum. His banter was not diminished by intervening years or maturity, and I found it was pleasant to engage in. Never had I known that words could bring that much enjoyment.

To this day, the third anniversary of our first date, the mystery remains. I still do not know exactly what love is, but Duo continues to maintain that it doesn't matter.

And perhaps it does not. When I awoke this morning, he had already gone to work, but he left a single yellow rose upon the pillow beside my head. Wrapped around its slender stem was a piece of paper imprinted with private words. Once, I'd asked him a question out of fear and insecurity.

What if I never learn -- would you leave me?

This morning he provided the reply.

Never my love.