Sleepless Nights
Part 2
by Jade Black
The next day, I woke up to an empty bed. The sheets were wrinkled and mashed
down, and imprint prominent in the pillow- but Heero wasn’t there. The harsh
yet welcoming aroma of fresh coffee wafted up from downstairs- and I heard
the light pad of Japanese feet as they made their way up the stairs- I
suddenly knew what my lover was up to.
The door, which had been previously left ajar, was gently pushed open- and
Heero backed open the door, carrying a tray full of wonderful smelling
oddments. “You’re awake,” he commented as he crossed the room to slip back
under the sheets. I looked down at the tray- a pot of coffee and two mugs, a
selection of croissants and a couple of plain bagels. I waited for him to
settle- then poured and handed him a mug of steaming coffee. He took it
eagerly, a rare smile crossing his face, and took a sip to wake himself. I
could understand why he needed it. After last night’s activities, I was
knackered- and I hadn’t even been the one doing the most work… somehow,
though, I didn’t think I’d be sitting down comfortably for a while…
I decided to fore-go the coffee, having found out the hard way that anything
made by Heero probably tasted something like engine oil, and instead took
one of the warm croissants- knowing he had probably run out and got them
fresh from the little bakery across the street. Hm, it wasn’t bad.
I looked up from my little feast and found that my eyes immediately met deep
cobalt. “D’you have a story to work on?” I said through a mouthful of the
sweet bread.
Heero put down the mug of coffee, and took one of the two bagels. “A big
entertainment studio is suing an author who published a story on the
internet that featured two of the male characters in one of the studio’s
shows in romantic intercourse- I’m covering the case for The Times.”
“Oh,” I said. I guess that meant Heero would be holed-up in his office in
the attic all day. I’d probably only see him for lunch… then again, perhaps
I could coax him down a little earlier… but it would take all of my charm
and trademark charisma to drag Heero Yuy away from his work.
“I’m going to be out all day- I probably won’t be back until at least ten
tonight- I’ll try to be home earlier, though.” Ah, that explained the
breakfast in bed and the super shag-fest last night- he was trying to make
up for his absence today. Well, I guess it was my fault anyway, so I
shouldn’t even try moping about it- he wouldn’t have even ended up as a
journalist if it wasn’t for me.
Straight after the war, he vowed to protect Relena… however, he found that
he couldn’t stand the blonde harpie for all that long- and moved instead to
join the Preventers along with Wufei. He moved in with me about a year after
he joined, and he often left me alone to go on missions. One night, I quite
absently told him how much I worried about him when he was out there
shooting bad guys.
He came home the next day, Preventers jacket slung over on shoulder, and
said he’d quit.
At the time I couldn’t believe that he would actually just up and quit a job
that he was so locked onto when I even expressed the tiniest but of
discomfort about it- but then he told me that he was planning on becoming a
journalist instead… and then I got more that just a little worried. I mean,
we all know how good Heero Yuy is with words- his vocabulary pretty much
stretches from “Hn,” to “Omae o koruso.” Okay, since I’d met him, I’d
managed to get a few more words out of him (such as “Hai!” “Fuck!” and other
expletives used in a, er… sexual manner), but I wasn’t sure that was enough
to make up even a paragraph of a newspaper or magazine report. He explained
to me that, whatever he was doing, he wanted to be helping people to see the
truth… and I could whole-heartedly understand that- I just wasn’t sure that
his abilities lied in journalism… I didn’t think writers usually carried
guns. As a test of his skills, I got him to write me an article on the
quality of the local McDonalds, and I read through it for him and- shit! It
was brilliant. Really, what he can’t say in words, he can truly write… it
just goes to show you how wrong you can be- especially in Heero’s case.
Anyway, after all that, and he became a professional freelance writer-
working out of our attic- he had my full support.
I did see him during the day- since I still working for Hilde at the scrap
yard… there’s something about engines and taking them apart that could still
get to me, even after all these years of working on them. Anyway, the scrap
yard was only about a five-minute walk away- so I could come back whenever I
wanted and… distract Heero from his work. Ah, yes, good memories. I guess
that today I probably wouldn’t see him at all… of course; I was always
prepared to wait up for him.
I took another croissant. I guessed all the five of the rolled French treats
were for me, and the two bagels were for him. I really was beginning to hope
there was some orange juice left in the fridge downstairs- I wasn’t going to
be able to handle the coffee. “What are you planning to do today?” he said,
taking another large gulp of his coffee.
“The usual. There’s this really old Mustang from like… centuries ago, that
got dragged in yesterday. It’s just begging to suffer the wrath of the
Shinigami.” He smiled at me. “I’ll have my mobile on if you want to ring me-
you know all the numbers.”
“I might do. I might be kind of busy.”
“Mmm…”
---
Ah, yes. The scrap heap. Uncountable tons of mangled metal, piled
precariously on top of each other- reflecting the morning sun- is there
anything more beautiful? I’d only ever once climbed right to the top of it,
and Hilde took a photo of me looking like the ruler of the mountain,
surveying his kingdom- but after the work it took me, I had decided not to
do it again without taking lunch with me. It was an even more beautiful
sight from the top, though. It wasn’t the highest structure in the area,
certainly not, but there was still a brilliant view of all the little
streets in the area- and you could see directly into the window of our
houses’ attic from there, as well. Sometimes I wonder if Heero had seen me.
But, there wasn’t any time to sit around and admire it today- I had work to
do, after all. I’d said “Hi,” to Hilde when I walked in, but I had a
mission- and that mission was a Mustang. I’d heard of these beautiful cars,
but I had never actually had the privilege of seen one. They truly where a
work of art, there’s nothing quite like an antique car. And this kind was so
hard to get hold of it was almost like having Deathscythe back. Almost. The
car was pretty mangled, though, there was a dent the size of Antarctica in
the hood, and the paint had been scratched off in a million places, so there
were only very scattered patches of rusty red remaining. It had been keyed
repeatedly along one side, and the headlights had been smashed. I guessed
some kids had seen it in a parking lot somewhere, got jealous of such a
gorgeous car, and decided to wreck it so no one else could enjoy it. I
almost remembered when I had been like that. I certainly knew a lot of other
people like that. Solo for one.
I could only half remember Solo, I had been so young it seemed almost
insignificant to me… however, he still seemed to me like a brother and a
father and a mother to me all rolled into one. He was the one who had picked
me up off the streets straight after my parents died, and there was nothing
I wanted more than to thank him for that- and to see him alive again. Hell,
I couldn’t remember my parents at all- I couldn’t even remember my own name-
so he had renamed me to be Duo. Then he had taken me back to the Maxwell
orphanage, and I gained my surname. I couldn’t believe my luck- there was
free food and shelter… it was like he was an angel or something.
---
I wandered through the streets with no idea of my destination. It was fast
growing dark, although I had no way of knowing the time. The streetlights
had been switched on long ago, and every so often, I passed under one- but
the light had no warmth to it. I was frozen- dressed in only a thin and worn
blue t-shirt and jeans. My hair hung loosely, the ends tickling the back of
my neck as I slowly moved about. I knew I should be looking for somewhere to
shelter, but I didn’t want to stop. I just wanted to run away from it all.
My eyelids were drooping heavily as I walked out onto one of the main
streets- all the shops having closed hours ago. My footsteps grew slow and
heavy, just as a fat droplet of water hit my nose. I looked up at the
darkened skies as the first breaks of what promised to be a mother of a
storm began to fall. By the time I was halfway down the road, I was soaked
to the bone. I noticed a gap between crates between two stores, and crouched
down on the floor, crawling into the gap and moving one of the crate lids so
that it provided a roof over my head. I hugged my knees and my teeth
chattered, I was shivering so much I couldn’t see straight. Me feet felt
like they were made of ice, and the numb feeling was slowly spreading up my
legs. I felt dead.
I rested my head on my knees, feeling tears dripping down my cheeks along
with the raindrops, and wished that it would all just finish- that I could
go home or die… either way I’d be happy- but not with torture like this…
The rain fell ceaselessly around me, pounding on the plastic crate lid that
shielded me from the worst of the downpour. It was like I was being
surrounded be people trying to get into my head- fists banging on my skull
and making the sound resonate around me, along with the steady drip
somewhere next to me, and the random pattern of droplets as they hit the
sidewalk and the road. Every now and then a car went past, sending up a
spray of water in its wake, but other than that there was no light. There
was no one here to find me… I wished I could just slip away into oblivion.
There was no point in prolonging it all.
As I started sobbing into my already wet knees, I didn’t even register the
wet slap of shoes against concrete. There were footsteps hurriedly rushing
closer and closer… I looked up, and saw them pass by- though not whom they
belonged to. They passed, without even noticing me. Just like everything
else. But, then, the footsteps stopped- and all I could hear was the rain
again. Slowly, the feet padded back. I watched as they stopped just in my
line of sight- a pair of scuffed white sneakers, laces done up loosely,
hanging apart from a pair of faded and torn jeans. I couldn’t see any more
of the person- but then the knees bent, and I saw more. A dark green anorak
hanging loose and lopsided off a boy’s shoulders, a couple of sizes too big
for him- and then a worried face, blonde hair hanging down in his eyes like
little curtains- plastered to his forehead by the rain.
He knelt down and looked in at me, a little puzzled, as tears ran down my
cheeks and my hair knotted around me. I stared out at him from between my
knees. “Watcha doin’ down here, kid?” he asked me, his voice laden with a
heavy tone that spoke only of life on the streets. I could do nothing but
sniffle in reply. “What’s ya name?” I just looked up at him. “I’m talkin’ to
ya, kid! What’s ya name?” He reached out an arm to grab mine; his hand was
warm. “C’mon, come with me. I know some place ya can go.”
He dragged me through the streets with him, I lost track of the way, I was
so tired. I vaguely remember being dragged up to some big house, but I think
I passed out soon after.
|