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Addiction
Another deranged qwik-ie by Ami-chan
It was happening again.
At first Heero tried to ignore the feelings that swept through him, distance himself from the persistent cravings as he'd been trained to do, but it was always an exercise in futility. They'd defeat him once more, battering down his half-hearted defenses with the careless grace of a predator who knows that its next victory is guaranteed, that a sure kill is on the way.
And once again, that kill would be Heero.
As the day progressed farther and farther into the early winter twilight that this part of the U.S. was famous (or infamous) for, Heero's desperate resistance slowly evaporated like so much mist under a rising sun. With a low cry, the Wing pilot finally submitted to the enticing lure of what awaited him upstairs, and started staggering through the hallway with his breath catching in his throat. He uttered a strangled whimper, of self-loathing, despair, and not a bit of desiring anticipation, which echoed around the eerily empty house like the cry of the damned.
It was lucky none of the others were home, otherwise they would never have recognized their fellow pilot for the wild look on his face; so different from the normally intense, grim Heero. Dark blue eyes flashed around self-consciously, even as Heero shoved the door to the room he and Duo shared ajar and slipped into the chaotic mess inside.
Damn you, Duo! Another helpless sob wrenched its way out of Heero's throat as he started ripping through his roommate's drawers, tossing aside clothes and other personal belongings with reckless abandon. His frantic searching producing nothing, the Japanese boy moved to the pack leaning against the unmade bed in the room and meticulously tore through that as well.
It's your fault I feel this way, Heero continued silently as his hands repeatedly dipped into Duo's bag and came up empty of his goal. Oh god, I want it so much!
Addiction. That was the only rationalization he could come up with to explain his behavior. He was addicted. Heero Yuy, the Perfect Soldier.
Ironic.
========
When Quatre had named the location of their latest hideaway, Heero had been darned close to actually staring at him in shock. He had no idea why Quatre had a safehouse—complete with hangar and tech crew—here. Smack dab in the middle of the northeastern United States. In the dead of winter. And bloody freezing to boot.
Emphasis on the freezing. He'd abandoned the spandex for something a bit more thermal, much to the comfort of certain parts of his anatomy.
Out of all the pilots, Duo seemed the most at home. That was to be expected, considering Duo's ethnic background. Quatre, for the few days he had been here, had always been found next to the heater in three layers of clothing and a blanket. Or in three layers of clothing, a blanket, and Trowa. Well, not necessarily in Trowa; the Arabian pilot would have died of embarrassment before he would have performed something like that in public . . . though it wasn't to say that particular act wasn't going on in private, now. But the tall pilot had been consistently wrapped around his smaller blond counterpart, trying to warm him up.
Wufei had ensconced himself in his room, coming out almost only to eat a simple meal or something. Didn't bother Heero. Whatever the Chinese pilot did was his business.
There was simply no way to keep Duo inside; the braided boy took to snow like a fish to water. There were already multiple snowmen and other assorted snow-creatures dotted around the house, decorated with a variety of sticks and twigs. One of the reasons Wufei elected to stay inside, Heero knew for sure, was the fact that he had gotten a fast-delivered snowball upside the head the first and only time he'd poked his head out the front door.
And if Duo wasn't playing, he was exploring. Which had basically led to Heero's current hell.
It had been a couple weeks previous that Heero had first been dragged down into this nightmare, the first time he'd laid eyes on the substance that controlled his life so: dangling between the deceptively thin fingers of Deathscythe's spirited pilot. Half of it was already gone as Duo licked at stained skin with an equally discolored tongue. The sheer happiness that had radiated from those indigo eyes had been enough to pique Heero's curiosity.
"What's that?"
Duo grinned maniacally, showing teeth washed with the same strange hue as the stuff he held. "Oi, Heero, never thought I'd have this again, but I found a bunch in this old factory today and man, try some!" The braided pilot stopped his giddy babbling enough to produce another package from somewhere and toss it at Heero, who caught it easily and raised an eyebrow in disdain.
"Is this what I think it is?"
Duo nodded. "Uh huh. So what if it's illegal? Chance of a lifetime, Heero!"
Heero snorted. "Never had it, never will. You shouldn't be having it either; might affect your ability to operate and carry out a mission."
Duo mock-pouted. "Geez, offer this to any old schmoe on the streets and they'd be lickin' your bathroom clean for it. But offer it to the Perfect Soldier and what do you get? The usual crap about missions and junk."
"That 'usual crap' might save your life one day," Heero retorted. "Maybe then you'll wish you'd listened to me."
"Right." Duo, in typical Duo fashion, took no offense. "Seriously, Heero, it's awesome," he continued cheerfully. "Absolutely unforgettable; you'll like it, I promise."
"Hn," was Heero's indifferent reply as he made to put the rectangular packet on the table and leave. Happiness had no place in the life of a Gundam pilot, not the sort of happiness induced by this type of thing, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Duo frowning in disapproval.
"It's not like it's gonna hurt you, Heero." Absently Duo crumpled one corner of the shiny foil under his fingers, tugging out another piece of the dark material and popping it into his mouth.
"It's supposed to be incredibly addictive," Heero intoned flatly. "That's not hurting me?"
Duo snorted. "You need to relax more, man."
Heero didn't even grace that with a reply, icily stalking out of the living room and up the stairs.
========
Later, Heero had come downstairs to find Duo's shoes, jacket, and tool kit missing from their proper places, the now-empty wrapper sitting lazily on the abandoned armchair. With Wufei actually out somewhere for once and Trowa and Quatre on their respective missions, the house suddenly seemed too quiet. All the reports necessary for their current assignment had been filed, Wing was in top shape and in no need of inspection, and Heero belatedly realized that he was bored.
A flash of argent light caught his eye for a moment, before answered by another. The first originating from the chair, the second from the table.
Heero paused, slightly surprised that the unopened package was still there, then dismissed that surprise with a snort of disgust. Of course it was still there; nobody but Duo and himself had passed through the house all day, and if the former was that adamant of Heero taking the thing, he wasn't simply going to throw it away. Though it was surprising Duo hadn't simply claimed it for himself.
Still, Heero couldn't suppress the image of a deliriously content Duo lounging in the now-empty chair as he slowly consumed the stuff. It would be interesting to see what could cause such a reaction in the already too lively American pilot.
Feh. As if contentment was even the smallest part of the lives they led.
Still . . .
Whether it was a morbid curiosity or a longing to experience something good in his life for once—as Duo's reaction plainly showed it was—Heero couldn't tell. But something in him moved his body, reached out his arm out to pick up the gleaming silver shape on the rich wood of the table, and tore it open.
Heero snapped off a small piece of the substance inside, rubbing it slowly with callused fingers. The sharp corners smoothed out, leaving a thin layer of dark material on his skin. Cautiously, he licked at the pad of his stained digit.
The sensation that exploded in across his tastebuds was indescribable. Heero stifled a shocked gasp, then stared at the stuff he held in his hand. Bringing the piece he'd broken off slowly to his mouth, he gingerly chewed.
The small taste before was nothing compared to the full blast of the stuff.
In seconds, the rest of it was gone.
========
It was three days later that Heero had spotted another half-ingested package of the sensuous material, left on Duo's bedside table. It had only been an instant's hesitation before that was snatched and taken as well. Strong hands then hid the silver evidence left behind.
Afterwards, those hands were shaking.
========
Since then, Heero had found himself unconsciously craving the substance, and then hating himself when he realized he was doing so. A Perfect Soldier should not be subject to those types of feelings.
And then whenever the need got too strong, the eventual reply to that thought was always, Screw that. A Perfect Soldier would have killed Relena the first time.
Which was why he was basically trashing Duo's half of the room like some tanktop-and-jeans-clad whirlwind.
Success. A couple oddly shaped pieces of what he wanted, packaged in that distinctive metallic outer covering. Just enough to satisfy his desire, for now.
With a cry of childish delight, Heero tore upon his prize, devouring the dark pleasure eagerly. The form of the drug was a little odd this time, but hey, they went down easier than pills. Especially since one could chew them—
"A-HEM."
Heero jumped guiltily, dread about just who had cleared his throat suddenly locking his shoulders. He'd been so fixed on what he'd been doing that he hadn't even heard the front door open or close, much less note his being observed.
Exactly what I warned Duo about. Affects your ability to operate effectively. Chikuso . . .
Slowly Heero straightened up and turned around, to see Duo lounging in the doorway. The Deathscythe pilot had one eyebrow raised, arms crossed in front of his chest as he looked accusingly at Heero.
"Just what," Duo said deliberately, "are you doing with my chocolate?"
Heero gulped.
Busted . . .
~owari~
Notes: *snicker* I guess you can see where the "fluff" tag comes in . . . hope I surprised you. If not, well, I tried. And yes, chocolate is illegal in A.C. 195. *wail* What a sad world, ne? ^^;;
This one was inspired by yet another discussion in Health. About endorphins— chemicals that are produced by the brain that make one feel generally "good" and reduce pain. Like a natural high. And what causes the brain to create more of them. Chocolate was on the list. *grins maniacally yet again*
And the funny thing is, I finished this fic after a trip to Hershey, PA, which, incidentally, is where this fic is located (northeastern U.S., Duo found the junk in an old factory, remember??? ^^).
BTW, for those who are wondering (very few, I bet), the candy Duo had first were the regular Hershey bars, the oddly-shaped ones were kisses.
And I do apologize for the bad joke all the way up there. No doubt the masses are gathering just to pound me into ramen broth right this minute.
They are. And they're bringing Ranma, Lina, and Miaka to finish off said ramen broth after that.
*leaves dust cloud*
*snirt*
A note from Ami-chan: HELP!!!!