[deep kick]

Title: Deep Kick
Author: Link Worshiper
Pairing: 1=2
Stuff: language, braid torture, post EW, but series at the same time (O__o), lemony, experimental POV stuff
Disclaimer: When GW and the RHCP belong to me, I'll let you know.

This one's for Sunhawk, because she's unfathomably wonderful to me. I blame the story on her, too, since she suggested I use my painful family vacation as fiction fodder. I know she probably meant for me to draw inspiration from the actual vacation and not a song I've listened to a thousand times on my iPod, but beggars can't be choosers, right?

++++

It started when we were kids - free spirits, but already tormented by our own hands. I was young when we first met, and I probably could have measured my real life experience in a thimble, but I could hear that fire crackling within him right away, even if I was still wet behind the ears. He had a purpose - a direction for himself.

And what was I? Just a useless nobody, who, for all the specialized training in the world, couldn't even get through one mission without fucking up. He'd always say I was hard on myself when we got to talking about it, but I think he was just trying to be friendly. If friendliness was even something we understood back then.

Maybe it was just something we didn't realize we had at the time. He seemed to genuinely like spending time with me when we were hiding out together, something I think counted for a lot since a lot of people seemed to think I was somewhat unapproachable. I remember how he used to sit next to me in class when we were posing as students - how odd I thought that was. I'm not sure I've made sense of it even now, but then again, who knew why Duo Maxwell did a lot of the things he did.

But it was during those months we got to impersonate normalcy that Duo made his most impressionable stamp on the memory of my youth. I don't know what it was, but I enjoyed the consistency of his presence - liked the way he made me feel. For all his gregariousness, there definitely was something subtle and unspoken about Duo's character that I found rather soothing and I clung to it desperately. I'm not sure there are words to describe it, but I definitely remember the moments that touched me most about those times - a loose string of images that reminded me I never had to be alone again. Orange and red and gold: those were the sad colours I always pictured our youth in. They were the colours of the sunset that soaked our solitary afternoons together, the colours of his hair - of our memories.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I'd asked him once. We were alone in some empty classroom in the boarding school by the sea. I think I was gruffer than I meant to be when I phrased myself, but then, I'd often found myself distracted by unpleasant things.

As usual, even though we weren't in a particular class or anything, he was situated in the desk next to mine, bent over the desktop and vandalizing the smooth wood with the tip of his pen. "You mean somewhere other than right here?" he'd responded, not looking up from his handiwork. He was dutifully carving the word 'shantih' into the lacquered surface. The mandarin sky filling the window that framed his face set him in a warm, familiar glow. I wonder if the carving is still there. I liked to think it was.

I'd been so used to people always having some kind of motivation behind their actions, it was very hard for me to accept that maybe he didn't have any. "You're wasting your time with me," I'd told him in as frank a tone as I could.

He'd just shrugged, still gorging into the desk with that pen of his. "I don't think so," he'd replied casually.

I stared at the side of his face for a long time, wondering why my missions always seemed to be his own, before returning my eyes to the chalkboard in front of me, where I'd outlined the specs for our next attack. We were supposed to be briefing ourselves, but the numbers and diagrams I'd etched on the black slate seemed a blur to my eyes, though, a smear of white streaks that were scattered like snow flurries across the board. "There's no need for both of us to take the risk," I'd said idly.

"There's really no need for either of us to take the risk," Duo had countered, pausing in his whittling to brush the thin coat of sawdust that had accumulated over his carving. Some of it still got stuck in the grooves of the letters, though, and I remember the way he'd bent low over each one, blowing softly through rounded lips to purge them. "We both know it'll only be so long before the Alliance finally gets their act together and puts the kibosh on our little terrorist romps," he went on. "Then just watch life for us spacers hit negative numbers."

"You don't really think that," I'd accused him tightly. At that point, we'd never really gotten into the hows or whys of our purposes there, but I refused to believe that his was so trite. To fight needlessly, to shed unnecessary blood - that just wasn't in his character. Even I understood that in those days.

"Look," he'd said, holding up a pair of fingers and brandishing them to me, "most guys call this a V for victory, but I take the comic book route and call it a V for vendetta. I'm not in this to win or nothin'; I just got a little score to settle with the jackasses who ruined my childhood. Call it selfish or petty or whatever the hell you want, but there it is." His words had come out bitterly and I could tell mentioning it out loud ground his nerves a little. His movements were a bit jerkier as he took to blocking out the letters in the desk more boldly before starting on a second carving of the word.

I took to staring at him again, taking note of his garishly long hair and the way his long bangs hung over his face, sometimes shadowing his eyes in the pale lighting. "At least you have a reason to fight," I'd murmured, speaking more to myself than to him. Me? I did it because I had to - because I had nothing else. I couldn't go back without a satisfying mission report; the guy who recruited J to train me wouldn't be pleased and I probably would've gotten beaten for it. Again.

I guess he'd heard me anyway, because he slapped his pen down against the desk with a jolt of passionate gusto as he snapped, "Don't undermine me, Yuy! Maybe you're into blowing shit up for fits and giggles, but my reasons are my own and you don't got a right in heaven to try and pigeonhole any of it, okay?" He snatched up the pen and rammed it forcefully down the length of one letter, gouging the wood far deeper than before. "Not everything is so simple as one neat, little number," he'd groused under his breath as he did so.

Silently, I agreed; the complexities of it weren't something I was going to even pretend I understood. Still, I really admired that drive of his. He didn't do things because he was obligated to or because he felt moved by a sense of duty, but rather acted because his emotions compelled him to. A long time ago, I once wished I could have a purpose like that. Then, I think part of me still did. I wanted that passion in my life - that sense that what I was doing meant something to somebody. I'd wished I'd known how to express all that to him, but it was something I wasn't sure I could explain properly, even now. Another failed mission, it would seem. Instead, I found myself saying lamely, "I don't think you're just a number."

That earned me a startled glance. He was looking at me as if I was a stranger who'd just walked in on him unexpectedly, but it was a stranger he didn't seem to be afraid of. His eyes softened and his brow became more relaxed, his rigid lips turning up into the faintest hint of a smile. "I knew you were sweet," he said with the strangest, most ambiguous gleam in his eye - a comment that, to this day, I still haven't deciphered. "I knew it right away, right from the moment I caught that sad look in your eye the first time I saw you try to blow yourself up." He scooted back in his chair, reaching between his legs to lift it and turn it more in my direction. "That's when I realized I wanted to know you better - that I wanted to be your friend."

I'd been so confused then, unsure of what to think or feel. No one had ever said something like that to me before, and the concept was alien. "Because of my eyes?" I'd queried, stumbling idiotically over the words.

He said nothing and returned to his carving, which, by this point, had just become a tedious distraction to keep his idle hands busy; he had begun to score the word into the wood a third time. I could see the faint tracings of a smirk on his lips. There was that subtle, unspoken thing again - the thing that warmed me with comfort when he shared a little scrap of it with me. I think that's why I was willing to trust him, even before I really knew all that much about him. Another indescribable moment of my life, I suppose, but I felt like with Duo near, the impossible was possible. I don't know why I felt like that. Maybe it was because I'd never had much of anything before - much less a friend.

I suppose it was those thoughts that drove me to say what I did next. "Do you really see no future after all of this?" I'd asked curiously, thinking again about our previous conversation. "Aren't we supposed to forge a new world with Operation M?"

Again, he paused in his carving, lifting his hands to stare at them as if he'd never seen them before. "With these?" He blinked ponderously at them, shaking them a little as if to test that they were really attached to his arms. "I can't create a damn thing with these," he'd continued with a twang of sarcasm. "All I do is fuck shit up."

I looked down at my hands too, shaking them in a similar manner to the way he had. "Me too," I murmured, recalling my first mission and what a disaster it had been. "Maybe you're right."

I turned my head towards him to find him regarding me with that strange glimmer in his eye again. "I don't know; I could be wrong, too. I've been wrong lots before," he'd drawled thoughtfully, his gaze pinning mine meaningfully. It was like he was seeing something on my face that I obviously couldn't. I recall trying to subversively find whatever it was in my reflection, which was mirrored in the window glass behind his head, but saw only my sad eyes blinking back. I really was a mess, I thought; I couldn't imagine why J ever thought I was ready for this.

"I just have a feeling about you, is all," he'd gone on, capturing my attention again. He was still watching me, now leaning casually on one hand, his elbow propped up on his desk. "There's something good about you - something that runs deep." He had that damn, ambiguous expression riding his features again. "You don't falter," he'd declared like he knew better than I did. "I like it."

Warmth toasted my cheeks as my shoulders drooped a little, overcome with the feeling that I'd do nothing but disappoint him. "That's only because I haven't got anything in my life worth stumbling over," I'd assured him with a grave shake of my head. "I'm only trying to survive. That's hardly what you're talking about."

He seemed unperturbed by my words, waving them off with a casual flick of one hand. "Who isn't?" he'd said, shrugging. "Nah, I can tell there's more to you than just that. Like I told you, it's in your eyes."

That had me furrowing my brow in confusion as I tried to make sense of what he'd said. "What is it that you're so sure you see there?" I'd demanded to know, now feeling a bit frustrated that I didn't understand what he was alluding to.

"Myself," he'd replied casually, almost as if it was obvious. I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

I ran a hand through my hair nervously, feeling self-conscious for some reason. "They're just blue," I'd protested meekly, still trying to figure out what he thought made me... special. "They're not that extraordinary."

I won't ever forget the way Duo perked at that, like an indignant feline. "They're unforgettable," he'd breathed, sounding almost awed by the weight of his admission. "Just like you are." That last bit had been whispered so softly, I'm still not sure if I'd heard him wrong or not. I hadn't really been used to the idea of someone actually giving a damn about me, I guess. I'd never realized the value of a friend before.

"I'm not sure I comprehend," I'd admitted, balling my hands in my lap and staring down at them. I suppose I was still afraid to accept his sincerity at face value. After growing up under the care of a man like J, and then meeting that Darlian girl, I just wasn't used to the concept that people didn't always want something out of you when they associated with you.

"You're not just an everyday on the block," Duo had responded wryly, still smirking at me like he knew something I didn't. "You'll pick it up... eventually."

I unfurled my hands and stared down at them as they lay on top of my thighs, naturally curling upwards like shallow bowls. These hands that had touched and ruined so many things - did he really think that they'd be able to do any good? I looked up at him, my lips parted in an unspoken question. My eyes seared with uncertainty.

Duo's lips tweaked up into his knowing smile again. "You really are sweet," he'd said again, sounding almost as if he enjoyed inflicting such confusion upon me. He leaned forward, inching his chair closer to mine as if he meant to impart a great secret to me. I remember the heat of his breath as he brought his lips conspiratorially close to my ear, even though there was no one around to hear him anyway, and said, "That's what sets you apart, you know."

Something then brushed the palms of my hands and I'd quickly realized that he was stroking them in a comforting manner. Of their own accord, they'd bent around his, holding them in place and reveling in the clammy touch of his palms. I thought about all the terrible things J had molded into my hands and hardly believed that those same appendages were capable of such serenity. It was then that I was struck with a mind-altering epiphany, and I knew then that though I may not have chosen my hands, they were still mine to do what I would with. My future belonged to no one but me.

++++

I had to sit down, I was laughing so hard. Fortunately, we happened to just be passing by a little cafˇ area, where I collapsed into one of the metal chairs to regain my composure. "Oh, God, Heero, that was awesome," I bellyached, throwing myself over the tabletop and sobbing out more helpless chuckles. "Did you see the looks on their faces?"

"I did," he assented. I heard the scrape of the chair against the floor as he sat down opposite me. "I somehow don't think they found it quite as funny as you did." He was warily glancing around the terminal as if he was worried one of the people from the film crew we'd just toppled would pop up suddenly. We hadn't meant to, really; that's what they get for filming a movie in the middle of England's most crowded airport. I just hope we didn't break anything too bad, like a camera lens or something.

It had been almost three weeks since that night in front of Heero's L1 apartment, the place where we'd started our quest for what I'd come to call the deep kick - you know, that something that really gets your juices flowing, makes getting up in the morning worth it and all. Preventers duty hadn't been hacking it, and both of us knew it had only been a countdown to when we'd both get fed up enough to just leave. Which was what we did. Granted, there were probably less abrupt ways to have gone about it, but it had gotten to a point where neither of us could stand it long enough to even go through the formal resignation process. We had to get out, and we had to get out fast. So when I mentioned to Heero I was hopping a shuttle to earth that night, he was quick to get on board with me. We didn't worry about them trying to find us; we both knew how to drop off the map if we felt so inclined.

"Do you think they're pissed?" I wondered, folding my arms on the table and leaning heavily on them. Heero's eyes were still darting around the terminal in a way that acutely reminded me of the guarded way he used to act during the wars. I guess some habits really do die hard, as they say.

Heero stopped his surveillance abruptly and glared at me sharply. He didn't have to clarify who 'they' were. "Are you joking?" he asked, brushing his fingers through his blond bangs, which had since settled down to a more muted golden tone. The colour faded under the black pair of shades cushioned in Heero's thick hair. "Une has probably enlisted a group of agents to seek us out and string us up, while Noin and Wufei are taking turns throwing darts at our photos on the wall." He leaned casually back in his chair, weaving his fingers together across his stomach comfortably. "So yes, I think they might be. In fact," he went on, "'pissed' might not even be a strong enough word to cover just what's going on up there. I would venture to say they're livid, on a murderous rampage, seeing red -"

"Okay, okay, enough with the theatrics; I get it," I said, waving him off with a back and forth swipe of my hand, though I was still chuckling a little. "So we basically fucked them over. Big deal."

Heero shrugged in response. "They'll give up eventually," he said in a trivial tone. "Two AWOL agents aren't worth that much manpower, and even Une knows that if we don't want her to find us, she won't."

I was nodding, my mouth hanging open stupidly as I twisted a finger around one shaggy lock of hair. I wore it back in a half ponytail nowadays, kind of like the surfers I'd seen in the movies. "It's this, isn't it?" I said, referring to the changes in our appearance. I have to admit, there were times I sort of missed the braid - times I forgot it wasn't there anymore - but truth be told, I was kind of getting used to it. It kind of felt like I'd been caged up in one room all my life and had finally been let out, but had no idea where to run with my new liberation. I'm glad that Heero had been the one to free me of my old burdens. Really, I'm not sure I would have trusted anyone else to do it - even myself. I probably wouldn't have even known how, anyway.

Heero looked smug, arching an eyebrow as he moved to cross his arms, resettling in the chair a bit. "Well, it's probably not helping them out, that's for sure," he said with another noncommittal toss of his shoulders. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and chewed it for a moment, a habit of Heero's I thought was particularly demonstrative of how young at heart he still was. Then he leaned forward onto the table, reaching towards me with a tentative set of fingers. "I still think it looks good," he stated as his fingers neared my face, straining to brush some of my wayward hair out of my eyes.

I recoiled a little, mostly because I hadn't expected him to try and touch me like that. I felt bad when I saw him quickly retract his hand, almost as if I'd breathed fire on it. "You're probably glad it's gone," I said a bit morosely, hoping I hadn't upset him or anything.

Heero straightened, looking rather indignant. "No!" he said in an insisting tone, his head swiveling back and forth adamantly. "I lov-" He quickly cut himself off and clammed up, much to my frustration. A vain part of me kind of wanted to know what Heero Yuy thought about my appearance. I mean, before.

When he didn't say anything else on the matter though, I let it slide with a loud huff and moved on. Like I said, if Heero wanted me to know, he'd be frank with me when he was good and ready. I respected him enough to allow him that space. "But you have to admit it's been rockin' since we blew that popsicle stand, you know?" I said with a lopsided grin. "It's been really fun just wandering around like this...."

"With you," Heero added, his own way of showing that he completely agreed. He got a little cross-eyed after he spoke, though, quick to amend himself as if he didn't think I'd understand his meaning. "That is to say, I'm not sure I'd have been able to do it alone," he stammered in a rare show of unsteadiness. "And I'm glad you're the one I ended up going with. It wouldn't have been the same any other way."

I stared across the table at him with a sort of spooked expression on my face, not quite sure what to make of that. "What else are best friends for?" I asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

The sigh he let out was sodden with a lot of things I couldn't name, so I didn't try to think about it too hard. He sat back in his chair, twiddling his bangs and staring off at something behind my head. I twisted around in my seat to see what was so interesting but found only the constant stream of travelers milling around the terminal - nothing special. Maybe I just couldn't see what he saw.

My search was cut off with a question from Heero. "When's our flight?" he wanted to know.

I turned around again, blinking incredulously at him. "In a half hour or so, Gate A-12," I told him, although I wasn't entirely convinced that he didn't already know that. I think he was just trying to make idle chitchat, probably more for his own benefit than mine. He'd probably been thinking about something he'd rather not and was in need of the distraction. Luckily, distraction was what I did best. Leaning heavily on one hand, I blew out a loud breath of air and said thoughtfully, "You know, I've been thinking...."

That caught his attention, and his heavy expression immediately became more bemused. "Really, now," he responded, sounding indulgent. "A dangerous pastime."

"No, seriously," I insisted, getting a bit more animated at what I wanted to say. It actually was something that had been sitting at the back of my mind for a little bit, but ever since this adventure with Heero had gotten underway, it had grown from a nagging whim to a strong desire. "I've been thinking I want a tattoo," I finally let out in a gust of excitement, a large grin spread out from ear to ear. "Right back here, between my shoulder blades," I continued, ignoring the way his mouth fell open in surprise and winding around in my seat so I could indicate where I meant with a pointed finger. "Something to commemorate us busting out of Club Boring and getting onto the train to Purpose - something that'll make me think of you and the time we've spent together."

His face went through a gradual transformation over the course of my rather unexpected admission. I think he'd been preparing to rebut me with some comment about how he thought a tattoo was another frivolous, superficial thing like my hair had once been, but I think that last part threw him for a bit of a loop, because what he ended up saying was, "Something that reminds you of me?"

"Yeah, yeah," I nodded enthusiastically, his reactions whooshing by me in a blur as I got more excited. Talking out loud about the tattoo was a whole lot different from just thinking about it and I just couldn't help but be enthused. "Because you're my wingman on this one, just like in the old days with the Gundams. You got my back and I got yours." My hand was cutting the space between us, back and forth to gesture to us both, again and again.

"You don't feel like that right now, do you?" he asked, his brow flexed as if he was trying to decide if he liked the idea or not. "You said we were young and hopeless back then."

"Youth is completely wasted on the young," I shrugged, not about to deny that. "Still, at least then, I felt like I was trying to find meaning for myself, too," I pointed out, lifting a finger and wagging it somewhere near my temple. "I got up every day and felt like I had something to prove - something to make me better than I was the day before. Couldn't quite say the same until a few weeks ago."

He was staring at me oddly, overtaken with this strange, unreadable expression that was completely unique to him. "Because of me," he reiterated flatly, a disbelieving hint to his tone.

I cocked my head at him, a little put off by his reluctance to believe what I said. Whenever I got like this about him, he always acted like he didn't understand why I'd feel that way, like he didn't deserve it or some such nonsense. "Yeah, you," I said with an easy roll of my shoulders, still peering at him sideways. "You're my best friend and I can't tell you how lucky and proud and honoured I am to be able to say that. Some people go their whole lives and never get a best friend and here, I've got the smartest, most talented, passionate guy to ever hop a colony as mine." I grabbed the edge of the little table and bent in close, leaning over it so my forehead was just short of rubbing up against his bangs. "My life wouldn't be worth getting up for if I had never met you, Mr. Heero Yuy."

With my proximity, I could hear the flutter of his breath as it quivered through his parted lips. I leaned back to see Heero staring back at me with wet eyes, his long, unruly bangs not doing much to hide the swell of emotion there. I don't know why he got so chocked up over that; I mean, it's not like he doesn't already know how important he is to me. Bunching my smile on one side of my face, I breached the gap between us again with one extended arm, lifting one soft tuft of blond hair out of his eyes and smoothing it over the dark brown locks that fell over the top of his head in a shaggy mess. He seemed like a shaking kitten beneath my hand and I had this urge to scratch him behind the ear to comfort him. "I can only hope I've been as good a friend to you as you've been to me," I said, hoping my sincerity shone through as I slid my hand through his hair and let his bangs flop back over his face.

His eyelids looked heavy, his lips parted like he was on the brink of saying a thousand things he didn't have the words for. I found myself wondering what sorts of things left Heero Yuy tongue-tied - if they were things he would ever talk to me about if he knew how to say them. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, meditating for a bit, probably in an effort to regain his usual composure. And in typical Heero form, the words that came out of his mouth next didn't fail to throw me for a loop. "If you do end up getting that tattoo, then maybe I'll get one too. So I can always keep you nearby as well," he said, his lips slowly spreading into that familiar smirk of his. It was a childishly mischievous shape, but I liked the way it became his features.

A wide grin split my lips again. I really had to stop being surprised when he said things like that. That wildcard facet of Heero's character was part of what I really liked about him. "Yeah? You don't think it'll make us stand out too much?" I teased, nudging him under the table with one foot. I could feel him shifting his legs awkwardly to avoid any further shenanigans.

"We already do. Might as well go for the kill," he said, referring to my clothes with a nod. I was wearing a white shirt with horizontal, black stripes, but the front had since been splattered with red paint since I'd picked it up in San Fran. The black jeans I was wearing had worn a huge hole in one knee, and though I still had the steel-toed boots I'd started out with, all the walking we've been doing was starting to wear those suckers a bit thin too. Heero wasn't in much better condition.

I shook my head incredulously at him. "Sometimes, man, even I can't make sense of you," I replied to his enquiring stare. I balanced my chin on the heel of my hand again, leaning my elbow on one arm of my chair. "You know, you don't have to do it just to make me feel better," I assured him after a moment or two of just watching him. I didn't want him to feel like he had to get a tattoo just to appease me. "Don't think I'm forcing you or anything, is all I'm saying. Tattoos are a bit more permanent than a dye job, you know."

Heero rolled his eyes hopelessly. "You know I'd never agree to something if I didn't have the intention to follow through," he reminded me - not that I really needed a reminder. He reached over his shoulder to point between his shoulder blades, saying, "You've got my back and I've got yours, remember? We're in this together."

I eyed him thoughtfully for a few moments, just mulling over the weight of what he'd just said, all the while knowing that his words were the answer to my previous curiosity about his value of our friendship. Then, a deep laugh shook my body like a roll of thunder and I cracked one of my biggest grins at him, saying, "I guess we always were, weren't we?"

I found him staring back at me with that same, ambiguous expression of his, like he could see right down to the very core of my soul when he looked into my eyes. The dark blue of his irises was rich, molten like the blue at the heart of a flame, and I could feel that heat touching me just with a simple look. I wondered if he was aware that the comfort of that warmth was what gave me the confidence to press on with this wild escapade of ours. He probably didn't; it was just his way to be blissfully unaware of some things, I suppose.

His lips were moving, but I wasn't sure if I'd missed something he'd said. "I'll stay with you until the end," came the sound of his purring, deep voice. "That's why I'm here at all." He toyed with his hair again, the nervous habit especially endearing to me because I did the same thing. "I know this is important to you. I want to be by your side while you try to find whatever it is that gives your life meaning." He hesitated for a few seconds, dropping his intensely blue stare down to his lap, his fingers still twiddling a lock of bleached hair between them. "Maybe, if I'm patient, I'll be able to finally grasp that, too."

My ears perked up at that, and I suddenly reached across the table to grab his hands in my own as I shook them to and fro with excitement. "Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about!" I enthused, bobbing my head up and down, my hair fluffing around my face as I did so. "That's why we've gotta go wherever we can and do everything we can do 'til we can laugh in the face of mortality and not even care because life is just that good! We'll find it, bro - you and me, 'til death do we part!"

He let me jerk his hands around, but there was a smile alighting his face. "Yeah," he murmured so softly, he almost didn't speak it at all. His fingers clamped around mine, stilling my erratic movements with a grip that was so tight, I thought he wanted to hold on to me forever. "You and me, to the end."

++++

TBC

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