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"Green Olive"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: R Warnings: Friendship, Bromance, Underage Drinking Pairings: 1+2 Summary: Duo's had a rough day and needs to unwind,
but this time he's in the mood for some company. "Green Olive" “Ouch! Fuck! Son of a -” Duo hissed and angrily chucked the wrench across the room. The clang of steel bouncing off Deathscythe’s left chest plate was loud and did nothing to soothe his already jacked-up nerves. He stuck his throbbing finger into his mouth to ease the pain, wincing when his taste buds picked up the copper tang of blood that seeped from the small cut. “Should I come back later?” He turned at the soft-spoken, but slightly amused voice and held his injured finger up with a glare. “Dunno. Did you do this?” “No.” “Then you’re fine,” Duo spat. Unaffected by his friend’s hostility, Heero shrugged and parked his butt on the flat plane of Deathscythe’s thigh. “What’s gotten into you today?” Duo shoved the tangled mess of wires back into the Gundam’s electrical panel with more force than was necessary and picked up a screwdriver. “I don’t like it when my tools attack me,” he answered. Heero paused, considering whether pushing the envelope was going to be more trouble than it was worth. Then again, when had that ever stopped Duo? “You know your tools are inanimate objects, right? They can’t ‘attack’ you.” Duo whirled around, tensed and apparently itching for a fight. “Thank you, professor, for another dose of your infinite wisdom,” he snarked. “How would I ever survive without you?” Heero pulled one knee up to his chest and rested his arm on top of it. “Forgive my powers of observation, but you’ve nicked, cut, smashed, and banged your extremities many times and never got as agitated as you are now.” Duo stared back at him expectantly. “What's your point?” “My point is that this is unusual for you and I want to know what’s going on.” “Ah,” Duo nodded. “I get it. What, is my bad mood a threat to the mission? Worried about me losing sight of the objective because I’m emotionally compromised? Well, don’t you fret about that, Heero. I’ll be as professional as they come.” Heero’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I may not be good at communicating like you, or Quatre, but that doesn’t mean I’m an emotionless robot who only cares about the mission. I am human and I’m fully capable of worrying about the well being of my comrades for reasons that have nothing to do with the war.” He got to his feet and brushed invisible dust from his jeans. “But fine. You want to sit here feeling sorry for yourself, be my guest.” He turned to leave the hangar, intent on raiding Peacemillion’s cold storage for some sushi, followed by a refreshing power nap. Wing needed work as well, but his body needed fuel and rest first. It wasn’t exactly conducive to repair a war machine while hungry and tired. “Wait, Heero. Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He stopped and glanced back at Duo who stood with his shoulders slumped in defeat and exhaustion. “You mean that?” “Of course I do. I don’t do fake apologies. What I said was uncalled for and I really am sorry. I know you’re not a robot and I know you care about us.” He nodded once. “Thank you. Apology accepted.” Duo sighed and his dark mood finally began to lift a little. “Good. And just a heads up, this is why I keep to myself when I get into these funks. I have a hard time controlling my mouth so I avoid people. I just don’t want to end up saying something I’ll regret later.” Heero smiled. “Fair enough. By the way, you should eat and get some rest, too. You look as wiped out as I feel.” “Yeah, probably,” Duo agreed, tossing his screwdriver towards the vicinity of his toolbox, though he didn’t seem to care about his accuracy. “Come on, let’s go to the Green Olive.” Heero gave him a dubious look. “Duo, that’s the bar.” “Yeah, and?” “And we’re only seventeen, remember?” Duo scoffed and waved his hand as he jumped down from Deathscythe’s leg. “We’re also Gundam pilots who dance with Death every chance we get. You really think they’re gonna care if we have a beer, or two?” He floated past a perplexed Heero, energy renewed at the promise of chilled, golden suds. “C’mon. Don’t be such an old lady.” Not one to be outdone, Heero followed him out of the hangar and down the corridor. He’d never consumed even a drop of alcohol in his entire life and he was a little apprehensive. He simply didn’t know what to expect and uncertainty didn’t jive well with him. It tended to feel like a giant wad of tar in his belly. How much should he drink? How much was too much? Would he get drunk on a few sips and make an absolute ass of himself? Would he barf his guts out all over the bar after his first taste? “Quit thinking so loud,” Duo griped beside him. “You’re giving me a headache.” “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Shouldn’t we at least eat something first?” “Not unless you want to see how it looks half-digested,” Duo told him. “That’s if you get sick. Maybe you won’t. The trick is to take it slow. Don’t drink too much too fast, or you will get sick.” “Makes me wonder why people even do it,” Heero mused. “Because humans will actively set out to destroy themselves for just a few minutes of instant gratification.” Heero grinned at him. “I like how you admit it while we’re literally going to do just that.” Duo shrugged. “Lies never help anyone. Maybe short term, but it never ends well. Everyone knows the truth. They just refuse to cop to it.” They reached the Green Olive and Heero was impressed by Duo’s ability to stroll in like he owned the place. His own cheeks burned with embarrassment and he kept his head down to avoid the curious stares of the other patrons. “Hop on board,” Duo said, patting the barstool next to him. “What’s your poison?” “What?” “What do you want?” “Oh, uh...I don’t know. What do you recommend?” Duo slapped him on the back. “Good man. I got just the thing.” He held up two fingers at the bartender who nodded and swiped two frosty mugs from a small freezer beneath the counter. Heero lifted a brow as he watched her fill each mug from a row of taps, tipping them slightly when the foamy heads crested the tops. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve been here before?” Duo’s smile was teasing. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The bartender, a pretty young woman with a blonde pixie cut, placed the mugs on a pair of cocktail napkins and gave Duo a pointed look. For some strange reason, she reminded Heero of Quatre and he absently wondered if she was one of his friend’s umpteen sisters. Probably not. Maybe a distant cousin. God only knew how many of those Quatre had. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the seven fifty you owe me from last time, Duo.” “Yeah, yeah,” Duo grumbled, fishing a crumpled wad of bills out of his pocket. “I got you covered. You know I’m always good for it.” She gave Heero a thorough once-over though when she spoke again, it was still directed at Duo. “I see you dragged one of your copilots in here finally.” Duo smiled and raised his hands in a ‘que sera sera’ gesture. “What can I say? The jig is up.” “He’s cute,” she said, winking when Heero’s face flushed red. “Are the others as cute as he is?” “As buttons,” Duo told her, picking up his mug and taking a drink. He tipped his glass at Heero who laughed when he saw the foam mustache on his friend’s upper lip. “Bottoms up. It ain’t gonna drink itself, man.” He let out a breath and wrapped his fingers around the mug’s handle. It was still slightly cold from being in the freezer and surprisingly heavy. He lifted it to his lips, took a cautious sip, and paused a moment to see how his taste buds reacted. Hey, this isn’t half bad. “By George, I think he likes it,” Duo chuckled, watching Heero take a second, larger sip. He clinked their glasses together and smiled. “To good friends and good times.” Heero returned the grin. “To not throwing up after this.” “I’ll drink to that.”
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