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Title: Not What You Think
Author: Avarice
Rating: G
Pairing: 1+2, R+1
Spoilers: -
Summary: Some people are easy to read. Others are... not.
Word Count: 1607
Date First Posted: 26-08-2001
Date Revised - 10-09-2011
Beta: -
Awards: -
Notes: Duo POV. First Gundam fic I ever wrote. Sorry for the fanon Relena cliches... But definitely first foray into Duo POV that would become so important and frankly, so wonderful to write in the Appearances series (which bucks fanon cliches... so the karma is paid back in full)
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: FFN

Sometimes I wonder what he thinks about. I wonder that a lot, actually. Just what goes on in that scraggy-haired head of his? Yeah, I know I am one of the few people in existence that can actually read Heero, but that's only to an extent, y'know? I guess interpretation would be a fairer term. I can interpret from his actions what he means by them, but as far as what he thought to get there...

He's not emotionless like he'd love everyone else to believe, but it's not easy to prove he has 'em, either. This is the sort of guy a 'simple act of kindness' is lost on. Yeah, he's a good guy, but I wouldn't ask him to help a little old lady across the street. That'd just be dangerous.

Funny, though...

He's a mystery wrapped in an enigma. And it bugs me to no end that he can catch me offguard. I don't like that. If anyone else did it they'd probably be dead. But he... he I let get away with it. There's the partner thing, but... I dunno. Something else too. If I knew what it was, it wouldn't be such a mystery to me, would it?

I just like to watch him. No, it's not what you think. Not all the time, anyway, so that he notices and threatens to kill me (though he has done that plenty of times), but occasionally. When I have the time, and when he's not paying attention to me -- which is 23 hours and 45 minutes in the day -- I watch him.

Sometimes I imagine if I look long enough and hard enough, that outer shell will peel back just a little. He'll make a move, or an expression will flit across his face, and I'll catch it, and I'll know. I'll know what he's thinking about. Like, just for a brief moment I'll get to see a cross-section of his brain, and look at all the cogs turn around and know what's going on.

It hasn't happened in the three years I've known him, including this past year I've spent sharing living quarters with him, but I don't give up easily. Anyone who says Shinigami's a quitter gets a thermal scythe enema.

I can't say I'm not discouraged, though. Hard not to be. I guess the Perfect Soldier's strategies aren't exactly textbook and predictable... otherwise, he probably wouldn't be Perfect, would he?

Can't argue with backwards logic like that.

This leaves me lying on my back on my bed, arms clasped behind my head, watching him under hooded eyes as he quietly attacks the keys on his laptop. I get a sort of three-quarter view of him as he works.

The laptop is his refuge, I think. He doesn't really want to be seen to be doing anything enjoyable or fun in his spare time. It might cause him to crack a smile, and then the world would end because we all know that is a sign of the Apocalypse (the other being seeing both of Trowa's eyes), and the fire and the brimstone and the Rapture couldn't be far behind. Oh, listen to me go all Catholic on ya.

There's a operation status report next to my open hand on the bed, and a comic book on my stomach. I tried reading one, then the other, before letting myself get caught up in the reason why I was in the room at all and not out doing... anything else. Pretense sucks.

I can almost see a conduit of energy run between Heero's body and his computer. He's working really hard on whatever he's doing. I think it might be a review on the effectiveness of new weapons used on the last op. Whatever it is, it has his undivided attention. And if that does, then I'm free to do my looking. Covert, that's me.

His eyes never deviate from the screen that bathes his face in this kind of dim, pale light. Hands never leave the keyboard for more than a few precious seconds, but even then it's only to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes or something.

Every once in a while, I've noticed, he actually will stop. But just for thirty seconds or so. He flexes his fingers and quickly scans over what has been previously written. There's a sharpness and a precision in his eyes that appears there for whatever he's doing. Two things: Heero does not waste time, nor does he allow others to waste it.

Boggles the mind as to why I haven't gotten the glare for lying here doing jack squat, though. Maybe his sonar is off or something.

I just wish I knew, I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his right n-

Rap rap rap

There's a knock at our door. We both look up to stare at the wood. "Who is it?" I ask, knowing Heero won't bother wasting the words, and that I have them in excess.

"Relena Peacecraft," is my answer.

No, you really don't want to know what I think. I'm about to tell her I'm indecent (always) and can't let her in when someone else gets in before me.

"Door's open," Heero states before turning back to his laptop.

I can't help the frown that appears on my face. See? I wasn't expecting that.

The door opens silently and she steps inside our quarters. She barely spares me a glance and a nod. It's like I'm not really there. To her, only one person is.

"Heero," she says in this quiet voice, like an awed hush.

Heero doesn't look back up from the laptop. "What are you doing here?" he asks. Not all that unkindly, but straight to the point.

"I... I need your help," she says. I look up ready to witness my partner's lack of emotion for her plea to find her looking at me.

"My help?" I ask. You know, it's really hard to keep the incredulity out of my voice, so sue me.

"Yes," she confirms, before turning towards Heero again. For all this 'needing me' stuff, she might as well be telling the story only to Heero. "An old friend of my father's -- a senator dedicated to peace -- has had threats placed against him. Action has been approved to try and find out who is doing this." She finally turns her head, if not her body, towards me, "I was told you didn't have any current duties, and would be available to go on reconnaissance at his house for a few hours."

I bite back a sigh and an expletive, both of which almost make it out of my mouth. "When?"

"Now," Relena replies, "I-" she suddenly goes all... shy? "I am supposed to stay around here and wait for you to report back."

'Here' probably means 'Here on this base'. That doesn't look like the 'Here' she's referring to, though. If she means 'Here' as in 'Here in my quarters’, she's got another thing coming-

"Duo can't go," Heero's voice cuts into my mental rampage. Relena and I both snap our heads around.

"He can't?" she questions.

"I can't?" I yelp.

"No," Heero replies firmly, "he is helping me with my weapons report in an unofficial capacity."

I am?

Oh, I am. I pick up my discarded status report (even though it has nothing to do with the weapons report) because it looks official, and begin leafing through it.

Relena looks way skeptical, but there's something in Heero's face that very few people find they can argue with. "Trowa has a light load at the moment," Heero continues, "I'm sure he can spare some time to do this. Plus, he is an excellent recon agent."

"Uh, a-alright." There really is nothing she can say to that. She begins to back out of our quarters slowly. I continue to look quite industrious, flicking over the pages like a pro. "Maybe next time," she offers meekly, before a whispered "bye Heero," precedes her exit.

Next time? Sure. When I become the God of Fluffy Puppies and Springtime.

I stop looking at the papers and don't hide the fact that I'm completely stumped as to why the hell he bailed me out of helping Miss Priss. It's not like I was really helping him, and what she said was true, I don't have any ops right this minute.

And in true form for the afternoon, before I can gather the words to sort out what the hell is going on in that head of his, Yuy is 2 steps ahead and moving forward once again.

"Just accept what I said and move on. Quietly, if possible," he states, hands clacking at his keyboard once again.

"But w-"

"Quietly," he repeats in that special 'I Will Commence Hurting You In Four Seconds' voice of his.

I take the hint.

I lie back on the bed, hands underneath my head as before, blatantly staring at my partner. Nothing has really changed in his appearance in the past 2 minutes upon cursory examination, but looking closely, I do see a slight change.

There's this tiny, itsy bitsy little ghost of a smile. If I had to give the expression a name, I would call it 'smug', but it's like a diluted smug. Still there, though.

Suddenly, I get this insight. For one second, I think I finally have a clue as to what's going on in his head. I think I finally know what he's thinking.

He's thinking I owe him. Big.





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