"Light on the Stage"

Written By: Impish

Rating: R

Pairings: 1x2x1

Category: AU, Drama/Romance (but not in a "hearts and flowers" way)

Warnings: AU, some angst, things teenagers do that they're not supposed to (smoking and drinking), general reckless behavior. Additional warnings will be doled out chapter to chapter.

Summary: Two messed up kids in a small country town are drawn to each other, and together, form a brand of music from the old.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the songs used to inspire this piece. I will give a shout out to any inspirations found within.

Archives: http://www.gundam-wing-diaries.150m.com/gw/Impish/gwImpish.htm

http://www.freewebs.com/soft-sugar/impishinklingsfiction.htm
Anyone else, all you have to do is ask.

Notes: Huge apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out, and extra special thanks and love to Badmomma for the wonderful beta work, despite RL's best efforts to interfere.

"Light on the Stage"

CHAPTER 9: Cold Snap


The day was sharp and bright, and the sky intensely endless, almost as though it was further away than usual. An unexpected cold snap had greeted them that morning, and Duo was feeling the change in the weather as a horse would: practically vibrating with energy and the need to get loose and run wild. Every muscle was tense with the effort it took him to keep still, but he felt hopped up and shaky, like he'd had too much caffeine and his fingers drummed erratically on the roof of the car. The El Camino's doors were open, Duo standing on the driver's side looking at Heero, who was on the passenger's side looking at the back seat.

"Duo. Really."

"What?"

"Duo."

"I have a twenty-two in the car, so what? I have a shotgun, too, but that's never seemed to bother you before," Duo said, fingers still tapping. The cross expression of exasperation Heero sent him over the roof of the car was all he got in return. "Ok, well, an open container of alcohol is not exactly legal, either, but—"

"Duo."

"So it's getting a little crowded back there, what with the guitar and the crates of watermelons and all. I still don't see—"

"The box."

"What, you don't have a box of life-size Barbie cut-outs in your backseat?"

"If I did, they wouldn't have holes in them."

"Well, that's 'cause I used bird shot."

"That wasn't the question."

"You didn't ask a question," Duo felt the need to point out. He bounced on his heels.

"Duo."

Duo rolled his eyes. "School sucks. You were writing an in-class essay on… whatever the summer reading was, I was shooting cardboard Barbies. I feel like I've had the more rewarding day."

"Why are you shooting Barbies?"

"Found them in a dumpster behind the Toys R Us. Get this— it's even better— I now have several crates of watermelons. See, my neighbor; you know, that guy who's digging around in his backyard all the time, so I always thought he'd killed something or someone and was trying to bury the evidence—he looks pretty shady—anyway, he tried to grow these watermelons, and it didn't really work out so well. He had watermelons to get rid of, I like to shoot things and watch them blow up… all 'n all it seemed like a good deal."

Heero didn't say anything for a moment, staring at Duo's hand, which was still tapping out an unnamed beat. He flung his arm across the roof of the car, slamming his hand over Duo's to still the incessant drumming. Duo raised his eyebrows and Heero sighed.

"Duo," Heero ground out, "What are you on?"

Duo grinned brightly, giving a full-body shiver, like he was shaking off the cold. "Nothin'. It's the weather. It's got me fricken' cranked, man."

"Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine, I'm in. Let's go shoot shit." Heero sighed. The, 'anything to get you to chill the fuck out,' was well implied.

Duo's grin widened considerably. "Atta boy."

***

They drove out to find a field, taking no particular direction or hurry to get there, even if Duo did seem to take corners a few shades too fast. Duo talked most of the way, dancing from topic to topic like a colt that had just been let out in a new field, shying away from anything but light banter, just because he had too much energy in him to be able to focus on anything for a decent conversation. The third time they blew past a stop sign, Heero's glare could have shown battery acid how to do its job.

Duo grinned at him. "Those red signs? Just suggested pauses."

"Seems contradictory they put the word 'stop' on 'em, then." Heero muttered. Slouching down, he tipped his cowboy hat down over his eyes and kicked his boots up out the window, like he'd long since resigned himself to never seeing his thirties anyway.

A few miles outside of nowhere in particular, Duo pulled off into an empty field, slowing up in case of holes or banks. When they came to a fence, they stopped and got out to set up.

"Tell me this is outside city limits." Heero said, hefting a crate on one shoulder and stalking off through long grass towards the fence.

"Sure," Duo replied around the cigarette clenched in his teeth, his hands busy checking over the guns with barely-restrained impatience. The polished wood felt slick under his rough fingers, as his hands were as dry and calloused as the earth under his boots. "Least, I think so. Should be."

"Reassuring," Heero muttered and balanced a discolored, oddly shaped watermelon on a post before moving down to the next one.

Wordlessly singing "Fuga a Cavallo" from "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," Duo dropped his cigarette and snuffed it out. Rolling out his shoulders and neck, he tried to shake off the tension that had been building in his muscles all day from holding back whatever it was that wanted loose. The tune changed a bit and he whistled into the most recognizable part of the theme. Nature didn't seem too inclined toward quiet, either, and it seemed like a dozen different birds were making their presence known from every direction. He could make out a mockingbird as the closest. A smile danced on his lips.

Duo handed the rifle over to Heero when he walked back, and began loading the shotgun for himself, hands moving with practice. Duo, like most Texas boys, had always liked guns. The sound they made when you cocked them, the smell of the powder, the slow, patient squeeze of the trigger it took to get the perfect shot.

This was a twelve-gauge, which meant it didn't have a lot of kick to it. He handled it with the respect that came with growing up around guns and knowing the second you stopped being careful was the second you blew your own foot off, or worse. Still, there was an ease of movement that left out all the awkwardness he would have had if he'd been scared of what he held in his hands.

He signaled to Heero, who took care to stand well back as he checked over the rifle Duo'd handed him. Still whistling, he lifted the shotgun to his shoulder, cheek brushing against the polish. His head tilted forward as he looked down the barrel at his target. Good god, that was a busted up piece of fruit.

A loud crack broke the air and the watermelon burst with a splattering crunch, chunks flying in all directions. Whooping loudly, Duo grinned. "Goddamn. That's awesome."

At the sound of the shot, several flocks of birds broke free of the trees in startled clouds and Duo could feel something in him take off with them. Grin spread wide, he tilted his face up to the sun as he watched them, hair playing in the breeze against his skin. It wouldn't even be minutes before they redirected and settled back down.

A small smirk of appreciation was playing at Heero's lips, but he stayed quiet while Duo took out the next targets down the line, each one exploding and not leaving much behind. Heero watched as Duo reloaded, angling the gun away from him so the spent shells didn't pop up into his face as he took them out.

It wasn't until they'd stopped to set up more targets that Heero said, "Hey, listen. You need to get back to school. If you miss tomorrow you're going to get detention."

"I never get detention." Duo shrugged, unconcerned. "I always choose corporal punishment. Detention lasts a whole friggin' week, but if you get your parents to sign off on it, you can get paddled instead. Only takes up five minutes."

"That's messed up."

"That's Texas," Duo said and, having put up the last watermelon, gestured for Heero to take his turn.

Heero cocked the rifle and lifted it smoothly, taking aim and firing in a single fluid motion. The next watermelon over exploded, leaving very little behind on the fencepost. "Whatever. Point is you have to get your ass back to school."

"Sure thing, boss." Duo grinned lazily, then went back to humming "Il Tramonto."

***

It had just gotten dark when Duo got home, having left Heero off at his place. He was only there long enough to go through the stack of mail on the kitchen table, before he was striding back outside, the screen door squeaking on its hinges when it slammed behind him.

He drove alone, taking the familiar back roads to nowhere. His lungs felt tight and his muscles tense with the crescendo of energy inside him. It filled the car, hemming him in until he felt cooped up and claustrophobic, so he rolled the car windows down despite the temperature which had lowered considerably with the sun. Stars were absent in the clouded sky, the utter blackness swallowing anything of recognition, leaving only shapes and vague shades to guide him. The headlights seemed to ruin it somehow, so he turned them off and kept on in complete darkness. Gravel crunched beneath his tires, the only sound he could hear over the wind that buffeted him until his face was numb. When he felt icy and isolated down to the marrow of his bones, he pulled the car over and got out.

For a moment, he just stood there, fingers trembling so that it seemed to vibrate up his entire body. The air was cold and raw, and taking a breath was like having to tug it in by force. He breathed again, harder and deeper, until he was breathing in so deep he was dizzy from it. His body was frozen and stiff, but energy rose in him like a song and filled him with the incessant need to just get moving. He stepped forward, walked into the woods. Almost blind in the dark, the need picked at him, step by step, until he started to run.

It was slow at first, lack of sight reining him in. But the pace built until he was tripping every few steps, going faster than he should have. Branches ripped at his face and hair, but he focused only on the heavy thud of his boots on the earth, sometimes crunching over dry leaves or fallen branches. Where one sense failed, the others magnified. He could smell the world around him; the wood—cedar, oak; the greenery—leaves, grass; the musk of the animals in the dark. He could feel it around him; rocks and earth and roots beneath the leather soles of his boots; the denim and cotton pulling against his skin. The wind tore moisture from his eyes and it felt like ice streaming across his skin. His hands hurt from the cold, but he didn't care as long as his feet kept covering ground.

A real desperation fueled him, and he ran like he was chasing something. He ran like an outlaw, like he was hunted. He wished there were a destination, an end, because maybe then he'd know how to stop. Instead, he ran for miles in the hostile dark, until he had nothing left in his body to keep him moving.

The breath was gone from his lungs, the strength from his legs, and he stumbled again, shoulder meeting with the trunk of a tree, a heavy branch catching his forehead. Legs buckling, he fell to his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath. The stitch in his side was so painful he could barely manage to sit back on his haunches. He covered his face with one hand. Shoulders shaking violently with cold and something else, Duo laughed, brief and sharp.

It sounded so, so wrong against the heavy quiet.

***

Towards the end of the next week, they got a call from Quatre, who had apparently blown off something extremely boring, managed to hitch his way into Ft. Worth, was at a payphone somewhere near the Stockyards, and asked if they wanted to "play some pool or something."

Heero, who was sick of school and had been promised to be taught how to hustle, said hell yeah, and told him where to meet them.

It was a usual haunt of Duo's, narrow and long, and crammed in next to PR's and some restaurant Heero had never been to. It was dim inside, since the lighting—not great to begin with—was distorted by smoke and grime. Empty, it would have been a sorry hole-in-the-wall, but there were enough people tossing up heavy laughter and having a good time to combat the sorry state it was in. Behind the mumbled, joking banter and the sounds of games in progress, Kenny Rogers was starting up with,

"I woke up this mornin' with the sundown shinin' in
I found my mind in a brown paper bag within
I tripped on a cloud and fell-a eight miles high
I tore my mind on a jagged sky
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in."

The smell of stale beer under the film of cigarette smoke was more familiar than country-style pot roast as they made their way inside. Quatre followed behind, and while Heero didn't think he'd been to dives like this all too often, he managed not to mark himself as easy prey by looking uncomfortable or out of place.

Duo, who'd been eerily still the whole drive over, was grinning, sharp and predatory. He moved to the music, his step shifting into a swagger as he searched out an open table. Voice low, all shadow and slow burn, like good whiskey on its way down, he matched Kenny on the next verse:

"I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in
I watched myself crawlin' out as I was a-crawlin' in
I got up so tight I couldn't unwind
I saw so much I broke my mind
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in."

He was just loud enough to be heard, but not piss anyone off for ruining the mood. A couple of guys tipped their longnecks in greeting as they walked past, and Duo nodded back, looking completely in his element as he claimed a table and pulled a cue off the wall. "Always play with a hall cue, never bring one of your own. You don't want to look like a pro," he explained as they scrounged up enough quarters to get started.

"These are the basics," Duo said, and racked up. His movements were sweeping and sharp as he spoke, eyes fixed on them, dark and crackling with anticipation. They played one, easy warm-up game between the three of them, while Duo told them the most simple techniques.

And then he showed them.

"Hustling is an act, and you have to keep it up from beginning to end. If you drop it for a second, you're gonna get your ass kicked," was the first thing he'd told them. And he was certainly putting on an act, smiling and joking with the mark he'd chosen, without any hint of the hunter's glimmer that had been in his eyes.

"A lot of folks like to play like they're drunk or stupid, which is okay, but it can get you in a lot of trouble if you fuck up," he'd continued. "So you've gotta pick the right guy. He's gotta have an ego, he's gotta like to bet, and he can't be outright bad, but he can't be as good as you and preferably not as good as he thinks he is."

"Sounds like you run the risk of pissing him off if you pick him with too much ego," Quatre had said, wryly.

"You run the risk no matter what, so I hope you can handle yourself," Duo'd told him bluntly.

Quatre'd shrugged. "Well enough."

Duo's eyebrow had gone up and, for a split second, he'd looked like he really wanted to find out how well Quatre could handle himself, but he went back to what he'd been saying. "Play a few games for fun, first, and be friendly, make him want to play more."

Friendly was obviously the best way to go. Duo played like he was honestly just there to have fun, happy to play with them and grateful every time he made a good shot. He never overdid it and played poorly, but never played his best shots, either. He was so good he even got his mark to suggest the bet first. When he won, he acted relieved, even complimenting the guy.

"I really thought you had me there," Duo said, smiling. The guy laughed and suggested another go. He had such a good time, he wasn't more than disappointed to lose his money at the end, when Duo finished him off with a sick cut shot that, if Heero hadn't known better, appeared to take both of them by surprise. When Duo turned it on, it was like some sort of adorable forest creature playing dead and then leaping up and tearing its prey's throat out while it was busy blinking.

Heero leaned back against the pool table and, twisting his cue between his fingers, caught Quatre's eye as Duo started another game with another guy.

"Smoke?" he suggested. Quatre grinned and nodded and they went outside.

Before Duo, Heero'd had two categories for people: Generally Tolerate and Avoid. He wasn't sure which category Quatre fell into yet. Part of him automatically looked past the glossy rich boy façade like it was something designed to protect Quatre from the world he lived in. It made Heero think Quatre was a lot softer at heart than he wanted, or was allowed, to be. But the other part of Heero knew who Quatre reminded him of and that made him want to write Quatre off as the calculating douchebag his appearance and attitude suggested.

All of that pretty much went to hell when Quatre offered him a drink from his flask. Or, at least, Heero thought it was a flask. He wasn't sure anything quite that sparkly had the right to be called a flask.

"I'm not drinking out of that thing. It's pink."

"So?"

"So, it's pink. And I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that's glitter."

"So?"

Sneering, Heero lit up his cigarette. "So, what's it got in it, lemonade?"

"Whiskey. Stop being a pussy and drink up."

Heero frowned at him, but took the flask with his free hand, fairly certain it was going to end up sticking to him. "You are a very strange person."

"I appreciate that. Now appreciate the whiskey in my ironically pink flask."

Heero took a pull, relieved when the contents were, indeed, whiskey and handed it back. He was even more relieved when nothing pink or sparkly came off.

"Where the hell did you get that thing?" Heero asked, meaning: 'why the fuck would you want it.'

Quatre shrugged, slipping the container away in his coat. "Dorothy has a strange sense of humor."

Heero cottoned on. "She thought you'd be too embarrassed to use it."

Quatre smiled. "I'm secure in my masculinity."

"She always give you loaded gifts?"

"She wouldn't understand the point in one otherwise. Can I borrow your light?"

Heero handed it over, watching Quatre light up. "I take it back. Your whole fucking world is weird."

Quatre's mouth tightened, but he nodded, handing back the lighter. "You learn to get along when you live in it."

Heero took a long drag and tilted his head, curious. "You hate it."

Quatre's eyes were steely under the streetlights, and he said, quietly, "Yup." He took a quick puff on his cigarette and turned up his collar against the cold.

Appraising, Heero guessed, "You hate all of it, all that Southern Society bullshit. That's why you deal. That's how you say Fuck You."

"That's how I help them deal," Quatre corrected, expression unchanging. "That's how I help them get by."

"Bullshit. You're not dumb. You know you're not helping people. You know what it might do to them, down the road." Heero watched him carefully. "You point them along anyway, because you can't say no, you can't deny them what they think they need to get by."

Quatre's smile was slow. He took a swig from the flask. "I like you. We should hang out more."

Heero's eyebrow lifted. "If you say so."

"Absolutely. How'd you come up with all that?"

"I knew someone like you." Which he actually hadn't been too sure about, but it looked like Heero wasn't just projecting his own issues, after all.

Quatre cocked his head and his smile was almost sweet. "Like me?"

"You like making people happy, mostly by giving them what they want or by doing things you're not particularly fond of doing because you think you can help them. You're worse than him though, a helluva lot worse, because you're a helluva lot smarter."

"You could be right, Cowboy." Quatre laughed, wry and cold. "But in our world, anything's preferable to failure. And when you've got more money than god, addiction is easier to get out from under than disappointment."

Heero shrugged. "Maybe. But I've seen more people destroyed by their coping mechanisms than anything else."

"Coping mechanisms," Quatre repeated, shaking his head. He laughed again, sucked on the end of his cigarette and blew a thin, swirling stream of smoke away into the night. "We definitely need to hang out more."

Just then, Duo came outside, grinning, and flashed them a thick wad of cash. "What's up, punks, ready to ditch this joint?"

"Can I get a ride to the next truck stop down the highway? I can hitch from there," Quatre asked.

"No way man, we'll get you there. It's not that far, and we've nothing better to do," Duo said, waving the request off.

"And now Duo has the money to cover gas," Heero added.

Quatre grinned. "I'll cover it. Thanks."

They were halfway down the street when Duo suddenly froze and said, darkly, "What is it you want?" He glared at the hand that had suddenly appeared on his shoulder.

Heero looked back, stopping immediately. A guy he vaguely recognized from the pool hall was behind Duo, fingers firmly digging into Duo's collarbone. He wasn't either of the guys Duo'd played, hadn't even been near their table.

"Easy there, hustler," the guy said in a raspy voice with an exaggerated Southern Gentry tinge.

Duo's eyebrow inched up dangerously. "What is it you want?" he repeated, grinding out each word.

"My buddies and I," he said, shaking his thumb at the three figures behind him. "Well, we just don't think it right you played them boys back there like you did," he said, and really, Heero thought, the amount of mockery he managed to pour into that drawl was rather impressive.

"I'm sure," Duo said, still not moving an inch.

"Yes, boy, and in the spirit of neighborly co-operation," he said, enunciating each syllable in that over-done drawl, "we think you should hand that there cash on over so we can return it to them."

The predatory grin spread over Duo's lips. "Fuck you," he said, and spun around, smashing the bony heel of his hand up into the guy's jaw so hard Heero could have sworn he heard teeth snap right out of his head.

The guy dropped like lead, and Duo just went at the rest of them. One took off, back in the direction of the open bars, but the other two were fighting back. Heero moved, not bothering to play nice, and struck out sharply, catching one of them in the side of his knee with the heel of his boot; the guy went down screaming. Heero didn't stop, stomping down on his windpipe to make sure he wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

Duo got a couple of rough, quick punches in on the last guy, before he managed to get a hold of Duo's fist, twisting his arm at a painful angle. Duo growled, aiming for the inside of the guy's elbow with the hand that was still free, but never connecting, because Quatre was suddenly there, grabbing the guy's shoulder and pulling him around to meet his fist with the sickest roundhouse Heero'd ever laid eyes on.

"Fuck," Duo said, cradling his injured arm. He cocked his head at Quatre. "Guess you can handle yourself."

Quatre laughed, shortly, as one of the three men on the ground let loose a moan. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They took off down a side street toward where they'd left the car parked, all laughing a little breathlessly with adrenaline. Duo bumped into Heero, who smirked and bumped him back harder. By the time they reached the car, they were almost all-out brawling and Heero had Duo in a headlock, who was simultaneously trying to get loose and find his keys.

Heero finally let him go so he could drive, and they all piled in and headed for Dallas. The fight seemed to have quenched Duo's thirst for action, because he was all sprawled out on the driver's side like a lazy cat who'd just caught all the mice he could want, barely gripping the steering wheel with one bruised hand.

"Y'know," he drawled, "you're a decent fighter for a city boy." He grinned lazily at Quatre in the rearview mirror, who leaned forward, crossing his arms over the back of the front seat and shrugged.

Heero turned his head to look at him. "Let me guess," he said. "You don't like fighting."

Quatre's smile was wry. "You gotta back your boy's play."

***

"So," Heero started when they'd left Quatre off near his school. "Did you do that because you wanted to see what Quatre would do, or because you just wanted to get in a fight?"

"Hey, man," Duo protested, "That guy came up to me."

"Right. I saw the way you played those other guys in there. You could have talked him down; you wanted a fight."

Duo just grinned.

"Why'd you let Quatre come along, then?" Heero asked. "I thought you'd want to hustle him, if anything."

"It never hurts to have someone with money in your corner, especially if you end up needing a backer down the line." Duo smirked. "And besides… I kinda like the kid."

They stopped off back to Duo's place first, Duo saying he wanted to pick up some overnight stuff before they headed back to Heero's. Heero got out to use the bathroom after the long drive and, on his way back out, heard a muffled curse from the kitchen. He walked in, in time to see Duo punch the wall in frustration.

"Duo?"

Obviously irritated, Duo shook his fist out and stalked past Heero to the door.

"Let's go," he said.

***

Heero knew he was dreaming.

It should have been harder to tell; the scene in his mind was vividly bright, and missing the unfocused lack of detail that was usually prevalent in dreams.

He saw Duo, walking in the blazing light of the noon-high sun on a deserted, crumbling highway. He had a heavy leather bag tossed over one shoulder and a guitar case in his hand, and he was walking away, towards the smeared purple mountains that were crumpled against each other in the far distance, his braid swaying limply at his back. There were no sounds of passing cars, only the faint crunching sound of boots on baked dirt and a faint, high-pitched drone of insects hidden away in the sparse brush that had somehow managed to grow on the sides of the road.

Heero had never felt heat in a dream before, but he did now. Maybe, he thought, it was because Duo looked so hot that he felt it himself. And Duo did look overheated; sweat was trickling down the back of his neck, and his feet seemed to linger with exhaustion every time he took a step.

Suddenly, Duo stopped in his tracks and his body gave a smooth tremble. Slowly and with trepidation, he looked over his shoulder, straight at Heero.

He stared at him, long and hard, and then he dropped his bag. It slumped to the ground, defeated. Movements weary, Duo clutched the guitar case to his chest and began to run.

Heero chased him, yelled for him to stop, but he kept on, stumbling. Heero ran harder, faster, his hand almost feathering a touch to Duo's shoulder, but Duo dropped the guitar and sped away. Heero was left chasing, always chasing, but never really managing to catch him.

"Duo!" he screamed, out of breath. "Why… do you keep running?"

Duo kept running, faster and faster, until he began to shrink in the distance, but Heero heard his voice whisper, as if he weren't tired at all, as if he were right by Heero's ear, "Because… because I can’t stop."

***

"Duo?" Heero asked from the doorway. "What are you doing?"

"Writin'."

Heero rubbed hair out of his eyes, blinking and sniffling sleepily. His unbuttoned, dark blue shirt had slipped off one shoulder. "Why are you on my bathroom floor?"

"Didn't wanna wake you."

Sliding down the frame to the cold floor, Heero twisted his head around to try and read what Duo was scribbling so furiously. It was nearly impossible; words had been crossed out and erased so many times that the paper Duo wrote on was smudged black and worn all the way through in most places. The sides of his hands and his fingertips were a shiny grey as they smeared along the words he'd written, crossed out, and written in again.

"Jesus. It's seven in the morning… didn't you sleep at all?"

"M'not tired."

Heero sighed. He had learned that Duo got like this sometimes when he had an idea for some lyrics or a tune, focused on nothing else so he wouldn't lose the thread. It was usually best if he was left alone. Christ knew there was no hope of distracting him.

"I'll get us some coffee," Heero told him, standing.

He hesitated for a moment in the doorway, but Duo didn't respond. Glad his parents were out of town again, Heero trudged downstairs and went about making the coffee. The process seemed more mundane than usual. Heero poured the coffee into two mugs and didn't bother stirring anything in. He looked at the coffee maker and thought about cleaning out the filter. He didn't, and went back upstairs with the two coffees.

His hand had to be cramping up, Heero thought, setting one of the mugs next to Duo, who ignored it. Heero looked more closely, only just noticing how bloodshot and heavy Duo's eyes were. They didn't look away from the ruined scrap of paper his hand jerked across, and he was shaking slightly.

The alarm grew when he took a better look at what Duo was working on. Fuck.

"Duo… you've been at this too long. You need to take a break."

"M'fine."

"Duo, you aren't even writing words down anymore."

He reached out and touched Duo's hand lightly. Duo flinched away, leaving a broad mark across the tattered sheet. He blinked, and his eyes finally seemed to register what was on the page. Eyes fluttering, he looked confused at the gibberish scrawled in front of him. He looked up at Heero.

"Come on." Heero's hand moved to Duo's elbow as he spoke, tugging. "You need to sleep."

Numbly, Duo got to his feet, but resisted once they got to the bed.

"Wait… wait, I have to finish."

"You can finish it later, when you're actually coherent," Heero told him, frowning. Duo had never been this bad, never, and it was incredibly disturbing.

Duo pulled his elbow back, shaking his head stubbornly, muttering something convoluted Heero couldn't twist into sense.

"You'll remember if you get some sleep," Heero told him, shoving him into the bed and pulling the covers over him. Then he crawled in next to Duo and flung an arm over him, because being with Duo, even when he was like this, was better than being alone.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Fuga a Cavallo" by Ennio Morricone
"Il Buono, Il Brutto, Il Cattivo (Titoli)" by Ennio Morricone
"Il Tramonto" by Ennio Morricone
"Just Dropped In (To See What Condition My Condition Is In)" by Kenny Rogers & The First Edition

Chapter 10

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