covered in hope and vaseline,
still cannot fix this broken machine,
watching the hole it used to be mine
just watching it burn in my steady systematic decline
of the trust I will betray
give it to me I'll throw it away
after everything I've done I hate myself for what I've become
I tried
I gave up

nin

The hanger was cold and loud today. Quatre was standing at the feet of his Sandrock, done with his repairs for now. The Arabian stood on the ground level, watching as the other pilots worked on their machines. Specifically, he was watching the two figures on the catwalk that rose above him. Their foot falls on the heavy red metal resounded through the warehouse, mixing with the clang of their tools and the whir of the engines.

Heero and Trowa were working side by side on their Gundams. Wing had a damaged right arm which needed to be fixed and Trowa was reloading Heavyarms. From his standpoint on the ground, Quatre could see Heero's mouth move, but couldn't hear his voice over the noise. Trowa nodded and went over to assist Heero, holding some circuitry out of the way so Heero could reach back into Wing's panels to manipulate some wires. Quatre frowned. Those two would only let the other touch their Gundams. The blonde watched as Trowa apparently said something that made Heero smirk. Something ran across Quatre, in the colors of black and blue, then blue and yellow. It tasted of guilt and fear and something else...

"Jealousy is a terrible thing, huh?" Quatre whirled to see Duo, who was leaning against Sandrock's massive foot as if he'd been born and raised there and might be considering taking out a second mortgage. His hands were stuffed in his native pockets.

"I don't understand what you mean." Quatre cleared his throat and smiled fleetingly.

Duo pretended like he hadn't heard the comment. He squinted as he looked up at the two pilots on the catwalk. "It's hard to miss though, am I right? Look, who else would help Heero like that? Trowa's the only one he trusts, I think. Maybe it's because they're so much alike."

"They are?" Quatre shrugged half a shoulder, eyes dancing back and forth on the concrete floor.

"Yeah, in more ways then just being callous sons of bitches." Duo chuckled. "You can tell they're both trying hard to be what they want to be. And they're both confused. Hell, they don't even have real names." Duo looked back at Quatre, who was looking upwards again. "I guess guys with code names tend to get close."

"Duo," Quatre said softly. "you aren't using your real name, are you?"

"Ah, well, that's different. This name means something to me. Those guys," he pointed up at the suspended boys. "they didn't have anything of their own. I think that's why they're clinging to each other."

"Clinging?" Quatre didn't like where this conversation was headed.

"Well, as much as callous sons of bitches can cling. I mean, they look at each other and they must see someone who knows what it's like. I grew up hard, but guys like that.." Duo shook his head. "It must really take something."

"It's good they're getting close." Quatre picked up a spare part from the floor and examined it. "We need to trust each other in this war."

"Yeah, you're right." Duo watched Heero weld something on Heavyarms.

"Sometimes I wonder, though. What really happened that month?"

"What month?" Quatre knew well what month Duo referred to.

"Remember when Heero blew himself up and Trowa took him away for a month? Lots of things happen in a month." Duo's smile grew. "You can get pretty close to someone in those kinds of situations. Think of the possibilities. Trowa probably had to feed him, bandage him..." he glanced over at Quatre, who was still fiddling with the machinery. "...bathe him."

Quatre managed a good look of disbelief cross his features. "I doubt that Heero would allow that, don't you?"

"He was unconscious for a month, right? He would have to get clean somehow." Duo shrugged.

"Yeah, but Catherine..." Quatre began.

"Catherine doesn't seem to like Heero very much. Have you noticed? Wonder why that is..." He lifted his eye brows mischievously.

"Duo, I don't think you should be talking about this. It's none of your business." The smaller boy said firmly.

"Just imagine." Duo continued without hesitation, putting his hands in front of him like a picture frame. "Those two in the bathroom, maybe in the bedroom later on...poor Cathy comes in to see what all the noise is about and...." Duo paused to laugh and shake his head.

"Stop it!" The Arabian pilot cried, dropping the part on the floor with a tinny sound.

"I bet Trowa would be the dominant one. I think Heero would secretly want to relinquish his control. Oh, can you see it, Heero on his hands and knees while Trowa, all sweaty and panting, just keeps pumping into him? What a sight that would make." Duo wiped away an imaginary drop of sweat from his brow.

"Shut up!" Quatre hissed.

"What, did you think Trowa would want to be on his hands and knees? Well, maybe Heero would like that if Trowa would moan..."

The crack of the Arab's fist rang through the hanger like a gunshot on an existentialist's empty beach. All of the pilots and mechanics stopped working and looked over at the commotion. Duo was sprawled on the ground, his hand clasped to his face, which was swelling and turning red. Quatre stood over him, fists balled at his sides, breathing heavily. Wufei was the only one to approach the two.

"Winner, why did you strike Maxwell?" Wufei asked as diplomatically as possible.

"I..." Quatre looked up at the Chinese boy with uncertainty in his eyes, then looked down at the fallen Duo with the same look.

"I was fooling around." Duo spoke up, still holding his cheek. "You can only insult a guy's sisters so many times. I, uh, I pushed Quatre a little too much."

"Winner?" Wufei faced Quatre now, arms folded across his chest.

"I...I'm so sorry Duo. I shouldn't have hit you." Quatre reddened.

"No, it's my fault. I was the one who kept prodding you." Duo scrambled to his feet. "I'm going to go put ice on this. It feels really brutal. You pack a good punch, Q."

"I'm sorry. Let me help you." Quatre offered weakly.

"No, I will help him. You can continue working." Wufei took Duo by the elbow and led him out of the hanger.

Quatre winced at Wufei's biting tone. He turned and saw Heero and Trowa, leaning on the railing, watching the occurrence like everyone else had. Quatre reddened further and quickly left the hanger as well. The two pilots on the catwalk turned back to their work at hand. They were silent for a few minutes before Trowa spoke up.

"Did you hear what they were arguing about?" he said, watching Heero poke his head out from under Wing's arm.

"...No." was the terse reply before the tools began clicking again. Of course, Heero was lying. In the hangar, sounds echoed and Duo speaks loud enough to begin with. That, coupled with Heero's acute senses, made the conversation very clear. And he knew that Trowa had probably heard it as well, but he was waiting for confirmation.

"Oh." was all Trowa said in reply. And even Heero knew he was lucky to get that much response.

"Trowa?" Heero stopped what he was doing, although he stayed hidden under Wing. Only the silence of Trowa's tools told him he was listening. "When I was at the circus after I self destructed, did Catherine bathe me?"

It was a roundabout way to ask the question, and Trowa could tell. But he said the answer as he said everything else. "No. I did." But what he said next interested Heero more. "I had to." It wasn't like Trowa to volunteer information like that, or to explain himself.

"Oh." Heero parroted Trowa's earlier thought, quickly going back to work.

For the next few hours, the two kept working silently. The only sound was metal on metal and the occasional grunt of effort. By and by, Trowa finally stood up and dusted his hands on his jeans. He looked over at Heero, who was still stretched on his back underneath some machinery. Trowa toed at his shoe to get his attention.

"It's getting late." Through the big warehouse windows, the sun was waning and the only light left was the overhead lamps. As far as Trowa could tell, all the workers had left for the day, leaving the two pilots alone in the building. He knew Heero could probably work all night on his Gundam, but it wouldn't be necessary.

Heero rolled out from under his Gundam and nodded. Trowa extended a hand to help Heero off the ground. In the split second that it took Heero to accept the help, he wondered how many of the other pilots would have done so. It was true that Duo and Quatre, sometimes even Wufei, would put a hand on his shoulder or touch him in some other way. But how many of them would think to help him stand up? He was a soldier, after all, and if need be, he could stand well enough on his own. But Trowa was showing him a great courtesy just by giving him a hand. Heero felt a little ashamed when he realized that he himself had never offered anyone any help like that. Then he felt silly for thinking so much about the gesture.

"Thanks." He finally muttered, heading over to the drop ladder.

Trowa followed him to the railing quietly. While Heero climbed down the ladder, Trowa vaulted over the rail and landed soundly on his feet. "Show off." Heero smirked, stepping off the last rung.

Trowa shrugged. "It was quicker." No one would ever accuse Barton of having an ego.

"Quatre seemed really upset." Heero said it as if he was just mentioning it instead of bringing it up. Trowa nodded in agreement and kept walking with him towards the exit. Heero watched him out of the corner of his eye. "Do you know why?" Trowa shrugged again, this time putting his thin hands into his pockets. Heero held the door open while he walked through it. Outside the hangar, there was a small grassy hill that led to the safe house.

"I think," Trowa said suddenly, turning to watch Heero close the door with a clang. "that Quatre wishes I was something that I'm not."

"Yeah?" Heero locked it tightly, continuing on to the living quarters. "What would that be?"

"....alive." It was spoken like a curse, a plague.

"And what do you want to be?"

"More like you." Trowa turned to see where Heero had stopped in his tracks, feet planted firmly on the ground.

"Is that some kind of joke?" The shorter boy's tone was icy. "You think I'm dead?"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just want to be strong." Trowa stood with his back to the wind. Heero's hair fluttered for a moment before stopping to rest on his forehead again. Both sets of eyes searched the other.

"I'm not unfeeling." Heero finally said.

"I didn't say you were." Trowa's voice was clear like the autumn breeze. Heero turned to look back at the warehouse, lighted pink and orange by the setting sun. He made a noise that sounded like a sigh, but it didn't sound right to Trowa. Heero swung his gaze back to the Heavyarms pilot, taking a step closer to him.

"I'm not." He repeated, clasping Trowa by the shoulders. Trowa was about to respond when Heero leaned forward, pressing his lips to the other's mouth. Green eyes widened, watching Heero's snap shut. The wind blew harder. Trowa's hands had jumped from his pockets and were hovering in the air between his body and Heero's, unsure of their actions. Heero pulled back and Trowa's hands fell to his sides. The Japanese boy let go of his hold on the shoulders, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"I'm sorry." Trowa kept his arms at his sides, unwilling to let them go anywhere else. "I can't."

"I know." Heero turned back to the safe house, his gaze still fixed on nothing. "Neither can I."