Bundori, by Laura Joh Rowland

"We sure do make a big mess for only two people," Duo said suddenly, his hands plunged deep in the suds. His eyes studied the faucets. "Betcha you hardly need anything when it's just you here."

Heero said nothing, but turned to study the window before them. His face turned a smooth burnt amber under the sun's dying light, and all the shadows fell snugly into place, giving him the look of someone deep in thought. As Duo pulled out a dish and handed it to his companion, he, too, caught a glimpse of the outer world. His expression softened.

"You know, it's funny," he said, biting his lip in hesitation. "But during the war I used to wonder if we were watching the same sky."

Heero turned his head sharply. There were the makings of a frown on his smooth, chiselled face. "Why?"

Duo froze at the sound of his companion's deep, determined voice. He had not expected to evoke anything from the man beside him. It was so hard for him to imagine himself in the company of an acquaintance that he sometimes mistrusted their supposed existence. Who, indeed, were these people who would take time to walk or fight or even stand beside him? What were they? So used to walking the fine line between thinking aloud and just thinking, something about the scene he now found himself in had almost made him forget he wasn't truly alone. But he was slowly learning Heero's existence was harder than most to ignore.

Once the instinctive confusion had been allayed, Duo calmed himself, stilling the murmurs in the backs of his elbows and the undersides of his knees, and even managed a fragile smile.

"It was silly, I know," he said, feeling his cheeks warm as he spoke, "The chances of us seeing exactly the same sky were pretty unlikely. Still... it was comforting, those few times I got to share the sky with another pilot." He paused, his lips parted just so as he struggled to manifest his innermost thoughts and failed. His chin trembled gently, and he managed a sigh, one on which his next words ran like fish in a freezing stream. "It almost made me feel that I wasn't alone, that there were others who saw what I saw. Others who did what I did, and were still allowed to witness such splendour."

Duo lifted a soapy dish and rinsed it clean, then handed it to Heero without turning his gaze from the view outside. His smile frayed.

"It sure is beautiful, isn't it?"

Reflexively, he lifted a hand to scratch at some slight irritation on the back of his neck. His soapy hand left a trail of bubbles along the skin, and when he lowered his hand it became apparent that the glistening specks, now sinking idly down his neck, had passed his notice. Heero smiled secretly.

"Yes," he murmured.

This time Duo was ready to hear the warm rumblings of his companion's voice. He didn't even tense, though his gaze remained persistently skyward.

"What's to become of us, Heero?" he said at last.

Heero's eyes darkened. A part of him had been waiting for someone somewhere sometime to ask this question, and he had never stopped dreading it. He had especially dreaded the thought of hearing the tremulous words issue from Duo's mouth. He set the dish in his hand upon the rising stack and angled his entire body to face Duo's. Something about the way Duo stood made him seem wilted, like blackened petals on a dying bloom. Heero noted the intensity with which he was regarding his companion, and something struck him inside. It was a pain like few he had ever known, and it assaulted him most terribly. The dull gleam of Duo's pupils chilled him; the thinness of his arms, sticking out weed-like from the pool of soap, burned an imprint deep in his chest. It seemed no earthly creature could look so near collapse while still managing to stay perfectly immobile, and it pained him even more that Duo had somehow managed to find that flimsy line between self-control and utter abandon.

Suddenly Heero knew what he wanted to say, and do, and be. History stood by him, patient and enduring; literature peeped out from behind her narrow specs and greying wisps to stuff careful phrases and dainty words into the hem of his consciousness. A lifetime of strength and tenacity readied him to pour the innermost workings of his mind and heart into the delicate expanse of reality.

Cautiously, as if handling the brittle bloom, he extended a hand until he felt Duo's slight, bony shoulder under his taut fingers. Then he waited, watching for the faintest sign of Duo crumbling from the sudden contact. When Duo did not respond to this most gentle of touches, Heero, now encouraged, allowed his hold to firm, and, as he readied to hurl himself into his well-worked response, he began to feel the lean muscle and coursing blood that existed beneath Duo's cover of skin-and-bone. But as he felt that pulse of life, of perseverance, he lost something crucial, and faltered. This was no flower beside him, he realized, no thing of light and fancy. His fingers told him it was real -- flesh and blood and life and death -- and suddenly, for their inability to express fully the longing he felt deep inside, all possible sounds and words and phrases palled. He closed his eyes, letting the constructs fall away, and it was while his eyelids fluttered in their minute repose that Duo's body shifted. A hand darted up to catch Heero's; from the new position of the shoulder, Heero knew Duo was facing him. He opened his eyes.

Duo was looking directly at him; his face was an outpouring of askance, confusion, and attentiveness. He was waiting for an answer, and the wait seemed to be destroying him. But with all of Heero's thoughts now lacking the appropriate verbal accompaniment, Heero could only hope Duo would be able to look past the paltry response he knew he would now have to give, to look past it and find what Heero now knew he didn't have words enough to say.

Heero dipped his head, studying closely the weariness in his companion's eyes. His face plain and impassive, he squeezed Duo's shoulder gently and spoke with all the sincerity he possessed.

"We're going to finish the dishes," he said, "And then retire for the night."

Hardly expecting what he heard, Duo's expression contorted: his eyes scrunched up and he raised his eyebrows uncertainly, a despondent frown growing from ashes of uncertainty. Hope seemed to drain from him, and he went lax under Heero's grip. Heero's heart clenched as he half-imagined Duo crumbling before his very eyes, paper māche in the wind, and he gripped tighter.

"And is that all?" Duo asked dully, casting his eyes to the unfinished dishes. "Is that all there is? Is it that simple?"

He didn't understand, Heero realized. Or if he did, he doubted it. The thought wounded Heero. He parted his lips again, expecting to find behind them all the words and grandeur that had escaped him the first time he'd tried to explain how he felt inside, but they were still stale and useless. He extended his other hand to catch Duo's trembling chin and held it fast. When he had caught Duo's gaze, he leaned in ever so slightly, his eyes immobilizing Duo's with burning intensity. Duo's skin was now subtly flushed, and his breaths, tendrils of honey, seemed to hang, stilted, in the little air between them.

As Duo regarded him, looking up into the eyes that would not let him run, his posture softened further -- but this time it was a trusting, yielding submission, and had none of the carelessness of inner turmoil. There was no coldness or calculation in Heero's gaze, and, transfixed deep inside something that wasn't heartless, something else that still had the ability to feel and to hurt, Duo felt incomprehensible warmth loose itself within him. Suddenly he knew he wanted more. It hurt so much, this new, frightening need, he almost wanted to cry out, but he couldn't, and he understood at last that his deliverance lay solely with Heero.

Heero, though lacking the words he wanted, still managed to deliver. His nose a hair's breadth from Duo, their foreheads tucked towards each other in a silent, unspoken tryst, he brought both hands up against Duo's soft, slender cheeks and held them there, where they just barely cupped the fine, angled jawbones.

"Sometimes, Duo," he murmured, his voice not nearly conveying the same measure of adoration his eyes were accomplishing (Duo absorbed each flicker in a reverent hush; his face was glowing gold), "Things are only difficult because we make them that way. They can be as difficult... or as simple... as we allow them to be."

Unable to breathe, Heero waited for an age to feel and know the reaction his words would cause, all at once regretting the limitation of speech. He searched Duo's eyes for an answer, praying and hoping his point would be heard over the charade of voice and sound.

Duo tilted his head in a peculiar manner, his expression torn between thoughtfulness and relief. Without even meaning to, before he had fully understood the words in Heero's eyes, he let his hand press lightly against his companion's strong but lean chest and averted his gaze, seizing upon the window and staring fondly at the twilight sky. Understanding had been reached. Relieved, Heero turned his head to study what limited view they had of the tapestry unfurling beyond his -- their -- small suburban home. Just barely, he managed to catch the cotton-soft murmur Duo made as he finally collapsed, soap bubbles and all, against the unfaltering support of Heero's torso.

"Okay," came Duo's tentative whisper, "That's all I needed to know."

And it was then that Heero, his lips parting for a wide, grateful smile, his arms slipping around to hold Duo tight against him, realized he had said all that needed saying.