Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters
Title: Broken Eggs
Author: Karen, The Huntress hickman@rockbridge.net
Rating: PG
Warning: mild angst, language
Pairing: 1x2
Part: 1/1 complete
Feedback: Always appreciated
Archive: http://www.angelfire.com/ab7/shadesandechoes/gwarchives/karen/karen.html

Summary: Duo thinks back on how he and Heero found their way to each other.

Broken Eggs


Duo's POV:

I broke two eggs this morning. I set them on the counter and had a lapse of attention for only a moment...SPLAT!

As I picked up the fractured shells and moped up the gooey mess peculiar thoughts fluttered around my brain but then what else is new? My mind turned back time, recalled the path that Heero and I took to be together now.

My first impression of Heero Yuy was that he was a stone-cold bastard with a heart of Gundanium and more balls that anyone I had ever known. Of course we didn't get off to a great start, after all I did shoot him but, hell, anyone can make a mistake.

The war didn't allow much time to develop friendships but Heero didn't even seem inclined to want my company. Every time I tried to engaged him in conversation especially during those boring hours spent repairing our Gundams or sitting around waiting for a mission, "Mr. Death Glare" wouldn't take the time to acknowledge my presence much less respond in a receptive manner.

Unfortunately the surest way to encourage my interest is to ignore me. I kept up the pressure; slowly I wore away his granite facade and found that we were more alike that we cared to admit.

Neither of us had a decent childhood. Heero spent his youth in the company of an assassin. While I suppose that Odin Lowe cared in his own way, he couldn't give Heero any future but becoming soldier. Later that bastard, Dr. J. completed his desensitization and successfully exorcised the last spark of his humanity.

I was a child of the streets, a gutter rat. First there was an older boy named Solo but I couldn't save him from the plague that ravished Colony L2. Then Father Maxwell and Sister Helen came into my life and I dared to believe that I had found a home but again I failed.

I was on my own with no direction until a crazy old scientist taught me how to kill. Yeah that's me...The God of Death...Satan's minion sent to avenge all the shattered spirits raped by the sense conflict called war.

But back to Heero and me. I continued to chip away at the barriers he'd built around his heart. I didn't realize it then but the every-so-carefully constructed wall wasn't to keep people out but hold his sanity in.

Heero had to be hard, had to shackle the "Perfect Soldier" or his mind would have crumbled like a sandcastle swamped by the relentless tides of death and destruction.

Finally I made a few limited inroads, only then did I discovered how much I was hurting, how much I longed for the simplest compassion of word or touch. I had also locked away my emotions but I played the jester to hide the pain. I was the shameless fool who joked around and was rewarded with hollow laugher and meaningless mirth.

We were a depressing pair. Heero couldn't express his feelings and I couldn't protect mine. I suppose it was loneliness and despair that initially caused us to seek solace in each other's bed.

The interaction was purely sexual. There was no tenderness, no mutual concern for the other's well being. Animal instincts, primitive lust and the notion that, if only for a few hours, the war could be forgotten were the driving forces.

Like a drug we needed larger doses of sex to the satisfy the cravings, to steel our nerves and give us the guts to climb back in our metal, mock human machines and fight for rights that weren't afforded to us. We were merely pawns in a grand game and the chessboard belonged to the self-important politicians and the bloodthirsty egos of military men who saw themselves as gods.

Heero and I were expendable pieces; those so easily exploited by Knights and sacrificed by Kings and Generals. We were the fodder of checkmates to be abandoned on a whim.

But the Perfect Soldier and the God of Death did the impossible...we survived the insanity. Gradually something changed. The loveless desire gave way to a strange reliance. We became allies in the battle to salvage both our hearts and our humanity. We forged a friendship, stood united against the overwhelming odds of failure and dared to commitment our souls.

Now Heero and I are life partners. We share the common conflicts of war, the inner turmoil of guilt and the remorse that will never totally go away. In each other we found strength of body, clarity of mind and redemption of our splintered spirits. We are comrades and lovers and soul mates.

Yes Heero and I have imperfections but we don't see each other's flaws. We might not be entirely whole; in fact our shells might be broken altogether. But put Heero and I together, mix in our unconditional love and we make one hell of an omelet.


Broken Eggs--Karen Hickman--February 2004