My Ride Home

Summary: Duo returns from a rough undercover assignment that brings up some really harsh memories. Though they aren’t as close as any of the other pilots, Duo depends on Trowa to calm him upon his homecoming.

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The sound of his phone jolted Trowa awake. As he scrambled to reach for it, he realized two things: one, it was really early, his internal clock telling him he needed several more hours, and two, he had only been back on earth a few hours, only a select few people could know he would answer the land line.

The clock showed 3:36 a.m. in bright green numbers as he answered. “Yeah.” His voice was deep and scratchy from disuse.

“Can you come pick me up? I’m at the shuttle port.” It was Maxwell.

“What’s your gate number?” Trowa’s mind was still a bit slow, but it kicked in as he registered the situation.

“Its 2380; thanks, man.” He sounded tired.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He threw the covers back and pulled himself out of bed.

“Thanks again.”

Trowa threw on a pair of jeans, tucked his wallet and cell phone in the pockets, grabbed some shoes, a shirt, and his keys, and then headed out the door.

This had happened before. Once, three years ago, Maxwell woke him in much the same manner with the same request. And, similar to the last time, it was within a one to two day span of when Trowa arrived dirtside.

The first time, Trowa was completely caught off guard by the request. He went to pick him up with no complaints, but the situation left him confused.

Trowa was the last person to expect a call from Duo. They were fighting for the same cause years ago during the wars, but that didn’t make them friends. 02 and 03 had so little contact between the war times that Trowa didn’t really even talk to the Deathscythe pilot until they were both at Preventers.

All of the gundam pilots were involved with the organization. Winner was least involved of them all, secretly being called in as needed and being eyes and ears in the political circles that someone as powerful as the W.E.I. C.E.O. can travel in.

01 and 05 were permanent fixtures almost immediately after the fall of Mariemaia. 02 and 03 had tried normal life, well, as ‘normal’ as a circus performer can be in Trowa’s case. He wasn’t sure why Maxwell’s attempt hadn’t worked out but by summer of A.C. 197, Duo had joined up, too.

Trowa was a special case; he did freelance with the Preventers. He wasn’t quite willing to completely give up the circus, or the life of a soldier. Both had their draws, and he didn’t want to choose one over the other; turns out he didn’t have to. Because of that he was scheduled every other year in the circus then a year with Preventers, on again off again.

If the organization really needed his talents, they would call him in no matter the timeframe, but it was rare for that to happen.

He had just made the switch; between seasons at the circus, he was now on earth and was planning to runs errands, stock the fridge, run laundry tomorrow, and then hit the office first thing Saturday morning. Weekends were less crowded and worked better to get caught up and briefed on any upcoming assignments or training courses to be led.

Trowa hadn’t been to the office or published his flight number, so how Maxwell knew he was home…

And why him?

Maxwell seemed closest to Quatre and after him, Heero. Heero was terran-bound as well, so was Wufei, whom Maxwell spent quite a bit of time with in the hallways.

But Duo had called him, and he couldn’t let it go. It didn’t make sense. In the following days after that first call, Trowa did some research. He knew how to hack into Heero’s firewall at Preventers. It was pre-arranged. That was how he kept up communications with the high security enforcement sector despite the difficult to secure vid-links.

Heero had shown him a back way in, and Trowa would access an encrypted file set up to hold information he needed to know. The acrobat would then encrypt a response, if needed, and upload it to the system.

Since he knew a way in, he just found info on Maxwell’s current assignments. It turned out he had just wrapped up a deep cover assignment with a nasty prostitution and drug smuggling ring. He had been assigned to infiltrate as a low-level enforcer and move through the ranks until he could find proof of all the drug distributors.

Maybe he called Trowa because he was afraid he was being watched and the clown was a more anonymous face within the Preventers. No, he wouldn’t have been worried about his ability to lose a tail.

But Heero and Wufei would know about his assignment, maybe were even his contact. They might want details, reports; Trowa wouldn’t have even known what to ask. Definitely a possibility.

But if Duo didn’t want to talk about it, the independent pilot would have just called a cab…so, no.

The pieces fell together over the days following that call. The only explanation Trowa could come up with was that Maxwell wanted company, someone he could trust, but also someone who wouldn’t press the issue.

He wasn’t sure of it by any means, but it made sense on many levels because Duo looked absolutely haggard when he had picked him up that first time. He gave a grateful smile but otherwise said little to nothing on the ride home.

And he never mentioned it within the Preventers HQ, like he didn’t want it known.

Trowa was the least talkative of the five, if it was secrecy Duo wanted, 03 was a good choice because he usually said nothing unless addressed, or unless he was playing a role within an infiltration situation.

Plus, Trowa knew how hard long cover assignments could be. It was his main role within the agency. When he was on circus time, they usually sent Maxwell, since oftentimes stealth and infiltration went hand in hand.

Sometimes you just need to know you’re surrounded by someone you know you’re safe with, someone to just sit in silence and let you absorb their presence. Trowa had long since gotten over the need, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t indulge if he had someone who understood.

Maybe he did now.

Duo was waiting just inside the glass doors as Trowa pulled up to the ‘arrivals/departures’ lane for the series of terminals in which Maxwell’s shuttle was grouped.

He was disheveled, hair untidy and clothes wrinkled. There were dark circles under his eyes and a lot of tension in his neck and shoulders. He threw his duffle in the back and climbed in with a tired, but grateful, smile.

They drove most of the way in silence, only road noise in the background. Maybe, probably, that’s what he wanted, but Trowa had to say something. “Duo.”

He gave no hint of acknowledging the name, just stared out the window.

“You know that you can call me whenever, right? It doesn’t have to be just when you need a ride.”

Blue violet eyes used the dark glass as a mirror, flicking over to scan Trowa’s face without ever moving his head. “Yeah, I know, but its nice to hear.” He was so tired, his voice weighed down with the weight that he’s had to carry for months.

He probably needed to sleep for days, but he wouldn’t. If he was anything like Trowa, nightmares would plague his rest, freeze his sleep, and keep his body from what he needs to recover. Trowa made up his mind then, he would play guard, give him the only feel of safety someone like him knew how.

Instead of just pulling up to the front of Maxwell’s apartment complex and dropping him off, like he had that first time, Trowa circled around and parked. Duo turned to face him, questioning the difference. “What are you doing?”

“I’ll come up and take watch.” Trowa spoke calmly, knowing what was to come.

Duo’s eyes narrowed. “No.” His voice was hard, no question in the tone, weariness temporarily suspended.

Trowa shrugged unperturbed by the answer. “Then I’ll stay here and take the perimeter, either way, you need sleep, and you’ll get more if you know someone’s on watch.”

Maxwell acquiesced with a growl-like noise more characteristic of 01 or 05 but which Trowa had never heard from the more exuberant pilot. “You can come up.”

Duo had grabbed his bag and was walking up the front steps before Trowa had even cut the engine off, but he quickly caught up at the stairwell. The fatigue caused him to slow as he climbed, but Trowa had no problem ascending.

Trowa’s presence wasn’t even acknowledged as Maxwell opened the door, threw his duffle down in the corner, and marched straight into the bathroom. The shower turned on, and Barton headed to the kitchen. The Deathscythe pilot had been gone too long to have any perishable items still good, so the acrobat didn’t even touch the refrigerator, but there were cans of soup in the pantry. It would do for now.

He heated up some soup and threw several crackers on a plate, grabbed a bottle of water, and set it all on the table. About that time, Duo came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders, catching all the water from his soggy head of hair. He was headed towards what Trowa assumed was the bedroom but turned towards the light on the in the kitchen.

“Well, just make yourself at home, then.” His voice was snarky, but Trowa paid no mind.

“Eat.” His voice was soft, but there was no room for discussion in the tone.

“I’m not hungry; I just want to sleep.”

“You’ve lost weight; eat first.”

Duo’s shoulders slumped, too tired to keep up the defensive act. “When did you get so bossy?”

Trowa had to refrain from smirking at the sulking former terrorist. “Just because it hasn’t been directed at you doesn’t mean it wasn’t always there.”

He sat and shoved a cracker in his mouth before speaking. “I feel sorry for Heero.” Cracker crumbs sprayed from his lips as he spoke, childish and deliberately rude.

Trowa ignored his behavior, watching to make sure he did as he was told. “What? What does he have to do with this situation?” His brow furrowed as he asked, confused.

“Cause you musta been a damn pushy nurse.”

Trowa smirked at his logic. “He needed a pushier one.” His voice changed as a thought occurred to him. “Do you need a nurse, Duo?” He hadn’t even thought of injury, but Duo wasn’t limping or guarding any part of his body. Plus, Maxwell’s ‘I never tell a lie’ policy let Trowa just ask rather than sleuth out any damage.

“No, just sleep.” He picked up the bowl and began drinking out of it, stopping every now and again to chew the solid bits, only to drink more. When it was about half gone, Duo put the bowl down and looked to the other man. “Good enough?”

He nodded and took the dishes to the sink as Duo stood to head to bed.

“Duo?”

He stopped but didn’t turn.

”Do you prefer me in the room or outside the door?” He was unsure, but willing to follow Duo’s lead to some extent.

He did turn then, irritation played across his face. “Don’t you have better things to do? I mean, you just got back, I know you had other plans. Thanks for the ride, but go away.”

The hostility only proved to make the acrobat more determined. He knew very well that Maxwell didn’t want him to go, knew that a reliable presence at your back was addictive after so long without, but he recognized that Duo didn’t want to give into the need, refused to acknowledge that he wanted for anything but solitude and sleep. “You are my plans now.”

“I don’t need you here, Trowa.” His voice was vehement, face and body tense.

“I know, but I’ve done infiltration the majority of my life. I understand what trustworthy company means after so long a stretch surrounded by enemies.”

He deflated some, his face losing its fire and looking more and more haggard, worn thin and threadbare. “I don’t want…” Trowa raised a brow, wondering if Maxwell would break his oath, but he stopped himself, miserable as he spoke again. “I don’t want to want you here.”

The performer was sympathetic. “I know, Duo. Go to sleep, I’ve got your back.”

Duo gave a grateful smile, completely drained. He turned and walked into the bedroom, dropping both of his towels right before climbing into his sheets, naked, hair still completely wet, as exhaustion took over.

Trowa followed him into the room, picked up the discarded towels, took them into the bathroom to let them hang dry over the shower rod, before returning to the bedroom. He sat himself on the floor, one knee pulled up, head resting back against the wall, listening for any abnormal sounds.

Time passed as Maxwell’s breathing slowed and deepened, no movement, just unhampered sleep. The sky started to lighten as dawn approached, the dark blue-blacks turned to bluish purple then pink, and the sounds of a waking population started drifting through the walls.

With the increase in outside noise, Duo became unsettled, his body jerking now and again, sheets gripped tight in his fists, head negating whatever scenes played through his subconscious state.

Trowa watched the pilot fight through whatever dreams plagued him, unsure how to proceed. Should he brave the injuries sure to come if he woke Duo? He needed sleep, but tortured rest isn’t restful, and he had no idea just how violent Maxwell was when jolted awake.

But he couldn’t abandon him to the nightmares.

The acrobat stood after having crouched for hours, hauling his stiff body up the wall, letting the grating sound of his clothes dragging against the rough walls drift into Duo’s subconscious hearing. He let his footfalls become heavy across the room and slowly approached the bed, stopping just outside the danger zone, not getting close enough to be unable to dodge what was coming.

Dark violet eyes snapped open, and Duo rolled backwards, stopping in a crouch with a knife glinting in each hand. Those, Trowa was certain, weren’t on him when he crawled into bed, seeing as how Duo was still naked as the day he was born.

Maxwell’s face went from the hard jester’s mask of Shinigami to confused, flitting around the room not recognizing where he was at first, then his eyes landed back on the assumed threat.

“Trowa?” His voice was tight, high-pitched, almost breaking, but not yet, not yet.

“Yeah, its me.” Trowa’s heart wrenched, voice soft and reassuring, trying to calm him, letting none of his sympathy enter his manner.

The knives fell from his hands as he dove at the performer. It took everything Trowa had to stand still and let Duo tackle him, but he did, allowing the slight weight and momentum to carry them backwards and onto the floor. Trowa made sure he was the one to hit the ground, his torso and arms cushioning the other as much as possible in the short amount of time he was given to prepare for impact.

He seemed to Trowa like nothing but knees and elbows the way he was curled up on his chest, hands gripping his arms and waist hard, like holding onto Trowa was the only thing holding him together.

Trowa wrapped his arms around the huddled body, knowing he would have some pretty heavy bruises across his chest, but not really caring. He held onto the shaking man, knowing what it felt like to just need an anchor.

Maxwell was a wad of damp hair and bones in his arms, face buried in his chest, hip bone and knee digging into his stomach and thigh, but he would lie there for as long as Duo needed.

He shivered hard, entire body shaking violently. Trowa released one arm from around him, and he whimpered, huddling closer. It ripped something open within him, but he had a purpose. “Shh” Trowa soothed him as he stretched his arm to its limit in order to reach one of the blankets on the bed. He pulled off the top blanket and wrapped Duo up in it before bringing his arms back around him.

“Tighter” A small voice escaped the blanket, and Trowa obligated, crushing those bony joints into his chest like he was trying to absorb Duo into himself.

All of the pilots had continued to mature in height and stature after the wars, but while the others had broadened, their shoulders and musculature filling in the lean frames of youth, Duo hadn’t. He was still long and lean, with knobby knees and visible bone structure along his ribs and spine.

It wasn’t his appetite; the L2 pilot ate his weight in food every meal. Trowa wondered whether it was the result of poor eating habits during the developmental stages of his life. Duo had claimed to be a streetrat growing up; odds are his meals during that time were not as frequent or as large as a budding child needs.

But he was pretty active, too; maybe he just burns all that he consumes, not likely, but the possibility was there.

Despite his thin frame and somewhat gangly body, Trowa still found him alluring. There were moments when the insane activity of the jester calmed just slightly, his eyes sparking with life and usually mischief, that it was hard to remember just how deadly his alter ego can be. The duality of the Deathscythe pilot, vivid, brilliant energy versus the shadowy abyss of the grim reaper, intrigued Trowa. He always had.

But it always seemed like they were worlds apart. Trowa was reclusive, pensive, and very much a silent specter within the pilots. Duo was the lighthearted humor, the spirit of freedom, and usually had to drag any sort of conversation out of Trowa on the rare occasions that he tried.

Maybe Maxwell was as broken as Trowa had felt since birth; maybe they had more in common than he thought. Maybe Duo was just as plagued by his past, his life, as Trowa had been, and occasionally still is.

He had calmed by now; the shaking had stopped, and his deathgrip on Trowa had loosened, his breathing slowed and deepened as sleep took him again. Trowa lifted his head from the floor to run his cheek across the cold, wet hair on the top of Duo’s head, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled fresh and clean, like summer rain on leaves, and Trowa had a fleeting image of this scent surrounding him as he slept, waking up to the scent of Duo’s hair on his pillow, dragging his lips across rain-scented skin.

But that was a dangerous path. No matter if they had some things in common or not, Duo had no interest in Trowa other than some professional affiliations. They barely spoke in the hallways at work, and the only time they saw each other outside of work was when Quatre and Duo organized outings for the five pilots, which was more and more frequently, but Maxwell’s attention was always on the others. He never singled Trowa out, rarely spoke to him unless it was directed at the group rather than at him, specifically.

It was obvious to the Heavyarms pilot that he couldn’t hold the interest of someone as vivacious as Duo, but it didn’t matter. These past few hours of being able to hold him like this was more than he’d ever expected or hoped for.

He would be content with the remembrance of his scent and the feel of Duo’s skin against his own. He would be happy that, as insignificant as he may be in the life of one as radiant as Duo, he could offer some form of comfort through whatever past horrors this infiltration had brought to the front of his mind.

Trowa would be content with that.

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TBC.

There's only one more chappie for this fic to be complete, just like the last posted fic. I'm trying to reorganize all my stories after having to get all my data transferred from a failed hard drive, sorry about the wait on my other fics. They will be updated soon.

I started trying to piece together a 3x2 on request, its my first, and I hope its not too bad. I'm not a huge fan of this pairing, but I'm willing to give it a try. I hope it is satisfactory to those who favor the pairing.

A.