Fathoms

Summary: An escape. A reunion. A proposition.

Author’s Note: Thank you for your interest in this story.

Duo took out the small, brown leather billfold for what had to be the tenth time since his father locked him away and opened it, rifling through its contents. The strange, clear, flexible sheathes still felt strange when he rubbed them between his slender fingers. The tiny images inside were beginning to degrade and fade slightly despite the protective pockets, but they intrigued him.

There was a picture…Duo decided that was what it must be, even though he didn’t know how it could have been created… of what looked like a young Heero sitting on the lap of a man in his middle years who had the same beautiful eyes. His father, Duo mused. It bothered him that the boy’s tentative smile didn’t reach them. The man’s smile was tidy and hard; he looked intractable and like someone who didn’t brook excuses. Duo’s heart went out to the forlorn little boy, wishing he could comfort him.

The rest of the wallet’s contents were vague and meant little to him. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the pronunciations and purposes of some of them. Costco. Insurance. Health club membership card. In God We Trust. There were several of the last item, a strange, dull green with more images on them of unsmiling old men. Duo tucked them back into the fold with some difficulty; they kept bunching up. There was another, sturdier picture of Heero that Duo liked more, even though his expression held none of the vulnerability of the one of him as a child. The card was sturdy like the others, and it had Heero’s name spelled out in block print, along with his age, absurdly young, barely an infant in mermaid years. There was the barest hint of a smile on his well-shaped lips, as though he was merely being polite to the person taking the picture. There were numbers listed on the card, with the captions “Ht/Wt.” Duo shrugged; the other descriptions on the card described his eye and hair color, that much he knew.

Cobalt blue, like the sky at dusk, just as the first stars come out. Sable brown hair, soft and rich to the touch when he inclined his head into Duo’s neck. In the photos, Heero’s skin was ruddy and lightly tanned, healthier than the clammy gray caused by hypothermia and nearly drowning. Duo replaced the card in the sheath and sighed. He was so bored.

The chamber was near impregnable; Duo’s main source of amusement was triggering the silent alarm that sent Remus’ son, Gar, swimming hell for leather to his cell, spear in hand. He enjoyed the look of annoyance on his young face every time, never finding Duo in any distress.

Blast! What is it NOW?

Tell me a bedtime story.

Bastard…

What was that? Duo cupped his ear with his hand for dramatic emphasis, enjoying the way the young guard fidgeted.

Errm…Prince Duo, he muttered in Duo’s mind.

That’s what I thought you said. Duo wouldn’t admit that the slur bothered him, less on an offensive note and more because it was entirely too accurate. Rumor in the grotto had it that Duo’s mother and his father, Uriah, hadn’t completed the mating ceremony before his untimely death. Legitimacy of birth, spawned or live-mated, meant little in regard to merfolk inheriting their parents’ belongings, but it damaged one’s status and invited slurs in regard to breeding. Duo cared little for it, feeling more alienated for being an orphan.

It was difficult living at the mercy and generosity of the imposing king and in Zech’s shadow. His terse foster brother cared for him, that much he knew. But if there was one thing Duo despised, it was pity, or assumptions that he couldn’t watch out for himself beyond Milliardo’s grasp. Gar watched him, exasperated but curious.

What’s that in your hand?

Never you mind.

Maybe I’ll come in there and take it from you. He puffed up haughtily, brandishing his spear. Duo made a face and a dismissive gesture.

Try it, small fry. He tucked the wallet in the looped knot of his hair behind his nape, unrulier now without his brother’s or Noin’s attention to braiding it. There was no mirror in his cell, nothing that could be easily broken and used a weapon of means of the prisoner harming themselves. He didn’t care how he looked with so few people coming by to see him.

Don’t tempt me.

But you’d like it, wouldn’t you? Duo’s voice in his head was smug. Do I tempt you? Duo rose from the hard stone bench in his chamber and swam to the crystalline bars, almost within reach of the wary guard. His smile grew dimpled and Duo peered up at Gar through his long, dark lashes.

Pfft…why would you tempt me? You’re not my type.

No? He grinned at him, and it was a cocky expression that made him look far too pleased with himself.

One slender white hand drifted up to the lean, taut chest and fingered the delicate, pink-beige nipple. His face relaxed into a look of arousal that made Gar’s stomach clench and blood flow more quickly into his extremities. Your fin says otherwise, little hatchling. Duo’s palms and fingers teased over his body and Gar heard his psychic moan of need. He swallowed and suddenly felt his cold blood heat up dangerously.

Oh, Duo was good. He had to give him that. Gar lowered his spear and approached the bars, gripping one as he watched Duo play. Hooded, smoldering violet eyes roamed over Gar’s body as he continued to pluck at his nipples and stroke the smooth, perfect plane of his stomach. Gar felt his fin grow stiff when the errant prince’s fingers trailed down to his tail and slowly, teasingly slipped inside his vent. He bucked in pleasure and closed his eyes, letting his mouth drop open in a silent gasp. Duo was enjoying the sensations he created, but having an audience – a helpless one at that – enhanced the experience. The feeling of that gentle self-penetration made him continue to moan with more emphasis.

Gar’s beefy hand shot out to grab for him, any part of him, even if it was just to tangle itself in that long, lush hair, but Duo feinted away from him, teasing him. Too slow. Awwww. Too bad…

Damn it…damned tease… The faintly greenish cast to Gar’s fair skin gave way to a deep, rosy flush. His boyish features clenched in a tortured grimace, and before either merman could react, his spine jerked and long, whitish gray streams of semen spurted from his fin, floating between them in a thick soup.

I take that back. Too fast. Duo retired to the bench and lay back on it, flicking his tail and continuing to play with his vent, digging his two fingers more deeply into the vulnerable opening. Gar’s face tightened into scowl and he recovered himself long enough to retrieve his spear. Duo watched in amusement as the guard hurried down the corridor, back the way he came.

Go spawn yourself, Duo muttered smugly. He toyed with himself some more, glad to just give himself over to the sensual feeling of his own two hands and his body’s reactions to the light touches. He moaned again, more loudly this time, as his fin grew painfully turgid, nipples flushed a rosy pink. He closed his eyes and threw his head back, revealing the taut, straining cords of his neck. His pulse raced, heating his blood as he brought himself to completion. Yes…gods, please…more…more, more… His mouth and eyes gaped at the intensity of his climax. He thrust his fingers into his vent quickly, in a staccato, ragged pace as he wrung the last of his throes from his body. He went limp against the wall of the cell, spent. He thought for a few moments that he could use a nice nap…

He was harshly shaken from his stupor by the sudden, deafening rumbling of the corridor around him.


*

“You don’t have anything in here for me to fix for you.”

“Haven’t been out to shop.” Heero stared guiltily at the pizza boxes littering his kitchen counter.

“Then I’ll do it for you. Someone has to save you from yourself.” Wufei began bundling up the kitchen trash into a tall black bag.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s worried?” Wufei argued. “I’m just following the Good Samaritan law. If I let you die from your own stupidity then that’s like me doing you in myself. Which is tempting.” Heero sighed, then winced from the ache in his ribs. Wufei noticed his discomfort and automatically rummaged in his cupboard for his pain pills.

“Cut it in half. I hate how drugged those things make me feel.”

“I’ll get you some ibuprofen, then.” Wufei returned the orange prescription bottle and found the bottle of Motrin behind the salt container. He shook out three and poured Heero a glass of water from the Alhambra cooler beside his outer kitchen counter. He approached him, bending over Heero where he lay propped on the couch, nursing his sore ribs. Heero tried not to snicker at the look of annoyance on his best friend’s face as he took the pills, popping them into his mouth. He swallowed them with two deep gulps, handing Wufei back the glass. Wufei tsked, reaching down to ruffle his hair.

“You need a trim. You’re looking woolly.”

“I’m not up to a visit to my stylist. Don’t feel like sitting up that long.” Wufei’s shrewd dark eyes flitted over him, searching his face.

“Promise me you won’t do anything that fucked up again. Call me. Drag my ass out of my house. Anything. Just don’t go off alone like that.”

“Won’t happen any time soon, not til the Zero’s out of the shop.” His boat had been recovered, all the worse for wear, right before Heero could even report it as stolen to his insurance company. They were covering the cost of repairs, at least, which was a load off his mind. But he still felt shaken, violated that thieves had invaded his second home when he was most vulnerable.

Quatre was in rare form, calling him everyday and nagging him to remember his doctor’s appointments and to check the locks on his house. He insisted on calling his contractor to set a date to install a new security system and video monitors around his home, which Heero thought was excessive. He didn’t want to feed Quatre’s anxiety by saying no, so he acquiesced, but it made him feel coddled and dependent, two conditions he despised.

Wufei’s tongue was uncharacteristically tame as he took a page from Quatre’s book, pampering him and running his errands. Heero’s bills sat in neat stacks on his dining room table and his sink was empty. Heero scolded him about cancelled appointments with his clients.

“Don’t you have some needles to stick into people?”

“Why? Feel like being my next victim?” Wufei came up behind him and Heero felt lancing pain in the left side of his neck as Wufei applied pressure to release the muscle. “You’re too tense. You need some time on my table. Quit being a wuss about it and just schedule a half-hour with me. Exhale. Nice and deep.” Heero obeyed, hissing out his breath through pursed lips. “You’re not sleeping well.” It wasn’t a question.

“I’m just sleeping ‘wrong.’”

“A half-hour with me, and those exercises I gave you could fix this, if you’d just listen to me when I try to help you. You’ve gotta wanna help yourself,” he reminded him. Heero continued to breathe in long, slow breaths each time Wufei applied pressure, then released, gripping his shoulder and urging him to drop it.

Gradually Heero relaxed and felt a fog lift from him that he hadn’t realized had invaded him. He concentrated on the warmth of Wufei hovering protectively at his back, the feel of his breath gusting faintly over his hair and the low tick of the clock. Wufei’s breath smelled like the chai tea they’d shared, mingling with the scent of his detergent and deodorant. These were comforting details that he associated with his closest friend, at one time much more. Heero sighed heavily, opening drowsy eyes as he tipped his head back, letting himself brush it back against Wufei’s lean chest.

He felt the steady, strong drum of his heartbeat and saw the slight flare of his nostrils and the concern written in his almond-shaped black eyes. Wufei echoed his sigh and shook his head.

“You’re hardheaded.”

“I don’t know what’s good for me, I guess.”

“Easy excuse, Yuy.”

“Then what’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Everything’s wrong with everyone else.” His tone was casual as he tugged a lock of hair at Heero’s nape firmly enough to scold. His slightly full, chiseled lips flattened with annoyance and remembered pain. Heero bristled.

“You know I’m not like that.”

“I’ve never really known how you are; not enough. That’s the problem.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m not going here with you again.” Wufei removed his warmth, putting a room worth of distance between them as he returned to the kitchen. Heero made an exasperated sound.

“I hate you being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad.” As if on cue, the buzzer on Heero’s dryer went off, effectively ending their argument before it had the chance to peak. “I’ll put on your white load before I head out.”

“What’s the rush?”

“You’re tired. Take a nap.”

“I’m just sore; I’m not sleepy,” Heero complained.

“You’re cranky. That means you’re tired.”

“I’m not cranky!”

“Are, too,” Wufei sang. His smooth baritone drifted around the hallway corner as he evaded him. Heero made a noise of disgust as Wufei changed the loads. He heard his solid colors tumbling into his small wicker basket and Wufei humming to himself, a clear sign he’d begun ignoring him.

Before he could form a rebuttal, his doorbell rang, and a light, rapid knock immediately followed it.

“Shit.”

“What? Expecting anybody?”

“No,” he muttered. “But it figures.”

“Who is it?” Wufei asked as he headed for the front door.

“Don’t get that.” The knocking paused, then began again, more insistent this time.

“Heero? Heero!” Wufei rolled his eyes at the familiar dulcet tone.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

“Told you. Quat must have spilled the beans.”

“Which is to say she knows everything,” Wufei finished. “Better you than me…”

“Asshole…”

“Have fun,” Wufei tsked, sticking out his tongue before he answered the door. Heero steeled himself as his exes greeted each other as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

Why, God?

He schooled his face into a neutral expression as Relena rushed inside, arms bundled with shopping bags. Wufei automatically followed her into the kitchen, helping her set it all down, and he busied himself unpacking it while she launched into Smother Heero mode.

“Are you all right?” she demanded breathlessly, breezing over to the couch in a cloud of expensive perfume. Heero sneezed briefly and rubbed his nose. “See, you’re catching a cold. Why don’t you have on any socks?”

“He wouldn’t listen to me when I told him, either,” Wufei piped up from the kitchen, but Relena ignored him.

“I hate socks,” Heero reminded them both, but Relena was already draping the fleece throw blanket over Heero’s lap, even though he wasn’t cold.

“Why did you go out by yourself like that?” she nagged, pouting.

“It was just for a week-“

“That was foolish! No one knew where you were!”

“-end…”

“…I was worried sick, Quatre was worried sick, and you were out in the middle of nowhere…”

“I wasn’t that far out from port,” he argued.

“That’s beside the point! You were all alone!” Relena’s large blue eyes were already misting, and Heero’s blood pressure rose two points. A nagging stabbing invaded his temples, undoing all of Wufei’s good work on his neck. “You could’ve been killed!”

“I wasn’t,” he said helplessly, shrugging.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“What, while I was being boatjacked?”

“No…yes. Heero…damn it. You could have given me a ring before you left.”

“Why?”

“Just to let one more person know where you were going!”

“Just so you could have talked me out of it.” That was precisely why he hadn’t told her, but he kept mum.

“You never returned my call, anyway, butthead,” she accused, arms folded. She plunked herself on the couch beside him, waiting for him to scooch his feet back to make room where they were previously propped. The movement jarred his sore ribs, and he winced. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go to the exhibit at the DeYoung. They brought back those sand painters we liked before.”

Before, when they were still dating.

“So I had other plans.”

“You could have called,” she pressed, sounding hurt.

“I’m out,” Wufei interjected, saluting them both. His look was such a contrast from Relena’s, casual in white linen pants, deck shoes and a navy blue tank. He wore his long, glossy black hair back in his usual ponytail. He hung his Ray-Bans from the neck of his shirt by the stem and darted for the door before Heero could stop him.

“Oh, okay… am I in your way?” Relena feigned guilt, rising from the couch as if she, instead, should leave.

“Nah. Later, Yuy.” He beckoned to her. “White load’s in the dryer.” SLAM!

Heero sighed. Shit…

Relena gave Wufei’s departing back an almost imperceptible sigh of relief, then directed her attention back to Heero. She smiled warmly and sank back down to the couch, reaching for him. She stroked his knee comfortingly. “How’re you faring? Can I get you anything?” He blanched at her touch, even though it was gentle.

“Already took my pain pills.”

“I brought food,” she announced, lighting up as she darted back into the kitchen. Heero heard the swish of his cabinet doors and the clatter of plates.

“I’m fine, I’m not that-“

“Where’s that coffee mug I bought you back from my trip to the Cape?”

Crap… “- hungry…”

“It’s got to be in here somewhere,” she mused, wrinkling her brow. “How do you find anything in here? Your Tupperware practically falls out of the cabinet as soon as I open it. Don’t you stack your lids?” Heero sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to do all that.”

“Sit. Let me fuss over you.”

I hate being fussed over. “I can fix myself something later.”

“Why? I’m here. Put me to work,” she offered, peering over at him from around the edge of his kitchen wall. She winked at him mischievously and went back to her task. Moments later, he was her captive audience on the couch, picking at a plate of takeout he wasn’t in the mood for, bundled under a blanket he didn’t need.

“…I took some nice pictures of Yellowstone. You wouldn’t believe it, Heero, we saw an actual moose!” she gushed, as though she’d taken a trip by rocket ship.

“That’s nice.”

“You should have gone with me.”

“Eh.”

“You should have,” she chastised.

“That’s fine.” She sighed and shook her head.

“I just wish…Heero…”

Here we go again…

Her blue eyes implored him, and she took his calloused hand in her slender, cool one, squeezing it. “Heero…I miss you.”

“I know.”

“I really do.”

“I know,” he repeated, urging his voice to sound conciliatory and understanding.

“It’s so hard…I mean, I feel like…I’ve worn this groove in the pavement. It’s so hard not to come here sometimes. I got into such a routine, coming over at night and spending time with you. Watching the news and doing the crossword. You always knew the geographical clues better than me. I miss tucking you in at night.” He felt her pulse thudding in her hand, almost felt as though he heard her heart beating; it reminded him of Wufei’s heartbeat at his back and the healing, caring grip of his hands. "Heero, sweetheart…when Quatre told me what happened to you, I wanted to die.” She bit her lip and guilt swamped Heero, making him break out in a hot flush. He stared down at their joined hands. He squeezed hers back and searched for something to say.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Don’t tell me not to worry about you. I always worry about you,” she insisted.

That was part of the problem…

“I never asked you to.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, you know. You do. Every time you jump off that boat and take pictures of sharks or rely on that puny little air tank, you’re asking me to worry. I don’t know why you take such risks, Heero.”

“I love what I do.”

“I don’t understand why. It’s not safe. And look at this, you’re hardly making a living.”

“I’m doing fine.”

“Okay. Sure.” She looked around at the spare furnishings of his beach house and sighed heavily, letting her narrow, feminine shoulders drop for emphasis. “This is fine.” She pressed on. “You could come work for my father.”

“You know I can’t.”

“No. You just won’t.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“It could work!” She reached up and stroked his long bangs back, tucking a lock behind his ear out of old habit. “You need a haircut.”

“It’s fine.” He removed his hand gently. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. She pressed her fingertips to her lips and Heero shelved the rest of his argument when he realized she was crying. “I wasn’t fine when I heard that you were held at gunpoint. You were almost taken away from me…”

“Relena…damn it…” He reached out and gently gripped her shoulder, kneading it soothingly. “No one took me away. I’m still here. I’m stubborn,” he explained. “Can’t kill me that easily.”

“Yes, they could have, Heero,” she sobbed. “I wouldn’t have…wouldn’t have had the chance to…” Her voice broke, and he gathered her up into his arms when she couldn’t support herself anymore. His embrace was initially reluctant but sincere. He hated to see her cry, hated to see her hurt, knowing he’d often been the cause. Heero stifled the urge to sneeze from her perfume again and concentrated instead on the feel of her in his arms. Familiar. Warm and soft. Delicate. He palmed her heartbeat as he stroked her back through the thin, expensive cashmere sweater, indulged himself with the slide of his fingers through her wheat blonde hair, one of the traits that initially attracted him to her. Heero was fond of long hair; it gave him something to twine his fingers through when making love, felt so erotic when it brushed over his skin or tented his face when his partner loomed over him in the dark, branding him with greedy kisses.

He tucked the top of her head beneath his chin and sighed. The position hurt his ribs, but he remained quiet.

“You don’t know what it’s like for me…when I care for you so much…”

“Relena…” His voice held helplessness. No matter what he said wouldn’t be enough. He still couldn’t give her the words she needed to hear. Finally, “…I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?” He punctuated it with a soft kiss through her long bangs. His hand against her back curled into a fist and he sat back, taking her with him while she let out her frustrations.

It was like a broken record. Relena dealt in emotional blackmail, knowing that at bedrock, respite his stoic nature, Heero was simply too nice to be blunt. He’d broken her heart once, he reasoned; it wasn’t fair to do it again, but Relena’s need for validation and reciprocation was like a lead weight around his neck. Her tearstained face pulled at him as she looked up at him through wet, dark lashes.

“You hardly touched anything.”

“I’m fine,” he assured her, again.

“Let me take care of you,” she implored, cradling his cheek in her palm. “Please, Heero.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” he insisted, but his voice lacked resolve, and he mentally damned himself for it.

“No. I do. You’ve just never let me,” she countered softly, and she inclined her face upward, her warm breath misting over his lips.

She was still beautiful enough to tempt him. A chorus of reason screamed warnings in his head as he gave in, lowering his mouth those last mere centimeters until his lips brushed hers so softly. His body told him that it didn’t really happen, he didn’t fully taste it, that he needed proof, so he did it again, surrendering to the pull she had on him, letting his arms tighten around her slender frame. Heat surged through him but mingled with guilt, stirring his gut into murky soup.

“God, Heero, I missed you,” she breathed beneath his kiss, “…I love you…”

He jerked back as if she’d slapped him.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Not again. Not now.

“It’s late,” he muttered. “I won’t keep you.”

“I can stay for a while, if you n-“

“No! No. I don’t. Relena…don’t worry about me. Please.” He carefully disengaged himself from her and painfully pulled himself from the couch. She stared after him in confusion, then looked down at her hands in her lap.

“Heero…”

“It’s late,” he repeated. “I’m tired. ‘Fei said I was cranky. I probably need to turn in.” The sun was barely setting over the cliffs in the distance, turning the clouds shades of fuchsia and gold.

“I can put away the food…”

“I can do it. I’ll stick it in the fridge before I go to bed.”

“Fine. That’s…fine.” She got up reluctantly and collected her purse from the hook by the door, slinging the long strap over her shoulder. She paused by the door.

“I wish…” She threw up her hands and let them slap her thighs helplessly. “G’night, Heero.”

“’Night,” he tossed back as she let the door slam shut behind her. Heero lied to himself that the wind catching it was to blame.


Additional Author's Note: I had this long update planned out and have had the day from hell full of interruptions from my husband and half a bajillion phone calls, so this is it for now. I promise I'll be on point tomorrow. Or next month. Whenever my muse rouses her lazy butt from the ice cream container and I have a few hours alone.

That's how this portion of my update became "Part I." Sorry for the copout.