yep, someone told me to try a heero pov for 'curiosity' (gomen, don't remember who, but danke for the idea!) so here it is! this was a li'l harder, because i'm not as good with heero pov. um... C&C is muchly adored!!!


Title: Provocation
Author: chibiANGEL
Pairings: 1+2
Notes/Warnings: just followup to 'Curiosity' so. yeah. heero pov of... yeah, yeah, whatever. ^____^


He always provoked me.

I didn't know if it was because he had a death wish or simply didn't understand when he'd crossed the line... by several kilometers. And it wasn't just crazy antics; I deemed him simply incompetent in being a good pilot. I don't understand how he was picked.

Then again, he was always an enigma to me. I could tell by looking in his eyes that he understood war just as completely as I did. And yet he managed to take it lightly and make jokes. Like he passed off the war as nothing to be worried about.

He drove me crazy. I couldn't understand him and he let everyone write him off as a nobody, as a nonentity. Then, at the perfect moment, he would fly in with trails of fire, become the God of Death, and send enemies into oblivion. All with that damned smile on his face, joking and laughing.

I didn't know how to laugh. But he laughed in the face of death. I couldn't smile, but he smiled enough to make up for me.

Regardless of dangers, regardless of chance for success, regardless of anything at all, if he believed in it, he dove into it. Put his whole heart and soul into it.

All I could do was watch him, wonderingly, at how he lived his life is such a reckless manner. And I would stand with my gun, covering him as he raced into collapsing buildings, dodged soldiers, and all the while that idiot braid of his flickering in the wind.

Kami-sama, there were times I was tempted to pull it, to see if it would induce some sanity into that brain of his.

He keeps trying to dig under my skin, trying to learn as much as he can about me. And that is when I must threaten to kill him, if only to get him to stop asking such probing questions. Those questions are dangerous; nobody should know so much about anyone. But what he doesn't realize is that for so many of the questions he asks me, I have no answer. I don't remember a mother and a father, I barely remember a childhood. And because he remembers a childhood, bad though his was, I envy him.

What kind of Gundam pilot calls himself Shinigami? What kind of soldier, given the duty to protect the colonies, seems to take his job so lightly? I know underneath the facade he is just as serious as I, but there are times I begin to doubt him.

His looseness sometimes alarms me. I'm afraid he'll one day let something slip and get himself killed.

We'd lose a valuable member of out team. Idiot though he may be at times, he is valuable.

There were times I'd watch him in battle. He'd be shouting over the open link, greeting the various mobile suits, addressing them like old friends. He'd greet anyone as a friend.

But I could tell one thing. Everything he said, everything he did, was some form of a mask. There was someone underneath the Duo Maxwell he pretended to be, and who he was underneath was not who we all saw him to be. Maybe he was cheerful for our sake, but I knew that he was only breaking down inside.

There was something delicate, in a wiry, sturdy way, that stood out in his eyes. And the first time I fell into those eyes, I was completely lost.

I can wear a mask too. I can be someone unlike who I am inside. I can be cold-hearted, unemotional, and never let on how I, too, and breaking down inside. He would never know. He could never know.

But I wanted to see him smile. A real smile, I mean. Something about the smiles he gave us never met his eyes. And even in battles, as I delivered orders in clipped tones, and as he flickered across my screen with a grin, there was something sorrowful in his eyes as he surveyed the to-be-battlefield.

I realized he'd never volunteered to be Shinigami. He'd never wanted to be the God of Death. It was simply a title he'd saddled himself with, seeing the grim reality of it.

And the soldier inside of me was shattering. He was chipping away at it and I was slowly becoming frantic at the thought of being without the protective covering I'd for so long hidden behind. So to help myself, I was only more cold, more aloof, and stayed away from him. Even as I wanted to stray nearer.

We got used to each other; we had to. There were several missions we were paired together. Eventually we learned each others' living habits - although that by no means should be read as we could deal with each others' living habits - including the most important point: he wakes up with a knife. A nice switchblade, too, hidden under his pillow. The moment he's barely lucid, the knife flashes out.

I thought I could never be caught off-guard, but the first time I woke up, I ended up with said blade at my throat. I merely dismissed it - it proved him an able soldier, at least. It would suffice.

Although I'd wished he'd just open his eyes and let me drown in those pools again.

And one day I made him smile. He made me smile, and I made him smile. And this by doing the forbidden: waking him up.

He'd had little sleep within the last few days, and all lucidity had apparently gone out the door as he threw himself into bed. Nevertheless, I was forced to wake him a few hours later. Out came the knife... and several random phrases out of his mouth.

"And I fucking love you, Yuy."

I kissed him. Hard.

He provoked me.