Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Eight

Milliardo cursed as his umbrella snapped inside out. Hunching against the wind, he tossed the umbrella, now mangled into a travesty of cloth and broken spines into a nearby trash can. Water gushed by in the drains and swirled in little gullies about his feet. He was soaked to the skin but Milliardo was barely aware of the weight of his waterlogged coat and jeans as he hurried up the steps to the administration building. It was a little after six and all the offices were closed except the one he was looking for, its light gleaming at the end of the hall. Milliardo checked his watch. Still plenty of time before the library closed, but he had better move quickly. Jed wouldn’t wait forever and the last thing either of them needed was to be discovered. Milliardo trotted toward the records office, leaving puddles of water in his wake.

“Jed?” Milliardo peered around the door.

“Yeah, man, I’m here.” The redhead beckoned to him and Milliardo scrambled inside. “You’re lucky I owe you a favor—and I like you,” his face split into a grin, “this is some serious shit. Sharing student records is a big no, no.”

“I know, Jed, I know. I swear, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t important.” Milliardo shrugged out of his coat. ” I know if anyone found out, this could cost you your job so I really appreciate your doing this for me.”

He and Jed met during their undergraduate days and though they had taken different paths, Jed abandoning the writing track for law, they never lost touch. They were not the best of friends, but they could depend on each other. That, and they had been lovers once. It hadn’t lasted, but Jed had been fantastic in bed. Enthusiastic, Milliardo recalled with a grin and quite vocal too. A few years ago he had lent the redhead a sizeable portion of money to help him get over a rough patch and though Milliardo would never dream of accepting the money, Jed had insisted that Milliardo at least allow him to pay him back in any other way that he could. Milliardo agreed, never thinking he would need to call in the favor one day.

“No problem, Mil. What’s the name of the kid you’re looking for?”

“Yuy. Heero Yuy.” Milliardo shoved his hands into his pockets as he moved closer to the computer screen.

“Hmm, let’s see here. Yuy … Yuy…” Jed raised an eyebrow, suddenly hesitant. “And you’re sure this is all to the good?”

Milliardo made an exasperated sound. “Would I lie to you? Of course it is! Besides, it’s not like I’m asking you for his social security number. I just want to know who his next of kin is.”

“All right, man, all right,” Jed spread his hands in a placating gesture, “I just gotta check, you know?”

“I’m sorry, I know. It’s just this is important to me and I guess I’m a little uptight at the moment.”

Jed laughed. “It’s okay, Mil. I saw the kid’s picture. I think I get it now.”

Milliardo flushed. “That is…”

“Hey,” Jed reached over the printer to retrieve the paper. He handed it to Milliardo, “I’m not making any judgements. If you say this is kosher then I believe you. I just hope the kid is worth it.”

Milliardo’s fingers closed around the printed sheet.

“He is, Jed. He is.”
—————————-

The machine whirred as Milliardo loaded another microfilm onto the reel and began scrolling. He had spent the afternoon hunting down everything he could find on one Jeremiah Yuy. Once he had Heero’s father’s name in hand, he had been unable to uncover a surprising wealth of information in the library archives. He had begun with a simple web search and that had turned up Jeremiah’s name linked with a company called Gem Electric, specializing in micro-chip technolgy, particularly for industrial use. Jeremiah had founded the company sometime in the eighties, but Milliardo could not find much about his past other than he had come from humble a background. Jeremiah was not from the area and had moved to their town shortly after starting up Gem Electric.

Milliardo leaned back in his chair and whistled. It seemed their university’s computer science and information systems departments had received a sizeable sum from Jeremiah when stock in Gem Electric was at its most profitable. No wonder Heero had turned to programming. He had had little choice in the matter. Milliardo scrolled through more articles about Gem Electric’s meteoric rise and interviews with it’s CEO, Jeremiah, who by all accounts was a cold and unsettling presence. His answers to reporters were always to the point and faintly derisive. Milliardo grimaced. There was no doubt he was an expert in his field, but he shuddered to think of the man as a parent. In all of his pictures, Jeremiah Yuy wore the same charcoal suit. He was perfectly pressed, to the point of rigidity, and stood stiffly with his legs apart. The only unconventional part of him was his hair, which he kept uncharacteristically long. It lent him an almost ferocious appearance and even years later, his pictures held an unsettling intensity.

The rain rattled the windows, coming down with greater furor and Milliardo shivered. His clothes hung oppressively on him now that he was no longer moving, and the damp wool of his sweater itched his neck. He kept scrolling through the reels, but nothing he came across was what he wanted. While Jeremiah’s business profile was certainly pertinent, the articles told him nothing of Heero, who was Milliardo’s greatest concern. Milliardo sighed and rubbed his eyes, which had begun to burn from staring at the tiny print for so long. The vibrating of his cell phone told him he had one message but Milliardo did not bother to check it. He had far more important things to worry about at the moment. He was beginning to become discouraged, but Miiliardo promised himself that he would search through two more reels before giving up. If he found nothing then so be it. In truth, he had begun to question the soundness of his plan and was somewhat relieved that his search was proving fruitless. Milliardo secured the penultimate microfilm onto the spindle. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that his actions were all to the good, he was troubled. He could not get Heero’s tormented features out of his head.

Milliardo yawned as the pages flashed black and white before him, the clicking and humming of the machine loud in the stillness. Outside the window, a streak of lightning flashed—so bright and so jagged it seemed to rend the sky in a million tiny fragments. The weather was poor enough that he was one among only a few overzealous students left. Milliardo remembered the first day he stumbled onto Heero and smiled. He really should be getting home and out of these wet clothes. Why had he come here, again? Milliardo became increasingly convinced of his mistake. He should be home where it was warm, comfortable and dry. Milliardo had run into Trowa on the way to the administration building. Weren’t he and Quatre hosting that movie night tomorrow? If Milliardo were lucky he would get Heero to come with him. That was what he should be doing—earning Heero’s trust through the simple things—not sitting here in the library courting deception. No matter how frustrated Milliardo was, or how deeply he longed for Heero to open his heat to him, Milliardo realized now that he must wait. It was the only way he could ensure happiness for either of them. What if he went through with this and Heero found out? Any hope for love between them would be shattered. No, he would prove to Heero that all trust was not misplaced. Milliardo would go home, shower and then call Heero, invite him to the movie, ask him about his day—whisper sweet things to him. He would not bother with the last reel of film.

Milliardo put the machine on autoscroll and returned the unused microfilm to its box as his cell phone vibrated again. Must be Treize, he thought with a twinge of guilt, remembering the first call he left unanswered. Taking one eye off the screen, Milliardo reached across the desk and froze as something caught the edges of his vision. Was it? It couldn’t be… He jammed the scroll button to a stop, his hands trembling. The light on his cell phone continued to flash and the whir of the microfilm machine was suddenly deafening.

There, on the screen, as if by some eerie tranferrence, Heero had escaped Milliardo’s thoughts and was staring back at him.
—————————-

“So, what are you going to wear?” Hilde grinned at him.

Heero did not mean to mention the movie night, but now the woman would not stop pestering him. He had only been looking for the laundry detergent so he could wash some clothes for the next day. All through dinner, Heero had taken note of Treize’s and Wufei’s neatly pressed shirts and comfortable slacks, and he quickly determined he had nothing suitable to wear to the movie night. It was all right to go to classes as he was, but Heero could not define the feeling that came upon him at the thought of Milliardo seeing him in the same faded clothes again.

He knew it was out of the question to get anything stylish, but he had some small savings and after leaving Wufei and Treize, Heero stopped by the local thrift store. All items were fifty percent off on the last Thursday of the month, and Heero was determined to take advantage of the savings. He would have stopped there in any case to get clothes and other household items for himself and J, but Trowa’s invitation made his visit all the more timely. Heero found some well-cared for slacks, a new pair of jeans (which he badly needed) and some shirts. He also bought sweaters for himself and was proudest of the fine serge jacket he spotted at the last minute. Heero even found some sturdy leather boots that would serve him well through fall and winter. Even after his purchases for J, the items had totalled to just under thirty-five dollars. Heero was sure he could not have been more efficient.

When he got home, he decided to do the laundry right away so he could determine which of his new purchases he would wear the next day. That was when Hilde had walked in, complimenting him on the new outfits. Of course she wanted to know why Heero had bought them. Heero tried to explain to her that he always made some purchases when items were discounted and had only touched upon Trowa’s invitation in passing, but Hilde latched on to the little detail with the tenacity of a virus attacking a motherboard, and Heero had not heard the last of it since. She wanted to know if Heero was excited about going, if he had known Trowa very long and if the good-looking blond would be joining them. To this last question, Heero politely replied that though Wufei had described Quatre to him, he could make no other judgements about the man’s appearance.

Hilde scowled. “You know I’m not talking about this Quatre guy. I mean your friend—the tall, blond god of a man who came to meet you here. ”

Heero measured the detergent into a cup. “I think you are referring to Milliardo.”

“Yes, Milliardo! And what a princely name to suit a very princely specimen.” Hilde beamed at Heero.

“Is it not time for you to leave yet?”

“It’s raining.”

That meant there would be no getting rid of her. Heero turned to the washer without a word. Dipping into the laundry basket, he sorted the clothes by color, beginning with the whites because most of the sheets and J’s clothes were of that color.

“So are you going alone?” Hilde hemmed him in, completely oblivious to Heero’s attempts at ignoring her and Heero grimaced.

“I do not understand why you need such details.”

“Come on, don’t be shy.”

Shy? Heero started. He was merely being logical. He frowned at Hilde across the table. Frankly, Heero found the woman incomprehensible. Because Heero often came in so late in the evenings, over the weeks, they had begun eating dinner together. At first, Heero tried to dissuade Hilde from joining him. He knew the inconsistency of his meals and was uncomfortable with her witnessing the incongruity of his fare. Heero knew the importance of nutrition and well-balanced meals, but he had not yet devised a strategy that would allow him to purchase nutritionally sound meals while staying within budget. Most nights, he ate hot dogs with pork and beans or he munched on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Other times, he dined on hastily microwaved dinners. No matter how he tried to chase Hilde away, though, the woman was adamant. Whenever he came home, he would find her bustling about the kitchen, the table already set with Heero’s mismatched dinnerware—though Hilde did not seem to notice. She drank and ate heartily from the battered cups and plates as though they were the finest cookware. The woman had so insinuated herself into his schedule that when Heero was invited to have dinner with Treize and Wufei, he had felt obligated to call the house to let Hilde know he would not be joining her. No wonder he was having trouble getting rid of her!

What puzzled Heero most, however, was the fact that Hilde claimed to enjoy his company. Heero knew himself to be neither talkative nor socially adept. Indeed it was rare for him to speak more than a few words during his and Hilde’s “conversations”. After careful consideration of the matter, Heero had determined that more than fifty percent of his contribution to their dinnertime discussions consisted of directives such as “pass the salt” or “hand me the butter”. A variation on the theme was “be quiet” but this was the request least likely to be granted so Heero had abandoned it for others that were more productive.

Heero frowned now, contemplating Hilde again as he put the last of the clothes in the washer. Completely illogical behavior—truly incomprehensible…

“So?”

“You are asking a question.”

“Are you going out with him or aren’t you?”

“Milliardo … has also been invited.”

“Aha!” Hilde crowed. “So that’s why you bought these.”

“I do not see what you mean.” Heero murmured, watching as suds dispersed and coalesced on the washer’s glass door. He had heard there was a new product one could add to the wash so that sorting was unnecessary. Dye Catcher, or something similar, it was called [1]. He would have to investigate it further.

“Come on, Heero,” Hilde prodded. “You’re not fooling me with this nonchalant act. Don’t you want to look nice for him?”

For some reason, Heero’s face grew hot at those words. “I am only interested in being presentable.”

“Well, the rain looks like it’s stopping, so I have to leave in a bit, but if you want, I can help you pick something out for your date. You’ve got some good stuff here, and with the right combination we can make it even more fabulous.” Hilde pointed to the new clothes resting on top of the basket to be included in the next wash. “Don’t look so worried. Trust me; I have an eye for these things.”

Heero hesitated. Hilde’s close-cropped haircut was indeed very stylish and once or twice he had seen her change to her street clothes directly from work, and she always looked attractive. Heero could not see the harm in seeking her advice. Not that it had anything to do with Milliardo by any means. He just wanted to be appropriate. J always told him there was a time and a place for everything and only a fool bumbled in unaware of his environment.

“Well…” Heero began.

“Come on.” Hilde winked, already laying the clothes across the table. “We’ll knock his socks off.”
—————————-

Heero had been adopted at six years old and Milliardo had never seen anyone so uncertain, so terribly stunned as the young boy in the photograph. It was his eyes—so dark and so wise in one so young—that brought a shiver to the back of one’s neck. It was not a hardness they possessed but a blankness—an utter lack of hope or expectation. Milliardo frowned. Perhaps that was the quality that troubled him so much in Heero that he had been unable to put a name to. It had changed somewhat of course, but there, in the boy, was the echo of the man to come. In the photograph, Heero and Jeremiah were standing in front of the child adoption agency ( to sensationalize the event Milliardo supposed ) and Jeremiah had pulled Heero awkwardly to his side in a parody of fatherly affection that would have been laughable if it was not so frightening.

Milliardo had only the articles to judge by, but his impression was so unsettling and so strong Milliardo could hardly deny it. Here was the last man on earth Milliardo would put a child in the arms of, yet Heero had been given to Jeremiah to the grins and nods of the public. Everywhere, there was excited commentary on the idea of Jeremiah as a father, but no one had remembered the child himself. The picture captured outside the agency was the last photograph Heero had appeared in. What had happened in that interim? Heero’s eyes would not tell him.

How was it possible for so many people to be so blind? Milliardo scanned the papers agitatedly. How? Of course he knew how. Money talked. Though at six Heero could hardly have been the oldest candidate for adoption, he was already less then ideal—even more so, Milliardo imagined, with him being such a sober child. No doubt they’d assumed it was better to be adopted by an eccentric mogul than for Heero to find no home at all. Milliardo leaned back, more upset than he had expected. Maybe it was the pain he had sensed, buried so deeply in Heero that even the younger man was unable to acknowledge it. He had been hoping for a miracle, but everything Milliardo had seen today only reinforced his fears.

Milliardo skimmed the later issues to the collapse of Gem Electric in the last three years. There was mention of it being absorbed by one company and then another but Milliardo had stopped reading closely by then. Whatever ideas he had come with, Milliardo knew enough now to be sure that Heero needed him as much as he needed his troubled new friend.

—————————-

“Heero, can I talk to you for a second?”

Heero looked up from his soup to find Milliardo at his elbow. He was having lunch with Trowa and Wufei again and they were discussing the finer points of race cars. Trowa was surprisingly knowledgeable on the subject and Heero was just trying to press the other man for details about Quatre’s latest purchase, when Milliardo interrupted them. Heero excused himself to join the older man, his heart thumping in his chest. “I will return shortly,” he told his friends.

“No problem, Heero.” Wufei smiled and Trowa nodded. “We’ll wait for you.”

Heero gave a stiff nod as he followed Milliardo out. The older man’s expression was so grim as he led Heero across the room that Heero began to wonder if he should be concerned. They stopped just outside the little-used west entrance, shielded from the thoroughfare of traffic that usually marched past the dining hall. Milliardo was staring off at the parking lot with a faraway expression that was at odds with his agitated body language and the compulsive tick in his jaw. Heero could not think of a reason for the nervous movement, or why Milliardo had called him away from lunch. He remained silent, waiting for Milliardo to speak.

“Heero—” Milliardo whirled to face him. “Heero, we’re friends, right? What I mean to say is, we’re … we’re together aren’t we?”

“Together?” Heero mulled the word over. He was not sure what he felt for Milliardo, though Heero could not shake the feeling they were being inexorably pulled towards something unnamable. What stood on the other side, however, Heero could not say. His instincts told him that whatever it was, he could not escape it. He had learned long ago that some battles could not be won and Heero knew this would be one of them. Held in the grip of the invisible current propelling them forward, Heero knew he must go along with it or be broken on the rocks — and dashed he eventually would be, regardless of whether he struggled or not. The pain would come soon enough, of that Heero was certain. It was the one constant in his life. Why invite it prematurely?

Together. The word echoed in Heero’s thoughts. He opened his mouth to speak — to try to explain his feelings — but Milliardo was already rushing over him.

“Or I would like us to be,” the older man was continuing hastily. “Will you consider it?” Milliardo rested his forehead against Heero’s, took Heero’s hands in his own. “Will you come with me to the movie night this evening?” he asked and Heero frowned, his gaze sliding away from Milliardo’s. His legs felt suddenly and dangerously unstable, and Heero wondered whether he had pushed himself too hard at his daily exercises.

“I have accepted Quatre’s invitation.” Heero said and Milliardo’s expression told him that it was the incorrect response.

“No.” Milliardo raised Heero’s chin with one finger. “I mean as my date,” he explained. “I would love to have you by my side.”

Heero tried to process this distinction. Was this the same “date” Hilde had been speaking of? She too had spoken of him and Milliardo as being “together”. Of course, Heero watched movies, and observing his classmates he had an idea of how these things worked, but no one had ever taken an interest in him before, and for all Hilde’s gushing about the night ahead, she had taken his date with Milliardo as a given. How one behaved on a date — or even how one knew he was one a date — this important data she had witheld. Heero always thought that numerous dates were required before two people officially declared themselves a couple, but this was not true in Heero’s and Milliardo’s case. Or was it? He and Milliardo had done many things together in the weeks since they’d met. Were those dates too? Heero wondered. Surely they must have been if he and Milliardo were now “together”. Heero was not averse to the idea, but he was not sure he understood all the details correctly. “What is the difference?” he asked Milliardo slowly.

“The difference,” Milliardo rumbled, “Is that I want to have you to myself all evening.” His thumbs caressed the pulse throbbing in Heero’s neck and Heero swallowed convulsively. “To hold you—” Milliardo kissed the point in question, tongue stealing out to hotly trace warm skin. “To kiss you,” he finished, tracing the sensitive rim of Heero’s lips before releasing him.

So that was what he expected. Heero’s eyes were shut, his breathing harsh as he fought to control the emotions tumbling through him. They reopened to find Milliardo’s face hovering before his. Heero imagined a night spent in the older man’s company, the awkwardness of appearing as a couple, Milliardo’s constant, unnerving presence at his side — the kisses and caresses that turned Heero’s knees to butter… It should have cautioned him, but more and more Heero was beginning to see his relationship with Milliardo as a learning experience — a test of his will as J could never have imagined it. He would be singed, but Heero never minded the scars. Even if it was for only a moment, he wanted to step into the light just once.

Heero nodded. “Then, I will accompany you,” he said.

—————————-

“Okay, I’m putting the DVD in!” Quatre announced, waving the slim case in the air as he moved toward the player. The kitchen-dining area was adjacent to the den and the rest of the group was milling around the table, grabbing drinks and slices of pizza. Heero was the first to return with his plate and Quatre settled next to him as the previews began rolling by. The blond was both more and less than Heero had imagined. Less, because Quatre was petite, his features sweet and boyish. More, because Quatre’s eyes seemed to see things even Heero did not want to reveal to himself.

“Oh, you got the hawaiian,” Quatre smiled as he glanced at Heero’s plate. “You’re a man after my own heart, Heero. That’s my favorite too,” he said and Heero grunted, knowing a moment of panic as he searched for a suitable response. He knew he should say something equally pleasant and innocuous, but he could think of nothing to greet Quatre’s expectant smile.

“I’ve got you, Quatre,” Trowa called, saving Heero from having to answer, as he picked his way across to Quatre, two plates held high. He offered one plate to Quatre, who accepted it gratefully.

“Thanks, Tro.”

“No problem, Love.” Trowa settled on Quatre’s other side, feet crossed comfortably before him. With his lover so close by, Heero expected all Quatre’s attention to be focused on Trowa, but the blond continued to talk to Heero as he munched on his pizza.

“It’s really a pleasure to meet you, Heero,” he was saying. “Tro and Wufei have both had such wonderful things to say about you — and Milliardo of course.” Quatre added, beaming. “I’ve really been looking forward to having you over.”

“Thank you.” Heero cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the praise. It was difficult to find it deserving when he was not sure what he had done to earn it. He knew that he and Wufei had become friends and that he was rapidly growing used to Trowa’s easy presence, but the how of it, Heero still could not pin down.

Treize and Wufei wandered in, followed closely by Milliardo, who was cradling a slice of pizza in one hand and nursing a beer with the other. Heero had seen the alcohol but deliberately avoided it, mindful that he must be in full rein of his faculties this evening, when he was so out of his depth.

“So what are we watching?” Milliardo asked, collapsing onto the chair next to Heero’s . When he leaned forward to grab the DVD case, their knees brushed and it was as if electricity crackled between them. Sensation zinged from that warm point up Heero’s thigh, leaving his skin charged and hypersensitive even through the rough cloth of his jeans. Heero shifted away, struggling to catch his breath, but Milliardo appeared completely unaffected as he studied the small text printed on the DVD jacket.

“Mystic Blade?” Milliardo murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one.”

“I have, ” Wufei said from the loveseat, where he was resting against Treize. “It came out just last year, I think. I’ve heard it’s quite good,” he offered, his eyes glued to the screen. They all turned to the television as the movie started, Wufei pointing out one or two familiar actors whose work he had seen before, while Milliardo questioned him about their plots and whether there were any special effects worth seeing.

Quatre was susprisingly rowdy, rising from his seat more than once to cheer the hero on, while Trowa watched him in amusement. At some point, though, Treize and Wufei abandoned the movie to whisper to each other. Treize wrapped his arm around Wufei and was murmuring something in the younger man’s ear. Whatever it was, Wufei seemed to agree with it, for the conversation ended with the two men kissing tenderly. Their kisses were quite chaste, but Heero could not help studying them. Treize and Wufei were a couple. Together, in the fullest sense. Surely Heero was to learn from them if he and Milliardo were to be an item?

Embraced as Wufei was by Treize, the movement was mostly shielded by Treize’s body, but Heero was so intent upon the couple that he saw Treize’s hand slip beneath Wufei’s shirt. It moved upward to Wufei’s chest and once there, proceeded to do something that made Wufei shiver like a chill had suddenly swept the room. Treize kissed Wufei’s forehead and as quickly as he stole the caress, he withdrew, the two men returning to their previous postions as if the moment had never been.

Heero quickly looked away, not wanting to be caught staring, but his thoughts were awhirl with questions. An inexplicable heat had found its way under his collar as he watched his two friends, and Heero excused himself to the bathroom to splash water on his face and neck. In the mirror, the edges of Heero’s hair were dark with water and his skin was flushed. There was a fire in his blood and Heero was hepless to say whether its source had come from without or within.
—————————-

Heero was stunning tonight. Milliardo could not take his eyes off him. The movie was almost finished and he could not say the slightest thing about it. All the while he pretended to be engrossed, Milliardo had been watching Heero over his drink. He wished they were sitting close together and he could pull Heero in his arms the way Treize was now holding Wufei. It was too soon of course for such open displays of affection, but Milliardo yearned for the day when Heero would be comfortable enough with him to allow it.

As the movie ended, Trowa put on some music. Joining hands, he and Quatre swayed to the rhythm. When a slower beat came on, they dimmed the lights and pushed the dining table and chairs far to the side, creating a makeshift ballroom. Treize and Wufei hesitated, but after a moment, they too rose and embraced. Milliardo turned expectantly to Heero, his heart pounding in his chest.

“What about you, Heero? Do you dance?”

Heero’s dark brows drew together as he regarded Milliardo. “No.”

“And why not?” Milliardo asked with a tender look. “Don’t you find it enjoyable?”

Heero’s frown deepened. “I don’t know how to,” he admitted, “but I still fail to see its appeal. The proximity of the dancers seems oppressive and more apt to hinder movement than promote it. It is not something I would like,” Heero finished matter-of-factly, his tone daring Milliardo to convince him otherwise.

“Perhaps you simply haven’t found the right partner.” Milliardo drew Heero’s attention to the dance floor. “Look,” he said, indicating first Quatre and Trowa and then Treize and Wufei, “don’t they seem like they’re enjoying themselves?” Heero nodded reluctantly and Milliardo smiled at the younger man’s wariness.

“The closeness is what makes it special.” Milliardo took Heero’s hand in his. He stroked the sensitive webbing between Heero’s thumb and forefinger then gently turned Heero’s palm over to trace the faint slash of his heart line. “I think you would make an excellent dance partner, Heero.”

Heero began to shake his head, but Milliardo soothed him. “Would you let me hold you in my arms — just for a little while? Please trust me; it’s nothing to be suspicious of.”

Heero’s expressions were so inscrutable, his moods as unpredictable as the wind. Milliardo could not begin to guess what the younger man was thinking. He waited, praying that this time they would be in his favor.

“What do you say, Heero? Will you dance with me?”

Milliardo led Heero towards the dance floor. His arms slid around Heero, smoothly guiding him, pressing their bodies close. Heero knew his movements were awkward, but he was new to this and he could not seem to find the rhythm. Milliardo’s hands stroked down his back, caressing the tense muscles along his spine then moving downwards to settle on Heero’s hips. He bent close to whisper in Heero’s ear.

“Close your eyes, Love.”

Heero hesitated but obeyed. The tension in his frame slowly unwound and he leaned into Milliardo, allowing Milliardo’s guiding hands on his hips. It was not long before they were moving together and then Heero was scarcely aware of the music. Milliardo surrounded him —  his heat, his scent, the steady throb of his heart beneath Heero’s ear. Milliardo’s thigh slid between Heero’s, bringing heat against heat, and the languid rubbing of the older man’s hips against Heero’s sent warmth rushing through his veins. Heero was dizzy from the throb of arousal and the hazy pleasure radiating from their joined bodies, even as Milliardo’s hands seemed everywhere at once, caressing Heero’s face, his back, his hips… Heero didn’t realize that his eyes were still closed or that he had completely melted into Milliardo’s embrace. It just seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean up and press a kiss against Milliardo’s parted lips.

There was a pause, a gasp fanning Heero’s lips, and then Milliardo was shuddering as his mouth slanted over Heero’s, returning the sweet pressure. His fingers tangled in Heero’s hair, massaging his scalp and trailing down to the nape of Heero’s neck, making him shiver. Their tongues mated and a tortured groan rose from Milliardo, even as he pulled their bodies closer. Milliardo’s mouth was soft, his body warm and surprisingly yielding. Though Heero tried to maintain his composure, he found himself pressing closer, drwan irresistably to that heat and strength.

Milliardo’s hands roamed Heero’s body, stroking through the barrier of clothing and Heero knew a want he could not name. His breath came fast, his fingers clenching and and unclenching in Milliardo’s shirt. It suddenly occurred to him that this was insufficient, that he wanted to lie with Milliardo as he had done that day on the grass and feel Milliardo’s skin, hotter than the warmth of the sun, next to his. Heero shifted in Milliardo’s arms thrumming with a frustrated and confused desire. He knew what he wanted, but not how to achieve it. They were not lying in the grass, they were not alone and Heero could not think how to alter the situation so that he could touch Milliardo as he wanted. Heero slid his hands down to Milliardo’s hips, intending to copy the sensual hold Milliardo had on him, but once there, Heero could not stop. As of their own accord they reached round the older man and squeezed his firm buttocks. For a horrified second, Heero froze, realizing what he had done. He began to offer a gruff apology, but the words died on Heero’s lips. He stared, fascinated as Milliardo threw his head back and groaned

Heero remembered the hot, shivery feeling that came over him whenever Milliardo touched him, as though a net of fire were cast in his veins. Heero stared at Milliardo’s slack features and wondered if it was possible for the older man to be ensnared by Heero’s touch. He moved closer. Heero cupped Milliardo again and Milliardo moaned … shuddered.

Heero also groaned. He knew he had discovered something important — something sweet and heady that was almost more pleasurable to Heero than the fever that seized him when Milliardo caressed him. Heero tucked the shining fragment away in his memory for later, when he was at leisure to analyze it. For now, the music still throbbed sensouously and Heero could only think that for all he had deemed this dancing such a clumsy, awkward ritual, he did not want the music to end.

—————————-

“Milliardo! Finally, I catch you alone.” Treize hurried over to Milliardo’s side. “My goodness, you’re a hard man to get a hold of these days. Mil, I have some wonderful news to share. Wufei and I—”

“I’m really sorry, Treize, can we talk about it later?” Milliardo interrupted, his expression contrite as he began moving to rejoin Heero on the balcony. After the dancing he and Heero had gone into the gardens for a walk, parting only for a moment while Milliardo went to get them drinks. Heero was more easy with Milliardo tonight than he had ever been and Milliardo was desperate to preserve the languid mood that had blossomed between them.

Treize touched him on the arm. “I know you’re a bit preoccupied at the moment but I think you’ll want to hear this,” he said with a smile.

Milliardo glanced impatiently over his best friend’s shoulder to where Heero was waiting. Of all the times for Treize to want to chat! It was quite inconvenient. Milliardo hoped Heero was not getting impatient waiting. He couldn’t afford to lose that connection they’d forged toinght! Milliardo shrugged off Treize’s touch with a grin. “Look, Khush, I hate to do it but I really have to pop off; Heero’s waiting for me. I swear to god we’ll catch up first thing, tomorrow. I’ll drop by early in the morning and we can catch up on everything we’ve missed.”

Treize nodded stiffly. “All right then, MIlliardo, I won’t keep you here with my trivia. We’ll catch up tomorrow I suppose. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Milliardo saw the tense line of Treize’s shoulders as he turned to join Wufei and he swore. Damn it! He had hurt Treize’s feelings. Milliardo opened his mouth to call out to his best friend but just then he saw Heero peer around the door as if looking for him. Milliardo hesitated, looking from Treize to Heero — torn between his potential lover and the different kind of love he held for his best friend. What should he do? Milliardo’s gaze darted between the two men again. Careful not to spill the drinks, he hurried toward the balcony. He and Treize would catch up tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he and Treize would sit and talk like old times and Milliardo would repair the damage done tonight. This was Treize, his best friend after all. Surely whatever it was, they would work past it.

Milliardo found Heero staring broodily over the balustrade. He smiled as he offered the younger man a drink. “Were you waiting long?”

Heero turned to him, his eyes luminous in the moonlight. “No.”

—————————-

Heero pushed aside the stack of bills on the kitchen table so that Milliardo could sit down. As unglamorous as the kitchen was, Heero was not prepared to bring the older man to the living room with its old-fashioned TV, threadbare rug and faded, lumpy sofa. He knew Milliardo had seen it the first morning he came to meet Heero and Hilde had shown him in, but Heero was not about to reinforce the memory — not after he had seen Milliardo’s home and the life of comfort he led. Heero still was not sure why he had brought the older man here, and he knew Hilde would pester him tomorrow for answers. As he propelled her out the door, Heero had seen a particular gleam in her eye that did not bode well for Heero, but how could he respond to Hilde’s badgering when even he could not explain the feeling in his chest? Heero only knew that after the dancing and the quiet conversation shared with Milliardo, there was a deep questing within him. He wanted to get to the root of it and Milliardo seemed to be the only means. Everyday, he lost more of his focus, was pullled further and further away from his mission — both mentally in his constant thoughts about the older man, and physically in the time he took away from his studies, the time he took away from his discipline to be with Milliardo. Heero missed the order of his life before Milliardo, when he knew his duties and never had to worry about all these confusing emotions now battering him from every side. He had gone astray and whatever hold Milliardo had over him, Heero was convinced the only way to remove it was to get to its source.

Shaking himself from his musings, Heero found Milliardo studying him. The quality of the other man’s gaze was enough to make Heero’s breath catch and his stomach flutter oddly. Heero frowned. “I’ll put on some tea.”

“Thanks.”

Heero rummaged through the cupboard for the tea bags and put the water on. All the while he could feel Milliardo’s gaze on him like a caress. It was quite disconcerting and Heero nearly burned himself as he poured the hot water into the mugs. He stared at the scald in dismay. He was becoming too careless…

“Are you all right?” Milliardo asked, and before Heero could stop him, Milliardo was already rising out his chair to stand next to Heero, his expression tinged with concern. Carefully, unwrapping Heero’s fingers from around the kettle, he lifted Heero’s hand to examine the reddened skin. “Hmm, it doesn’t look too bad. You should be a bit more careful, though,” Milliardo murmured huskily. “That could have been quite serious.”

Heero’s breath rushed out. “It…it’s nothing,” he stammered, hating how shaky his voice sounded.

“Humph.” Milliardo blew gently on the irritated flesh. “Better?”

Heero’s heart thumped at the sight of Milliardo’s lips so close to his hand. No matter how much he tried to steel himself, his thoughts scattered. His skin felt hot in a way that had nothing to do with the tiny burn and his breath was coming fast. He had to take control of the situation quickly. “Milliardo, what about the tea?”

“Ah, yes, let me help you with that.” When they were seated at the table, Milliardo smiled. “I had a really good time tonight, Heero.”

Heero swallowed a gulp of tea too quickly, and was grateful for the way the the discomfort reminded him of his resolve. “Thank you.”

“No, it was really my pleasure. You’re a wonderful person — and a wonderful dancer, Heero. I hope you’ll do me the honor again.”

Heero remembered the way it felt to be cradled in Milliardo’s arms and his lips twisted ruefully. “It was an interesting experience. I did not think such a thing could be enjoyable.”

“Ah, you don’t know what it means to hear you say that, Heero,” Milliardo murmured. The older man hesitated. “Heero … Heero … would it be possible to have one final dance?”

“But there is no music.” Heero frowned at the tablecloth as Milliardo stood at his side, his palm extended. Milliardo was so close, the heat of his body like a siren call to Heero, already foundering on the rocks of desire. He intended to remain seated, but his body had ideas of its own. As if in a dream, Heero saw himself put down his mug and put his hand in Milliardo’s, allowing the older man to pull him up until he was folded into the warmth of those strong arms.

“It’s okay, we don’t need any music,” Milliardo whispered, holding Heero close. “Just close your eyes and let your body find the rhythm inside you.”

“There is no—”

“Hush … hush … trust me, Heero.” Milliardo’s hands tightened about Heero’s waist. Their feet tangled at first, but soon they righted themselves, swaying together to the invisible beat Milliardo had conjured between them. Heero tried to hold the other man’s stare, but Milliardo’s eyes were too bright, his gaze hinting at something Heero was not yet ready to acknowledge, so instead, he rested his head against Milliardo’s shoulder, letting his eyelids flutter shut as they shuffled about the room. Heero did not know how long they embraced like that, with only the howling of the wind outside and the groaning of the house as it shifted on its foundations as their backdrop. They danced and danced and danced, moving by some strange synchronicity until they twirled out of the kitchen and found themselves at the foot of the stairs.

Heero clutched Milliardo’s shoulders. The yearning within him was a palpable thing, and he could feel the ridge of Milliardo’s desire pressed hard against his belly. When he looked up, the fierceness of Milliardo’s expression took his breath away. Heero thought of the party … the way the music seemed to thrum in time to the pulse in his veins … the way when Heero had caressed him, Milliardo seemed to mold to Heero’s touch. And finally, Heero remembered the way Milliardo’s mouth had descended on his with such heat, such pressure… It was a gamble, but hadn’t he wanted to get to the source of all his pain? What if the answer lay right here?

Heero stared into Milliardo’s too bright — too dangerous eyes. Without a word, he took his hand and led him up the stairs.

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Seven

“Here, have some tea.” Milliardo offered Heero a mug and waited as the younger man downed the hot mixture. “Do you think you might talk about it, now?”

Heero, who seemed to have come back to himself and taken the full measure of his surroundings frowned but did not speak.

Milliardo settled himself on the couch so that Heero was forced to make room on the cushion next to him. He could see the rigidity of Heero’s spine and the bruising grip he had on the mug; it was a wonder he did not burn himself.

“Heero.”

Reaching over and unclenching Heero’s fingers from around the hot ceramic, Milliardo set the mug on the coffee table. He cupped Heero’s palm, rubbing the soft webbing between thumb and forefinger before pulling the younger man close. Heero lay like a weight of lead against his chest, heavy and awkward. There was none of the natural molding of one body to the warmth of another, and Milliardo wondered how much of it was due to discomfort and how much to the simple fact of Heero’s inexperience. Heero kept his limbs close to his body as if somehow afraid that a single movement might shatter them. At the same time, he seemed not to know where to place his hands or how to rest his neck; his head was tilted, the weight of it pressed sharply against Milliardo’s collarbones.

Milliardo caressed Heero’s back in soothing circles. When the stiffness of Heero’s body thawed a little, he repositioned them so that they fitted more naturally together. He could sense Heero’s surprise at the difference the change had wrought and was touched.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk? I’m not saying I have any answers, but I’ve found that it often helps to not have one’s troubles bottled up within. I can sense something is not quite right here, Heero, and I think it might be taking its toll. How can I help you? I would like to think we’re at least friends,” Milliardo met Heero’s solemn gaze; his smile was hopeful, “aren’t we?”

Heero’s frown intensified as he stared up at Milliardo. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Milliardo murmured, brushing back Heero’s damp hair; his thumb traced the soft bloom of the younger man’s mouth, “that I’m concerned about you and I want to help you. Won’t you give me the chance?”

Heero’s brows were lowered ominously and his teeth pressed against his bottom lip until blood welled beneath the surface. Milliardo smoothed the furrow out with a shake of his head.

“No more abuse, remember? Why do you treat yourself so roughly? Countering every caress with a blow does not somehow make you invincible. What makes you despise gentleness?” Milliardo studied Heero. “Perhaps you simply have not had enough of it?”

Heero seemed truly puzzled by Milliardo’s mutterings and it was the evidence of that confusion, which, finally convinced Milliardo to abandon his tack as useless. Open hostility would have at least pointed to willful denial on Heero’s part and consequently, some knowledge of the joys he kept from himself. That Heero was baffled by his talk of gentleness only emphasized the extent of his neglect. More troubling to Milliardo, he found himself confronted once again with Heero’s nebulous past and the conditions of a life so oppressive that they would deny Heero something as simple as human touch. Milliardo sighed.

“Heero, would you share a little about yourself with me? If there’s anything you’re curious about, as well, please don’t be shy.” Heero turned to look at him.

“What do you want from me?”

Milliardo shook his head. “Must I have an ulterior motive? Isn’t it enough to want to be with you?”

Heero did not seem to think so. His gaze was distinctly wary as it lighted over Milliardo’s features. Still, he did not pull away.

“I see no logical benefit to be derived from ‘being with me‘, and so, I cannot accept your proposition. I do not understand you,” he reiterated. “I think you require something of me but will not disclose it.”

Amazement was too mild a word to describe Milliardo’s feelings. “What could I possibly be hiding from you? I want you to be able to trust in me, Heero. If you’ve never been able to count on anyone before, you can count on me. I won’t betray you.”

When Heero’s frown did not lessen, Milliardo made a dismissive gesture. He smiled.

“Well, never mind that. Let’s not worry about what we won’t have to, eh? Forgive me for asking but … it seemed pretty quiet when I stopped by your place this morning. Do you live alone?”

The real question of course, loomed unspoken between them. Milliardo was in fact, curious about the nurse who showed him into Heero’s living room. He did not, however, want to seem too presumptuous, so he settled on asking Heero about family instead, though, if Milliardo was honest with himself, he knew the two questions were one and the same since the answer to the first inevitably led to the one left unsaid.

Heero’s mouth tightened subtly, the look he spared Milliardo warning him he was aware of the territory Milliardo was delving into and he did not appreciate it in the least.

Still…

Call him persistent, call him a fool, but Milliardo couldn’t give up. If he didn’t coax, if he did not prod just a little would Heero ever open up to him? Of course, part of him was quick to point out that Heero should want to offer these details on his own, but Milliardo found himself noticeably deaf to this. Deaf, but not quite immune. If Heero’s reluctance underscored anything, it was that he did not trust Milliardo, and that for all Milliardo’s good intentions, he had done nothing to earn that trust. He was more likely to aggravate Heero than woo him, and when (most wondrous of all) he was entrusted with Heero’s body — with Heero’s living heat right beneath his fingers — Milliardo had only succeeded in frightening the younger man.

Then what was he good for besides bumbling about? Shouldn’t he just cut his losses? He should, Milliardo reasoned, except what if … what if he was right and Heero’s shyness was really low self esteem, his curtness, grief? If he did not speak about himself much maybe it was because no one had ever appreciated what he had to say. Maybe Heero didn’t know he was worth listening to. What if that were the case? Would Milliardo be so wrong in trying to tease these little tidbits out of him?

He wanted Heero to know he found pleasure in the sound of his voice. For him, Heero needed no logical justification for his existence. That he was here at all, most especially, that he was here by Milliardo’s side was cause enough for happiness. How could he show Heero these things and more if they did not start with simple conversation?

Heero’s walls were so high and it was vexing, vexing vexing, not the least because Milliardo had no context to refer it to. The crucial why of it was missing. Heero had a penchant for self-punishment; well, he wanted to know what had caused it. If Heero did not know human warmth, then who had denied it to him? Some face, some name to explain Heero’s rebuffs would make Milliardo’s failures a little easier to bear. He was convinced the clue to Heero’s problems lay in that nurse and whoever she was responsible for. If only he could find out a little more. He wondered if… Milliardo’s stomach lurched as another possibility suddenly occurred to him.

Unless Heero was sick?

Heero might be a little solemn but he had never seemed anything but the picture of health. Even now his cheeks glowed with ruddy color, reminding Milliardo of their first meeting. He remembered especially the way the Heero’s hair shone in the afternoon light and the clamor that arose in himself at the discovery of the younger man’s innocence. But who could tell in these things? At the time, he’d had no inkling of what a troubled soul Heero was, though the signs were clearly there. What if Heero had been sick all this time and Milliardo never realized? He spun, grabbing Heero’s shoulders.

“Heero, is it you? Gods, tell me you’re all right.”

“I don’t—”

“That nurse, is she taking care of you?” Milliardo demanded, his eyes darting over Heero’s features, searching for any symptoms of malaise. “Are you suffering?”

Heero turned to Milliardo with a grimace. “No. She is attending to my father.”

“Your father?”

“Yes. Last year he suffered a stroke; as a result, he has lost mobility on the right side of his body and can no longer speak.”

Milliardo bowed his head, feeling like a cad for his insistence. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“But you have help?” Milliardo raised his eyes. “Apart from the nurse, do your relatives stop by often?”

“There are no relatives,” Heero replied woodenly.

Milliardo was puzzled. “But—”

“J is my responsibility. I will not abandon him to any one else.”

“Heero, that is all quite valiant, but it seems I’m missing something here.” Milliardo rubbed at his forehead. “Forgive me for being so dense, but perhaps you can clear things up for me. You’re a college student, working part-time and making at best little more than minimum wage.” He met Heero’s eyes, seeking confirmation. “Am I right?”

Heero nodded.

“Then tell me, how on earth is it possible for you to manage your studies while single-handedly taking care of a convalescent, not to mention affording the health care he requires? I’m assuming you are also responsible for everyday household expenses? My god,” Milliardo blurted as something else dawned on him. “Don’t tell me you’ve also got to come up with rent?”

“Yes.” Heero leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He stared at the abandoned mug on the coffee table. “What I mean is, I am responsible for most of the things you mentioned but not all of them. The house we live in is old. I inherited it from J who inherited it from his father. Whatever mortgage payments there might have been were paid long ago. I see only to utilities. Well … that and the property tax.”

Milliardo thought of Relena. Young people of her and Heero’s age who were just starting out, most with none of burdens Heero was juggling and certainly with far more help than he, still found themselves living on noodles and powdered drinks. Milliardo was particularly proud of how well his sister was managing things but even then he was never surprised to check his email and find the occasional cry for help. And as big brother, Milliardo dutifully sent whatever Relena needed. By now, he and the agent at the local supermarket’s money transfer counter were so used to seeing each other, they had become friends.

Heero had no such safety net. No wonder he was so tense! Any sane person coping with half of Heero’s responsibilities was bound to become unstable. It tore at Milliardo’s conscience even as it gave him hope. Thus far, he had been unsuccessful in satisfying Heero’s emotional needs, but there were other, more concrete things Milliardo was more than happy to provide if Heero would allow him. Things like groceries, maybe even more intimate items like clothes. These were delicate matters but he wondered when was the last time Heero could afford to buy anything substantial from even the supermarket where he worked. There was something terribly heartbreaking in the irony of it all. Milliardo frowned remembering something Heero had told him when they first met.

“Is that why you took a year off from school to work? You needed the money to pay for those expenses and your father’s … did you call him ‘J”?”

“That is correct. I call him J because he is not my biological father. Still, he left me a sizeable inheritance, which I came into when I reached my majority. I have depended on it to cover most of the bills.”

Heero was adopted? Milliardo stared at the younger man’s bent head. Well, that added an entirely new layer to the situation. Heero’s past was like some great, Gordian knot; the more Milliardo unravelled, the more tangles he was confronted with.

“J owned a computer retail business until it fell upon hard times after an investment in microchip technologies turned sour. I was too young to help.” Heero’s fists were clenched. “We lost the business. Things became more difficult for us, afterwards.”

“And what of the rest of your adopted family: aunts, uncles — your mom? Was no one there to help?”

A spasm ran through Heero’s face. “My mother is dead. I do not wish to speak of this any more, Milliardo.”

Milliardo blanched. “Heero…”

“No.”

Denial, simple and categorical. Milliardo knew when to back off. Their conversation here was finished. Heero was standing and the look of wildness was creeping back into his features. He was expecting an attack, but Milliardo would not give it to him. Before Heero could do anything destructive, Milliardo stepped forward and tentatively folded him in his arms. He risked a kiss to Heero’s temple.

“Thank you for sharing as much as you did with me, Heero.” Milliardo stared down into Heero’s confused gaze.

“It means more than I can say.”

——————————–

Well, at least he is sleeping, now.

Milliardo saw Heero’s dark head against the pillow and was overcome by a wave of tenderness. Grappling with these issues seemed physically exhausting to Heero, he was so out of his element. Milliardo had stepped into the kitchen to begin preparing dinner and returned to find Heero curled up on the couch. He had carried him to the bed where he could rest more peacefully.

A plan was slowly forming in his head that he was not sure he had any right to initiate, but he hoped the gods would not judge him too harshly for his interference. After all, it was done out of … no, he would not name the feeling burning in his chest; best not to dwell on that. Heero was here with him and it was enough. It felt good having another person in the house again.

Now that Milliardo was sure of Heero’s poverty, however, how could he not be moved? Perhaps poverty was too strong a word but Milliardo was aware of his own careless lifestyle and how vastly it differed from Heero’s experience. Careless, not because Milliardo was irresponsible but because he was he was heir to a great deal of wealth that he frequently took for granted. He had been oblivious to it, but Milliardo now realized how much of Heero’s discomfort might stem from the disparity between their fortunes.

What should he do? After the trials of his youth, Milliardo supposed he had come to live a rather insulated life, cushioned from the jabs of fate. Following their parents’ death, he and Relena had known a wracking period of uncertainty that was quickly swept away when they were adopted by their aunt and uncle. He wondered what would have become of them if they were not children of wealth. For him and Relena, the question had never been if, or even how they would be taken care of, but who could be trusted to not have their eyes on the bigger prize.

Heero’s story was tragic enough on the surface, but Milliardo suspected none of it compared to the darker undercurrents he sensed beneath Heero’s straightforward words. Certain things simply did not add up. What had happened to Heero’s parents, for example and why had he been adopted by this ‘J’? Furthermore, wasn’t it odd that this man should have no family a young boy could depend on in times of need? And how does a man of comparative wealth remain so isolated that his care is left in the hands of an eighteen year old boy? Milliardo frowned. What kind of man is victim to such a fate and most importantly, what must it have meant for Heero’s childhood?

Milliardo’s instincts told him the answers were not good. Everything he had seen of Heero suggested confusion and scars deeply hidden.

So here they were. Heero was in pain and Milliardo could not simply stand by and watch. Was he being too arrogant in his assumptions? He very well might. It was distinctly possible he was overstepping boundaries he had no business crossing. Did he think it was worth the risk? Milliardo left the bedroom to retrieve his cell phone.

Hell, yes.
——————————–

“Heero!”

Wufei was waving to him from across the cafeteria. Heero watched as, lifting his tray to avoid the crush of the lunch-time crowd, Wufei weaved through the maze of bodies and came over to his table. He was accompanied by a slim young man who looked about their age, though it was hard to tell due to his height and the seriousness of his expression.

“Hi.” Wufei slid into the seat next to Heero; his friend moved to the other side of the table. “Have you met Trowa?”

Heero shook his head.

“Hey there,” Trowa extended his palm. “Wufei tells me you and Milliardo are friends.”

Heero sprinkled soy sauce over his chicken. Was that what they were? Milliardo had used that word as well. The thing between them seemed far more dangerous to Heero but he refrained from saying so. Perhaps it was best to let others define it for him. Everything seemed so much simpler that way.

“We met a few weeks ago.”

“Did you?” Trowa smiled as he began to unwrap a sandwich. “He’s a nice guy isn’t he? Quatre and I met him last semester, but I believe he and Wufei have been friends for a bit longer than that.” He nodded to Wufei, “Is that right, Chang?”

“Yes,” Wufei dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Treize introduced us.” He paused, seeming to ponder for a moment.

“Wufei?”

“Pardon?” Wufei looked up at Trowa’s prodding.

“You just looked like you were about to say something.” It seemed that way to Heero as well, though he didn’t know why he should notice it.

Wufei gave a soft laugh. “Oh no, this day has just been somewhat hectic for me; I have a lot on my mind,” he trailed off, staring at his plate.

“Ah.” Trowa crumpled the paper from his sandwich. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I can’t stay too long. I’ve got two hours of theater right after this and I need to run some errands first. It was nice meeting you, though, Heero. I was telling Wufei that Quatre and I are having movie night tomorrow to kick off the weekend. Why don’t you come along? I’ll mention it to Milliardo as well. It will be fun.”

Wufei nodded as Heero temporized. “You should come. Treize and I will be there and Quatre is a good friend; I believe you will like him.”

“I second that, though I am somewhat biased.” Trowa laughed quietly.

“Somewhat?” Wufei snorted.

Heero looked between the two men, sensing something unspoken between them. He saw Trowa’s features soften at Wufei’s joke and he realized that Trowa and this Quatre, like Wufei and Treize, must be lovers. That automatically divided them into three couples for the evening; the other four … and himself and Milliardo. Heero frowned.

Movie night: The very idea was foreign, as foreign to Heero as this sudden group of new friends. Since their first meeting, he and Wufei had spent a considerable amount of time together, mostly for studies, but for other things as well. They often met for lunch and just last week Wufei had invited Heero to accompany him to the local Chinese autumn festival. It was strange to Heero who had always had difficulty making friends, but he and Wufei got along quite well. He even found that he was grateful for the other man’s friendship. It was pleasant having a like-minded person to talk to and Trowa did not seem very different. He was quiet and unintrusive, enough to approve him in Heero’s books. If both Trowa and Wufei were at this ‘movie night’ then Heero supposed it was okay for him to attend. There was always Milliardo to consider but even with the older man’s confounding presence, Heero did not think he would have any trouble maintaining his control in the midst of such a large group.

“We should expect you, then?” Trowa asked.

“Yes.” Heero nodded.

“Great, then I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Trowa gathered up his books, disappearing amidst the crowd with a backward wave. Wufei turned to Heero.

“I thought we’d review the conjugations you emailed me, today. Do you have afternoon classes?”

Heero shook his head.

“Neither do I. Why don’t we head out?” Wufei offered. “You can have dinner with me and Treize.”

“I do not wish to impose…”

“Nonsense, Yuy!”

They left the cafeteria and Wufei led them to where his car, a red two-door German model, was parked. “It’s no trouble at all. Besides, didn’t you work this morning? Surely there is nothing pressing keeping you. You have no excuse not to join us. It’s open,” Wufei called as he flipped his seat over to deposit his books and school bag on the backseat. “Do you want to put your things here?”

Heero shook his head. “I’ll hold onto them.”

Wufei started up. “It is fortunate that I did not take my motorcycle today.” He gave Heero a small smile. “This is much more convenient for us, isn’t it?”

Heero agreed as Wufei navigated through the mid-afternoon traffic. They stopped at the local drugstore to pick up some allergy medicine and Heero accompanied Wufei, following him through the aisles and making light conversation as they waited at the register. It never ceased to surprise Heero how easily their interaction came.

“Have I changed,” he wondered, “Or does the answer lie with Wufei?” It must, for surely he had not become more sociable.

“I am the same as I have always been,” Heero murmured to himself. The same as I have always… His step faltered.

But was it wrong to change?

The skies rumbled and a sudden wind whipped through the trees. Wufei pointed to the mottled clouds on the horizon.

“It looks like it might storm this evening. We better get going. Only a fool would be stuck in this weather without a roof over his head.”

——————————–

Treize greeted Wufei at the door with a kiss, enfolding the younger man in his arms. “Welcome home, my love. Hello there, Heero. Will you be joining us for dinner this evening?”

Heero nodded as he followed the two men inside. Treize was smiling. He sent a questioning look over to Wufei who nodded.

“Well I’m very glad you decided to join us, Heero, since you’re the first person we get to tell our good news.”

“Good news?” Heero repeated, toeing off his shoes near the entryway.

Wufei colored. “Ah, yes, I was planning on telling you over dinner, but I suppose there is no harm in spilling the beans, as they say, right now.”

Heero looked from one man to the other. “Oh?”

Wufei cleared his throat; he moved closer to Treize. “Treize and I are engaged,” he said softly.

Engaged? Heero stared, noticing for the first time the slim band encircling Wufei’s finger. It puzzled him. He did not understand the need to join two lives so intimately and had expected Wufei of all people to insist upon relying on his own strength. What could Treize offer that Wufei could not provide for himself?How did such a thing come to be? What did that band, so thin and fragile, promise that Wufei would risk so much?

Treize’s arm was curled about Wufei’s waist and Heero could see the subtle way their bodies leaned into each other. Wufei did not fight it; instead his own fingers tightened as Treize laced their hands together.

It came upon Heero then.

Touch.

The same touch Milliardo had used to overcome him. Logically, Heero knew it. It was as unavoidable as this home Treize and Wufei shared together, yet he only truly grasped in that moment that Wufei and Treize shared a bed, for that could be the only source of all this love-weakness. Surrender and yielding to damnable touch. J had warned Heero against it. How strange these two men did not know its perils.

Heero saw Wufei’s expression, tight around the mouth as though he was anxious Heero might not give his blessing. It must mean a lot to him, Heero realized with wonder. He could not understand it, but if it was important to Wufei then it was his duty to support him.

Heero reached out and pressed his fingers hesitantly against Wufei’s shoulder.

“Congratulations, my friend.”
——————————–

Treize frowned as he returned the receiver to its cradle.

“Something wrong?” Wufei asked. He and Heero were retrieving the utensils from the cabinet.

“No, I was just trying to get hold of Milliardo again. It seems he’s out. Heero, have you seen him lately?”

“No,” Heero shook his head, “not since a few days ago.”

Treize’s expression was thoughtful. “Hmm … I see. Oh well, I suppose it’s not important; I’m sure I’ll have a chance to tell him tomorrow. Dinner’s getting cold.” Treize smiled as he gestured toward the dining room.

“Shall we?”

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Six

Notes: / … / indicates dream/flashback

————————–

Heero moaned, clutching his pillow. /”What do you think you’re doing?”/

“Heero…”

/”I … miss … Mama–”/

“Heero?”

/”Suck it up, boy. I don’t have time for sissies. Real men don’t cry.”/

“Heero!”

Heero started, and found himself staring into the inquisitive eyes of the nurse.

“You okay?” Hilde probed. “Aren’t you usually awake by now? There’s some guy in living room downstairs. He says he’s here to pick you up.”

Heero tugged his shirt into place. It was rumpled, the collar stiff with sweat. He grimaced. “What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty…” Hilde stepped back with a frown. “You sure you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.” Of course he was fine. Heero squelched the image of J, rising like a shiny bubble from the cellar of his unconscious. He was fine.Why wouldn’t he be? He stuffed his shirt into his jeans and began making the bed. How many times did he have to mess up before he finally got it together? He hadn’t overslept in a long time. Not since … since… Heero pressed his lips together. In long enough… He crouched beside the mattress, briskly tucking the fitted sheet into the corners. By the time he tended to J and got through his chores he’d be late. What was worse, he’d fallen asleep without a glimpse at his homework. So much for proving his dedication…

“So what about that guy? You want me to kick him out or what?”

Heero looked up. “Guy…?”

“Yeah,” Hilde smoothed a curl under her cap with a grin. “Big, sexy blond… He a friend of yours?”"

Milliardo… Heero froze. He had forgotten about last night’s promise. Yanking the quilt over the pillows, Heero found his hands strangely unsteady. He curled his fingers into his palm. “I have to shower. Tell him … I will be there shortly.”

“Sure thing.” Hilde hesitated at the door, the light from the hall falling softly over her features. “Heero … that is, Mr. Yuy,” she cleared her throat.

“Yes?” Heero bent to pick up the sweatshirt he’d worn last night and a wave of panic squeezed his chest. A single golden hair was curled about the hood. Heero’s hands fisted in the soft knit. He remembered Milliardo’s lips whispering over his cheek and something within him loosened. Why did Milliardo…? What did it mean — that moment of contact? Heero prickled with heat. And why did it make him feel so muddled … like the bottom of his stomach had tumbled out? Milliardo had said “I want to get to know you.” But why? Why him?

“What I mean is, it’s okay with me, you know? I’m not one of those people who run screaming at the first sight of something different. I’m here to do my job and that won’t change as long as you want me here.” Hilde smiled. “Hell, if you don’t mind me saying so … I think it’s kinda sweet.”

Sweet? Frowning, Heero plucked at his jersey. “I don’t understand.”

“You and Mr. Blond downstairs,” Hilde’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You make a good pair.”

It took a moment for what the nurse was implying to sink in and when it did, Heero jerked backwards, unfamiliar warmth suffusing his face. She thought they were … that he and Milliardo… Heero shoved the shirt away. “No. you are wrong I—”

“I’ve already checked in on your father for the morning. Since you’re clearly running late, I started preparing breakfast. I should get back to it.”

“Ms. Schbeiker …”

“Yes, Mr. Yuy?” Hilde turned to him, her gaze penetrating beneath the fringe of her lashes.

Heero knew he could not meet it with equal honesty. He shook his head. “Nothing … it’s nothing.”

When he dropped his eyes Heero was startled to find that even as his sweatshirt crumpled to the carpet the golden strand had lingered on his shirt. It clung, to his breast, shimmering, like a tiny thread of sunlight.

————————–

“Here, have you had anything?” Milliardo handed Heero a plastic-wrapped sandwich. It was ham on wheat and he could see the bright lettuce-frills drooping between its crusty edges. Milliardo was watching him intently.

Heero shoved the sandwich back towards him. “I’ve eaten,” he lied, tight-lipped.

They were eating under the shade of a spreading oak. Or rather, Milliardo, with what seemed like a banquet spread out before him was eating on the blanket he had retrieved from the trunk of his car. So far the other man had unpacked double-decker ham sandwiches, a flask of hot chocolate, cinnamon scones and even a little homemade soup, but for Heero, Milliardo’s constant attempts at nourishing him only left him feeling emptier. It pained him to realize that in the careless way of the rich Milliardo saw him as a charity case. Sitting in the living room this morning, had he seen the crooked blinds, the scuffed furniture … Heero’s old shoes in the entryway? They were on his feet now. Heero folded his legs beneath him. He did not want pity…

In the car this morning, he and Milliardo had barely said a word to each other. They rode in a charged silence with Heero all the time aware of the weight of Milliardo’s gaze examining him. Even now, he felt it like a brand between his shoulders blades, so when Milliardo had suggested they have lunch together he should have declined. Yet, inexplicably he found himself hurrying from class. When he arrived at the park Milliardo was already waiting and the smile he gave Heero had left him strangely breathless.

Frowning, Heero traced the edge of the blanket. A leaf, mottled gold and brown was tangled in its tassels and he cupped it in his palm. Diseased and discarded… Heero sighed. J had told him once only the good were rich and that their wealth was the just reward of their virtue. Heero knew his own failings, but he often wondered what J had done to fall from grace — to have been cut down so categorically by whatever power decided the justice in these things. He watched Milliardo’s broad hands with their pink, un-smudged nails and realized that he must be very good. Certainly he had been kind to Heero in his odd, demanding way. He felt that there must be a lesson in here for him. That was why Milliardo left him so muddled. If only he could grasp it. Heero brooded, the leaf twirling between his fingers. But surely a dying thing could not grow green and bright again? It could only hope for shelter in the shadows out of the reach of wind and sun.

“Heero,” Milliardo suddenly asked, “How do you feel about me?”

Startled, Heero looked up. The look in Milliardo’s eyes seemed to say he knew his thoughts. “About you?” he repeated.

“Yes … I … I need to know.”

Milliardo’s hand closed about his fingers. They were as soft as Heero expected — and as strong… He froze, staring at their joined hands and something strained for release inside him.

Touch…

How long had it been since he’d felt the gentleness of that other hand? He thought he had forgotten, but his palm remembered it, his fingers did. Without his knowing they had retained the impression of that softness. Heero watched amazed as his fingers unstiffened and curled around Milliardo’s.

“Heero—” Milliardo groaned. He looked almost as surprised as Heero felt. “I thought last night would be enough. I … I promised myself not to push you but … it wasn’t — isn’t. There’s not a morning I don’t wake up thinking about you since that day we met in the library. Heero, I—” Milliardo’s fingers tightened. “I’m becoming more and more attracted to you every day and I’ll die if you won’t at least let me kiss you.”

Heero remembered the closeness of Milliardo’s body and his breath whispering over his cheek. His hands had trembled when Milliardo pressed him against the door. What did Milliardo want of him? Why couldn’t he find the will to refuse?

Milliardo lowered his head and the gold of his hair was like fire even in the cold autumn light. It tickled Heero’s shoulders and his cheek — blazing him out of existence as his mouth covered his. Milliardo teased the seam of Heero’s lips and Heero gave him entrance before he even knew what was being asked of him. The probe and retreat of Milliardo’s tongue startled him but Milliardo did not allow him to become frightened. His mouth left Heero’s and he lowered them to the blanket, the heaviness of his body settling along Heero’s side.

Milliardo was nuzzling the hollow of Heero’s collarbones and through his shirt his thumb traced the outline of his nipple making him shudder. It whirled through the haze of Heero’s thoughts that this must be part of Milliardo’s strength too — this touch that he had no knowledge of. No matter how he tried Heero could not regain command his body. He shivered in the cradle of Milliardo’s arms even as the other man continued to touch him. Milliardo was murmuring against Heero’s ear: soft words, things that Heero could no more absorb than the sensations Millardo was igniting all over his body. The stiffness below his belt confused and embarrassed him and Heero crossed his legs, flattening his palms against his crotch. He was ashamed that the secret stirring of flesh known to him only in the blurry moments before morning should now make itself known. How horrible it would be for Milliardo to discover his weakness.

He should have known, however, that he could not keep any secrets. No sooner had Heero thought it than his fear was realized.

“Don’t hide.” Milliardo found him. He pried away the seal of Heero’s palms and replaced it with his larger hand. “There’s no one here to see you but me.” Unsnapping the button on Heero’s jeans, Milliardo delved between the gaping teeth of Heero’s zipper to his underwear beneath. His fingers slipped beneath the the elastic waistband and he caressed Heero, releasing sensitive flesh from the confines of soft cotton and denim.

“No—” Heero tried to jerk away but Milliardo’s hand cupped him. It moved and Heero twisted, his fingers clenching in Milliardo’s shirt as color bloomed and burst behind his eyelids. “Ungh!”

“Shh, shh … it’s all right. I’ve got you.” Milliardo’s lips found Heero’s again and this time the kiss was fierce. “Gods … you’re everything I dreamed of. So beautiful … so beautiful…”

He caught Heero behind the knee, lifting him until his thigh was pressed against Milliardo’s hip — parting him with the soft pressures of his hands and mapping him just as surely as his tongue suckling him through the dampness of his shirt. He traced the seam dividing the seat of Heero’s pants, stroking and rubbing at him until Heero wanted to press backward onto those teasing fingertips. His hips rose once, searchingly and he was dashed by a wave of incredible force. The thing struggling within him wrenched free and Heero cried out as a wet heat exploded across his belly. Oddly, there was no pain with the rupture. Heero lay with the smell of grass and Milliardo’s cologne in his nostrils, feeling the the slow trickle of warmth down his stomach. He wondered that he should not feel the slightest worry as his life-blood trickled away from the strange, painless wound on his abdomen. Not even the thought of J was enough to rouse him. There was only warmth, and relief that Milliardo had ended so quickly what he could not. She would come for him now. He had been waiting so long to hear her voice… Heero closed his eyes and waited for the darkness to envelop him.

“Love, are you all right?” Milliardo brushed Heero’s hair away from his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go so quickly.”

Heero opened his eyes. He didn’t understand. Wasn’t he supposed to be hurt? Heero frowned. “There … is not much bleeding,” he said slowly.

“Bleeding?” Milliardo’s voice rose in alarm. “Where? Have you been injured? Why didn’t you say something before?”

“No, I…” Heero searched between the flap of his jeans and tugged his shirt aside. He touched the wet place on his stomach but there was no blood. He came away with only a glistening whiteness on his fingertips. His frown deepened. “I…” Heero looked up and it was Milliardo’s expression that told him of his mistake.

“Oh, Heero … Love…”

Shame, shame, shame. And J’s voice mocking him in his head. Heero jerked to his feet but somehow his knees had lost the strength to support him. He stumbled and Milliardo caught him.

“Don’t run away. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” His hand slipped beneath Heero’s shirt to where the evidence of his shame lay hidden. Heero struggled, but Milliardo held on to him. “Please don’t be embarrassed. You did nothing wrong; your response was natural and wonderful and if anyone is to blame here it is I for thrusting this upon you before you were ready for it.”

But he had been ready… Remembering the oblivion he had thought would come, Heero blinked back the burning behind his eyelids. He was a fool and there was only one cure for his ineptitude… Heero clenched his fists. It would take more than his usual regimen to hammer his body intto submission this time. “I must leave.”

Milliardo’s expression was pained, “You can’t return to class like this. Let me take you to my place. You may shower if you wish and you can throw your clothes in the washer and finish up lunch while you wait.”

Heero knew he should refuse, but the prospect of washing away his shame was too strong to resist. He nodded and Milliardo led him to the car, stopping only to pick up the food and the old blanket. The car was parked just beyond the grass and its sleek surface was dappled under the light filtered through the trees. Milliardo opened the passenger door and Heero slid inside.

“Come on, let’s go home.”

————————–

Knotting an apron about his waist Milliardo checked the biscuits plumping in the oven; he studied the golden mounds with a discriminating eye. Hmm … they looked done… Milliardo nodded and turned off the gas. Balancing the baking sheet between mittened hands he carried it over to the counter where two others were already resting. The shower roared overhead and Milliardo bit into a biscuit with a sigh. He always cooked too much when he was nervous. Not that it made a difference: Everything he offered, Heero rejected like the vilest of poisons.

Heero…

What a bundle of contradictions he was. How was he ever going to win him over? Milliardo was so afraid of hurting Heero and yet it seemed inevitable. He didn’t understand the younger man. Heero was so innocent and yet … something in his eyes told Milliardo he had seen far more than anyone his age should have. And what about family? It seemed unlikely that Heero should live in that big old house all alone, but Milliardo hadn’t seen anyone this morning other than that nurse, who puzzled him most of all. What on earth was she doing there?

With Heero, it seemed nothing was simple. Milliardo thought guiltily on that afternoon. He had suspected Heero was inexperienced, but nothing could have prepared him for Heero’s heart-wrenching confusion. He was an innocent in the true sense of the word. How did one get to be Heero’s age and have no experience whatsoever? Sex was one thing, but Heero’s response was too naked, too frantic for him for him to have ever been kissed before Milliardo had held him in the moonlight. More distressing was Heero’s unfamiliarity with his own body. The age difference between them was not so great, but in none of his past relationships had there been such a disparity between his lovers’ experience and his own. Certainly Duo had been well versed in the ways of the world…

Milliardo frowned. It worried him. Could it really work between him and Heero? Treize and Wufei had done it and he didn’t know a happier couple, but was their situation really similar to his and Heero’s? Wufei was sensitive to how others perceived him and Treize would never betray his most intimate of confidences, but it was safe to assume that Treize was the more experienced of the two. Milliardo doubted though, that Wufei had been as conflicted as Heero about his desires. More disturbing, he was coming to realize that what he had initially attributed to shyness in Heero might be linked to something deeper and much more painful.

Milliardo finished off another biscuit with a sigh. What a confusing mess…

As if conjured up by his thoughts, Heero emerged in borrowed sweats and a tee shirt. They were just big enough to call attention to the difference in their builds and Milliardo suddenly had an image of himself as clumsily over-large. Frowning, he moved to wash his dough-covered hands in the sink. “I checked the dryer; your clothes should be done in a minute or so.”

“Thank you.” Heero settled awkwardly on one of the stools, his body half-turned towards Milliardo. He smelled good and Milliardo was seized with the urge to bury his face in the damp, silky hair clustered at Heero’s nape. Heero however, seemed more concerned with trying to occupy as little space as possible on the already narrow stool. He was tense and uncomfortable — and it made Milliardo feel all the more lecherous for his desire. Another sigh escaped him. “Heero—” he gestured helplessly, “biscuit…?”

“No.”

Of course not. What did he expect? Milliardo tugged off his apron. “All right then, let me just clean this up and we can get going. What time does your class begin? Two?”

Heero shook his head. “I do not have any more classes today.”

“No?” Milliardo couldn’t help the surge of hope that possessed him. He struggled to keep his voice steady. “Then, why did you have to leave so soon? Do you work this evening.?” If Heero could stay then perhaps they could make up for this afternoon and get to know each other better. Become friends…

Milliardo could see nothing of Heero’s face as he replied, “My shift begins at seven o’ clock, however, I…”

“Heero, if you feel you have to leave because of this afternoon, please don’t. It was my fault for pushing things forward so quickly and the last thing I want is for you to be shamed in any way because of my idiocy. Please, Heero, if you can … I would like you to stay. ”

“No.” Heero jerked to his feet. He was clenching his fists so hard the veins bulged in his forearms. “Why must you always come between me and my salvation?”

Milliardo was stunned. “Salvation? Gods Heero, what are you talking about?” He could make no sense of Heero’s words and the violence of his reaction frightened him. Heero’s eyes had a wild, hunted look as he faced Milliardo. He edged along the counters and suddenly darted out of the room.

“Heero—” Damn it, damn it, damn it! Why did he always screw things up? Milliardo chased after him, desperate to remedy the damage he had done. He headed towards the living room, thinking Heero was about to leave and hoping to stop him before it was too late. He didn’t expect to stumble over Heero doing furious push-ups in the hall.

“Heero?”

Heero did not answer. His expression was tormented as he pumped steadily, raising and lowering his body until his arms trembled.

Milliardo frowned. “Come on, Heero. I don’t know what you’re trying to prove but, it’s not necessary.”

The mechanical movements did not waver, even as they clearly began to take their toll: sweat glistened on Heero’s arms and rolled off his forehead. His face was red as his panting, quick and sharp echoed between them. Heero’s fingers clenched in the carpet. His body shuddered. He raised himself up again only to heave back down. Milliardo was horrified.

“Heero, stop it!”

“No…,” Heero shook his head, “I must…” His knuckles scraped the carpet as he tried to rise again and Milliardo refused to watch anymore. When Heero’s elbows extended for the umpteenth time, he simply looped an arm about his waist and caught him up in his arms.

Milliardo gathered him close. “Stop. Why are you doing this? What are you so afraid of?”

Heero fought him, but Milliardo was just as determined as he moved to the living room and settled them on the couch. His arms tightened. “I won’t let you go until you tell me what’s going on here. He fingered Heero’s bruised knuckles. “Why did you abuse yourself like this?”

“Not abuse.” Heero’s brow furrowed as he struggled to find the right words. Finally he said: “I was weak; I must be punished for my failure.”

Weak? Punishment? Heero’s words did nothing to allay Milliardo’s fears. Gods, what horrible experience had put these ideas in Heero’s head?

“Heero, what made you weak? Was it my touch?”

Heero stiffened. His head jerked once, convulsively. “I lost control. I did not know. I’m … not used to…” Heero’s jaw clenched; he was blinking rapidly and Milliardo could see that his lips were trembling. ” I try to be strong, but there … are many things I do not understand,” he said slowly. “If only I could…” Suddenly Heero’s shoulders drooped. He leaned forward bit by bit until his head touched Milliardo’s chest. His voice was small — and as lost and confused as a little boy’s as he admitted, “I … am tired.”

Milliardo’s heart broke. He kissed Heero’s temple and hugged the awkward body in his arms even closer. “Shh, shh, I know, Heero. I know and it’s okay.”

“Rest a while. I won’t let you go. “

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Five

Heero gripped the pricing gun. His heart was pounding again and he wanted to escape. What was he doing here? Milliardo’s expression as he stared was inscrutible and Heero wished with everything in him they had never met. He was once again confronted with Milliardo’s overwhelming presence: strange, compelling and frightening for the weakness it inspired in him. The nervous, fluttery feeling was back in the pit of his stomach and his palms were clammy-cold. This time, though, Heero was determined to stand his ground. He set the jar he was holding on the shelf and rested the gun on the floor. Their gazes met.

“Welcome to Huang’s. How may I help you?”

“Heero—” Milliardo spread his hands. He began to say something, then stepped forward, seemingly at a loss. “Surely you remember me?”

“I—”

“Heero, please … since we met I … I… You must remember me.”

Heero trembled. How could he forget?

“Yes … I remember.”

A smile like sunrise broke over Milliardo’s face. “Oh, good … good … I knew it had to be. I thought—” He stopped, laughing. “How have you been?”

“All right.”

“Good, good … that’s wonderful … great … really great.”

“Yes.”

Heero’s fingers curled into his palm. How badly he wanted to be away from here! His life had been in upheaval ever since that time in the cafe: He was restless but Heero did not know what for. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get back the ordered life he was used to. Heero stared at Milliardo, his palms hurting under the pressure of his fingernails. How was he going to get rid of him?

Milliardo flicked his hair over his shoulder and rested against the shelf, his elbow poking a tomato-soup can Heero had packed not an hour ago. As Heero stared, he crossed one ankle over the other with languid roll of his hips as if to say “I’m staying”.

Heero’s stomach churned. He should have known it would not be that easy. Nothing in his life ever was. It occurred to him that till now, his strategy had always been to push Milliardo away. Perhaps it was time to try something different.

Heero forced his mouth into what he hoped was smile. He was so unused to it his lips felt odd and rubbery; his mouth stretched and not at all in a pleasant way, but he pinned it in place and hoped for the best.

“Are you all right?” Milliardo stepped forward in alarm. “You look rather ill.”

Heero flushed, quickly dropping his smile. “No.”

“No? Do you think you should sit? I saw a bench somewhere.”

“No! I am fine.”

“Are you sure?” Milliardo leaned forward and blinked owl-like at him. “Heero, if something is wrong—”

Heero looked up from his study of the linoleum, exasperated. “Was there something I could help you with?”

“What? Oh … I was looking for some ginger, then I saw you and—”

“Milliardo what on earth is taking you so long?”

“Treize! Treize, this is Heero. Heero—Treize. I suppose you can blame him for our encounter the other day. He stood me up and I ran into you.”

Heero looked at the sandy-haired stranger and frowned. Yet another foe.

“Hello,” The man flashed a set of perfect teeth. He had blue eyes like Milliardo, but they danced with mischief when he smiled, like he knew some secret they did not. “So you are Heero? Enchantez.”

Heero grunted.

Treize’s grin broadened. “Still waters run deep eh, Milliardo?”

Milliardo laughed but his eyes flickered over to Heero. “Did we lose Wufei?”

There was a third member to this disruptive party? Heero fought a surge of panic: Order, he needed order. That’s why he liked his computers and equations best. At the end of the day, they were predictable, controllable—safe. But this… Heero looked from Milliardo to Treize. He had calculated wrong somewhere. There was a variable—something—he had not accounted for that day in the library that had precipitated this result. Then why couldn’t he see it? How was he supposed to fix things if he did not know where to start?

But that was always his problem, wasn’t it? Losing control. J would say—

“I must get back to work.” Heero announced, more to himself than anyone else.

Milliardo looked at him in surprise. “I’m sorry, Heero. I keep forgetting you’re doing a job here. Could you just spare us a few more seconds? I really want you to meet Wufei.”

Heero’s fists tightened. Why must Milliardo always demand what he could not give? He with his charming friends and sunflower presence—his insistence… Didn’t he realize there could never be anything between them? They were from two separate worlds. Milliardo was sunlight where Heero was a dark, mossy thing. Why couldn’t he just leave it be?

“No. My shift—”

“There he is!” Milliardo waved, “Wufei, over here!”

A slim youth about Heero’s age came towards them, carrying a small basket. His clothes were casual, but in the traditional Chinese style and his dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. He nodded to Heero. “Well, I think I’ve found everything. Milliardo did you get the ginger?”

Milliardo coughed, “Not … ah … quite.”

“I’m afraid Milliardo was a bit distracted. “Treize winked conspiratorially at Heero like they were in league together. Like Heero had encouraged Milliardo somehow.

Wufei blinked. “Is that so?”

Treize nodded. “Love, this is Heero.”

Heero looked from Treize to Wufei. They were…?

Color rose in Wufei’s cheeks when he noticed Heero’s stare, but he stepped forward and offered his hand, “Nice to meet you, Heero. I am Wufei.”

Heero nodded, studying the fine embroidery on Wufei’s vest. “Do … do you speak Mandarin?”

Wufei smiled, “Na dahng ren”

/”I have been studying it for three years now,”/ Heero said haltingly. He fiddled with his apron, suddenly unsure of his pronunciation and how Wufei might recieve him. He felt a wave of disgust. Why had he even revealed his interest? Why should Wufei care?

To his surprise, Wufei’s eyes lit up and his smile broadened. /”You are quite good.”/

“I … thank you.”

“Treize has been trying to learn, but quite frankly he’s horrible, mostly because he does not put in anywhere near the effort he should.” Wufei glared at Treize who laughed.

“I do try. It just doesn’t seem to do me any good.”

Wufei snorted. “Well Heero, I am very glad to have met you. Perhaps we could meet again some time? It would be nice to have someone to talk with.”

“I … well … yes …” Heero didn’t quite know what to feel.

Wufei shifted his basket to his other arm. “Here, let me write my number and email so we can keep in touch. Treize, do you have a paper?”

Treize rummaged through his pockets and produced a crumpled receipt. “Will this do?”

“Yes, here you go, Heero.”

“Thanks.” Taking the pen clipped to his apron, Heero wrote his email address on the other side of an old label he had picked up on his way to the trash. He handed it to Wufei who began folding it into four, precise sections.

“Thank you, Heero. I’ll probably send you something soon.”

“But–”

“Something wrong, Milliardo?” Treize was wearing a rather puzzled smile. Heero was confused too.

Milliardo’s eyes followed the label as it disappeared into Wufei’s back pocket. He laughed and it sounded nervous. “Ah … nothing.”

Heero frowned. He would never begin to understand Milliardo. Not that it mattered, anyway. It wasn’t as if Heero wanted to get to know him. “I still have three hours left on my shift. My boss will be angry if I do not get back to work.”

Wufei shook his head. “Then why didn’t you say so? We’ll be on our way.”

“Three hours?” Milliardo checked his watch, “Won’t you be getting home rather late? How far do you live from here?”

Heero pursed his lips. “It is my job; I must work late. It takes me about an hour by bus to get home.”

Milliardo looked from Treize to Wufei. “We’re going to have dinner, but I doubt it’d take us past nine. I could give you a ride home.”

“That won’t be necessary.” To be alone with him— He just couldn’t. Heero bit his lip, willing Milliardo to let the matter drop.

“It is nothing. Come now, don’t tell me you prefer taking the bus? At the very least I’d save you a couple of bucks.”

The words were like a fist to the stomach. Heero stiffened. He could argue anything but that. He bent to retrieve the pricing gun. “Well,” he bowed his head, “I will meet you outside at 10:00.”

Milliardo grinned. “Great.”

————————-

“I brought you some dinner. That is, if you’re hungry.”

“No thank you.”

Milliardo down-shifted and the car sped forward. Heero found himself slouching on the slippery leather seats. He pulled himself upright and watched as they sped past an old delivery truck.

“You’re sure? Why don’t you take it home? Who knows, your appetite may return.” Milliardo blinked at him from beneath long lashes.

Heero cast a wistful glance at the bag. He was hungry and it smelled good. Like steamed dumplings and chicken broth and … was that sweet and sour cabbage? Not microwaved or instant or refried. Hot and fresh — like a mother would make it. Real food. Good food . Probably better than he deserved. Heero forced the thick wad of saliva past his throat. His stomach gurgled and he sucked it in. It gave a tiny rumble of protest before surrendering and Heero prayed Milliardo had not heard it.

“So, I didn’t know you worked at Huang’s.”

“You don’t know me at all,” Heero thought, but instead he said: “Yes, I do” and Milliardo laughed like he had said the funniest thing in the world.

“So I noticed.”

Heero really did not understand him.

He only wanted to get home, but Milliardo kept asking him questions, like did he like their university and had he made any friends yet? Prodding, prodding, like he was searching for that rotting wound within Heero to press on. To have him in his power … to hurt him … Nevermind his bright eyes and smiling voice. Milliardo knew it was there. Heero had to be careful, or else he would find it. And where would that leave him? Heero could not afford another failure.

A jazzy-bluesy tune was wafting from the stereo and a whiskey-voiced singer moaned above the saxophone about needing to hold his baby so he could fill the place in his heart. It sounded really sad and Heero thought it was a good thing he didn’t have a heart if it caused so much trouble.

Milliardo’s hair was blowing in the breeze and the moon was shining on his profile just so. It highlighted his nose and the curves of his lips. He looked … Heero didn’t have a word for it, but it made him feel … odd.

“What are you thinking?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Are you always this quiet?”

A puff of air exploded past Heero’s lips. He hunched his shoulders. “Are you always this nosy? ”

“Touche. And no, I’m not always this nosy. You must inspire my curiosity, Heero.” Milliardo’s soft, throaty tone rumbled across Heero’s nerves like thunder.

“Me?” Heero flushed. He fiddled with the apron folded in his lap.

“Yes, you.”

“But—”

“But what? Is that so hard for you to believe?” Milliardo smiled. “Well, I think you’re very interesting, Heero.”

Why would anyone be interested in him? Or maybe what Milliardo meant was Heero was curious —odd. That he could believe. He looked at Milliardo in all his glorious virilty and compared him to himself. Heero nodded. Well, he was right.

Heero frowned. “Take the next turn.”

Milliardo switched on the blinker with a sigh, “No problem.”

Heero took him round the side of the house where the guttering was not so mangled and he was grateful for the way the shadows concealed the scabby paint on the verandah. Still, as they emerged from the porsche , it was obvious the convertible’s sleek design and chrome finish were at odds with the looming bulk and crumbling wood of his home. Milliardo followed silently behind him, no doubt taking everything in. Heero quickened his pace, eager to get inside.

“Thank you for the ride.” Heero stopped and turned around.

Milliardo’s broad shoulders blocked Heero’s view of the car as he stepped forward. “You’re very welcome.”

He could smell Milliardo’s woodsy cologne and Heero didn’t know why but his heart was suddenly beating very fast. His back was to the door and Milliardo was towering over him. His eyes were luminous; Heero would have almost said they sparkled except what he saw in them was nothing so tame. Quite the opposite: Milliardo looked … well … predatory and Heero thought “This is it. He will finally expose me for weakling for the that I am ” but Milliardo just pressed the bag of food into Heero’s palm. He was leaning so close his hair brushed against Heero’s shoulders.

“Heero, would you mind terribly if I came to pick you up tomorrow?” His voice had a strange husky note to it that made Heero quiver.

Heero knew his answer already. It crystallized so quickly in his mind he didn’t even have to think about it: Yes.

He looked at the silver glint of Milliardo’s hair in the moonlight, the way his mouth was parted, the pulse throbbing at his throat … and somehow Heero’s lips said “No.”

Heero didn’t know how it happened; it was really quite strange. Then Milliardo did something even stranger: He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Heero’s cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d been wanting to do it for a very long time. Milliardo murmured something but the blood was rushing too loudly in Heero’s ears for him to hear it. He felt the warmth of Milliardo’s breath and the movement of his lips against his skin. They were soft, moist and when they brushed Heero’s earlobe he felt strangely weak and drifting. He had to clutch the food tighter or else it would have fallen.

Milliardo’s fingers pressed into his shoulder and then were gone. “Good night, Heero.”

“Good … good night.”

“Tomorrow then.”

Heero couldn’t speak. His cheek was burning and He closed the door behind him on trembling knees. As he walked through the house, he was scarcely aware of the movement of his limbs. In a trance, he put the food on the fridge, read Hilde’s note about buying more diapers, turned off the lights and went up to check on J.

He was sleeping deeply, an occasional snore rattling from his chest. The lumps of his pillows gleamed like two fat marshmallows in the light coming from the window and Heero sat there at the side of his bed for a long time, watching the pillows and the way J’s head sank into them, so that they seemed almost to envelop it. Heero touched the papery skin of that forehead and his hand trembled.

What was happening to him?

J’s forehead furrowed under his palm and a sharp, incoherent sound burst from his lips.

Accusing him.

Heero snatched his hand away, afraid. He ran to his room and collapsed onto the bed without changing out of his clothes. Rolling himself in the covers he lay there, panting. J’s voice reverberated in his head and Heero stared hard into the darkness around him, trying to forget. His eyelids drooped and he did not fight it. He was drifting to sleep and for once, that was good. Heero did not want to think about tomorrow.

————————-

It was cold behind the dumpster and the air was ripe with the sickly-sweet stench of things in various stages of decay. A furry body rushed along Heero’s thigh and he stifled a scream. He knew better than to cry out. Mama had told him to be very quiet.

There was another one with her today. He was big and scary with hairy arms and his bulging eyes were stitched through with red.

Heero didn’t like any of them or the things they did to his Mama. Mama said it wasn’t anything a little boy should worry about and didn’t he like going to that place down the street and eating the meals with the toys inside? And didn’t Heero know that his Mama loved him and would be with him always? Well, Heero really liked those meals and he loved his Mama even more so he tried to be brave. But he was always so, so scared…

He heard the clinking of the man’s belt and saw his filthy hand reach under to lift his Mama’s dress. He was squeezing her thigh so hard her soft, white flesh bulged through his fingers.

It was starting.

Heero scrunched his eyes shut and drew his legs close to his body. Arms wrapped tight about his knees he rocked back and forth as the man’s grunts echoed around him. There was a steady thump, thump, thump with each clink of the belt and Heero knew it was his Mama’s head knocking against the wall as the bad man hurt her. How he wished he was bigger and not only four years old. He would make the bad man stop hurting Mama. Heero wished they had a real house and not that smelly room they lived in so his Mama wouldn’t have to do this because Heero was a bad boy and his tummy hurt even when he tried his hardest to not be hungry.

The grunting stopped.

Heero cracked an eye open and peered around the side of the dumpster. He saw his mother fixing her dress and the man pulling up his pants. They started arguing. Mama was asking for the money and the man … the man was calling her names Heero did not understand but he knew they were bad.

Mama was crying now and Heero was more afraid than he had ever been. The fear gripped him and his breath came fast, shuddering in his chest. His heartbeat filled his ears and the sound reminded him of the flapping wings of the black birds in the park that always scared him.

The man was walking away and Mama was hanging onto his shirt. Suddenly the monster whirled. He hit Mama and she fell, sprawling right at Heero’s feet. He started to get up then. He wanted to go to her. He had to help her before the terrible stranger hurt her even more… But her large, blue eyes held Heero in place. She mouthed silently, pleading for him to stay put. Heero’s hands squeezed into fists, tears streamed down his face. He wanted to help his Mama! He could not live without her!

The dark wings beat louder.

Her eyes were locked with his the whole time. Even when the monster yanked her up and cuffed her about the neck and shoulders, and at the very last when the gun seemed to appear out of nowhere and the monster jabbed it against the side of her head — against the soft place where her hair curled away from her scalp. The place Heero liked to kiss as she held him in his arms so he could sleep.

There was a soft click.

Heero bolted awake.

Notes:

Na dahng ren : ( Mandarin) “Well, of course”

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Four

Milliardo toed off his shoes and dropped his keys on the table. Rifling through his mail, he found a bunch of coupons, two bills and a picture from Relena, with a note attached. The photograph was of a recent trip to Cancun and in it Relena was all smiles. The little square pasted on the corner read:

Having lots of fun! Wish you were here!

Love, Lena

Milliardo smiled. Well, it certainly seemed she was settling in all right.

While she was in high school, his sister had lived with their Aunt April and Uncle Tom. The couple had adopted them after their parents’ death and both Milliardo and Relena thought of them as “Mom and Dad.” It was especially true for Relena who had been too young to remember the accident. This summer, however, she had graduated and now lived in Boston with her boyfriend. Harry was a soft-spoken, coffee-skinned chemist who shared Relena’s passion for politics. He and Milliardo had met a few times and they got on splendidly.

As much as Milliardo was glad his sister was making the most of her new independence, he had to admit, he missed having her around; she was always such a spot of sunshine, no matter what the day was like. His lips quirked: that sunshine would have been great yesterday after his encounter with Heero. Milliardo still hadn’t figured out where he went wrong.

Grabbing an apple on his way past the kitchen, Milliardo logged into his computer. He hoped Relena was online. He was still getting used to the idea of his sister as a grown woman and couldn’t imagine telling her about his love life but Milliardo knew just hearing her voice would make him smile.

He didn’t have to wait long. He had just finished checking his email, when a little message box flashed on the toolbar. It was Harry, however, and not Relena who greeted him on the fuzzy web camera display. Milliardo adjusted his microphone.

“Hey Harry, how’s it going?”

“All right … you?”

“Not the best in the world but pretty good. Are you in class yet?”

Harry nodded, “Lena and I started this week.”

“Hun, who’re you talking to?” Behind Harry, Milliardo caught a flash of rumpled hem and below it, a round, feminine thigh.

“Was that my sister?”

Harry froze. He looked over his shoulder and winced, “Um … yeah.”

Milliardo chuckled, “Should I even bother to ask why she’s half naked?”

“Well you see, um…” the younger man seemed just about ready to bolt and Milliardo couldn’t help smiling.

” It’s all right, Harry, I won’t interfere. I’m sure you both are smart enough to be responsible about sex.” He leaned forward to peer directly at Harry, “Right?”

“Uh … yeah … um … lemme get ‘Lena.”

“Baby, I said who’re you— Oh hey, Mil,”

A young woman came into view, her honey blonde hair swinging about her ears in a fashionable bob. Relena nudged Harry out of the way and peered into the camera. She was wearing just the oversized tee shirt and as she bent forward, her full breasts swayed beneath the thin cotton, obviously unhindered. “What’re you doing home so early?” Relena looked from Milliardo to Harry. She frowned. “Mil, were you giving one of your ‘lectures’ again?”

Milliardo pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose. When the hell had his pigtailed, little sister blossomed into this vixen?

“Relena, Mary-Ann Peacecraft, would you take pity on your poor brother and kindly put some clothes on?” He was glad Relena was adjusting well and he was perfectly happy to support his sister, but there were some things a big brother just did not want to see.

Besides… Milliardo hated to admit it, but it seemed all the people in his life were moving on faster than he could ever catch up with them. Though Treize would surely deny it, their relationship had not been the same since he met Wufei. As for love… Milliardo did not even want to think about his last relationship — and if yesterday’s incident was any indication, he certainly was not making any progress in that area.

“—And no I was not lecturing. I was merely telling Harry… ”

Relena raised an eyebrow.

Milliardo raised his palms in surrender. He grinned, “All right, all right, I get the point. What have you been up to? I just got the photo from Cancun today.”

“Really? That was pretty quick.” Relena tucked her hair behind her ears, “I’m doing okay. My classes seem fine and I have Harry to help me with everything else, so I don’t feel nearly as lost as I would have otherwise. I can only imagine how difficult it would be without him.”

Relena leaned over to kiss her boyfriend but Milliardo barely noticed. He was thinking of Heero and how different his experience must have been to his sister’s. They were both starting college for the first time but as far as Milliardo could tell, Heero had no friends and he hadn’t mentioned anything about family in the area. No wonder he was so skittish; he hadn’t given the poor guy a chance to find his bearings.

Milliardo was sure if he introduced Heero to his friends they would welcome him. At least in terms of work habits, Wufei especially seemed to have a lot in common with Heero, and Treize, Quatre and Trowa always enjoyed meeting new people. The question was, could he get Heero to come near him again after yesterday’s fiasco?

“—think he’d at least pay attention.” Relena’s dry tone drifted over the speakers.

“Sorry, got lost there for a second.”

“It’s okay. I was asking: What about your love life? Any recent developments?”

Milliardo thought of Heero somewhat wistfully, “No … not really…”

“Not really? ” Relena frowned, “Mil, I know Duo was a big part of your life, but at some point you have to move on. You’re a great guy. If you’d just get out a little you’d realize there are plenty other wonderful men out there — and they’d be more than happy to get to know you.”

Milliardo rubbed at the bridge of his nose, “I do get out…”

“When was the last time you had a date?”

“I…”

Behind him, he could hear the phone ringing and never was Milliardo more grateful. He looked at his watch, “Is it six already? Sorry, Relena, that’s probably Treize calling. I’m supposed to meet him and Wufei for dinner in a few minutes.”

To make up for the missed coffee session, Treize and Wufei had invited him to dinner. Tonight, Wufei was chef and Milliardo was sure the meal would be delicious. Wufei was an excellent cook and his creations never failed to delight. He had, however, mentioned needing to pick up some specific ingredients first, so instead of driving to their house, Treize and Wufei had offered to pick up Milliardo on the way to the supermarket.

“No prob, Mil.” She shot him a meaningful look, “You’re off the hook for now, but don’t think I’ll forget about this.”

Milliardo smiled, ” I know. Love you.”

“You too… Tell the guys I said hello okay?”

“I will.”

Milliardo waited for Relena to log off and then hurried to the phone with a smile. Good food, good wine and even better company: perhaps that was just what he needed to put things in perspective.

—————————

“Treize, I’m telling you, he is exquisite.”

“‘Exquisite’?” Treize glanced at Milliardo through the rearview mirror, “That’s quite a change from the disillusioned man I spoke to last week.”

Milliardo sighed from the back seat, “You just have to kick a man while he’s down, don’t you?”

“Sorry, Mil ” Treize chuckled. He glanced over at Wufei, “Is it this way, darling?”

Wufei nodded, “The supermarket should be coming up on your left, on Hamilton Drive. Milliardo, do you think it’s serious between you and this Heero?”

“I can’t say so since I’ve only just met him … but I think I want it to be.”

Treize looked startled, “I didn’t realize things had progressed so quickly. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you talk like that.”

“Honestly Treize, I couldn’t say if they have progressed at all. In fact, it’s safe to say they went rather badly. I invited him to coffee the other day and I made total mess of the situation. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never wanted to see me again. I’ve tried telling myself it wasn’t meant to be, but damn it, I just can’t shake this feeling…” Milliardo shook his head. “Do you know what I mean or have I completely lost it?”

“Of course I do. Sometimes you know when something’s right.” Treize reached over to squeeze Wufei’s hand.

“Hmm…”

Treize smiled, “Come on, man, don’t tell me you’re giving up that easily? When are you going to see Heero next?”

Milliardo shook his head, “Did I not just speak of the utter disaster that was our first meeting? It’s rather pointless what I want if Heero isn’t willing.”

Wufei glanced over his shoulder, “but is he unwilling? I’m afraid I didn’t quite get a sense of what happened. You messed up, but why is it the end of the world? Talk to him.”

Treize nodded, “I agree with Wufei. This hesitation is unlike you, Milliardo. Perhaps you’re the one who isn’t truly willing?”

“I am willing,” Milliardo frowned, “I’ve just learned to be more careful…”

“Good — excellent even — but don’t let your caution turn to cowardice, eh, Mil?” Treize raised an eyebrow.

He made the turn and they found themselves at a supermarket specializing in Asian food and spices. It was part of the local strip mall and was neighbor to a bank and a thrift store. Treize pulled into a parking spot and they walked past the rows of shopping carts toward the storefront where neon green, pink and yellow posters announcing the week’s specials were pasted on the glass. There was a ‘bargain tray’ of miscellaneous items on the pavement just outside the main entrance and an elderly lady with a wide-brimmed straw hat was rummaging idly through it.

“This is nice, Wufei,” Milliardo peered at the overhead sign with its fat, black and red Chinese letters, “Any idea what that says? It seems so wonderfully esoteric.”

Wufei looked up and laughed, “Not so esoteric. It just says: ‘Huang’s Grocery’.”

“Besides, Einstein, it’s written over there in English,” Treize jerked his thumb at the awning above the automatic doors.

“You know, you’re really becoming a nuisance. Did I ask for your input?”

Treize grinned, “Well, I could see you needed my help.” He patted Milliardo on the shoulder, “Seriously, though, tell me, what can we do to help? I for one will be happy to see you getting back out there and dating again. ”

Wufei nodded, ” I would like to meet Heero as well. Perhaps we can invite him to dinner sometime?”

Milliardo released a breath he was not aware he had been holding, “I— that would be wonderful. Truthfully, I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to be presumptuous.”

“Presumptuous?” Treize’s expression darkened, “We are best friends, Milliardo. When has that ever been an issue?”

“I know. It’s not an issue. It’s just lately—” Milliardo glanced at Wufei, who was listening to them with interest. “You are right … I was being a fool.”

Wufei looked from him to Treize. An emotion somewhere between suprise and hurt crossed his features before it was swiftly concealed. He lowered his head, “I’ll grab a basket.”

“Love?” Treize followed Wufei while Milliardo trailed guiltily behind them, cursing his wayward tongue. When the hell would he learn to keep his mouth shut? He admitted to feeling a little “slighted” by Treize of late, but Milliardo genuinely liked Wufei and considered him a good friend. The issue was between himself and Treize. The last thing he meant to do was hurt Wufei’s feelings.

Milliardo sighed. He had caused enough damage for one night. Best to try to make up for it and enjoy the evening. He and Treize however, would have to have a talk very soon.

—————————

Milliardo peered at the vegetables on display, “Still not seeing any ginger…”

In the interest of saving time, he, Treize and Wufei had split up, each to find a share of the ingredients. So far however, this was his second time in the vegetable aisle and he was still empty-handed. Milliardo scratched his head. He was sure he had followed Wufei’s directions; now why couldn’t he find the damn ginger? It was almost becoming a habit with him these days. First the library and now this? Milliardo frowned. Was he that distracted?

“Now, did he say he’d be in the dairy section or was he going to get the rice…?” Milliardo looked around, hoping to spot Treize or Wufei but neither was in sight. He wondered if he should admit defeat and go find them, or if it was worth giving it one last look. Moving past the refrigerated greens, Milliardo wandered in search of an attendant.

A young man was kneeling on the floor, stacking spices onto a nearby shelf and Milliardo headed towards him. As he came closer, Milliardo couldn’t help thinking there was something about the shape of his head and the way his hair was ruffled at the crown, but he couldn’t quite place it. He watched the oddly graceful movement of the boy’s arms as he unpacked the bottles, tagged them and placed them on the shelf. Grab, tag, shelf, repeat, grab tag, shelf, repeat— his hands never paused. Milliardo watched, mesmerized. He saw the hair dusting the boy’s forearms and the rosy, delicate points of his elbows and Milliardo tried to figure out why on earth he seemed so familiar…

“Pardon me, could you help me find something?”

“Yes?” the dark head turned.

Milliardo froze. His gaze traveled incredulously from the soft, familiar, face to the nametag pinned to the boy’s breast pocket, his name spelled out in bold letters. Milliardo stumbled forward.

“Heero?”

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Three

Winston Street was in fact a tiny cobbled avenue about a block from the main campus. It was a favorite hang-out for the university crowd, who loved the vintage shops, used book stores and of course, cafes, lining its pavements. Most of the buildings were bright, wooden structures with awnings or heavily curlicued fretwork along roof-edges to add to the faux, old world charm of the quarter. Couples were walking leisurely together in the afternoon sun and the dark aroma of roasted coffee beans hung fat in the air as Milliardo and his pretty companion crossed the street to his favorite cafe. There were a few students lounging outside on the patio , reading newspapers or smoking. Purple geraniums were growing in narrow pot on one side of the entrance and a bearded man was stooping to examine them. As they paused in the middle of the sidewalk to read the day’s specials a girl with a polka dot bandana whizzed past, looping around them on her bicycle.

“Well, here we are.”

Milliardo led the way inside and they sat near one of the windows at the far left of the room. A breeze blew in, ruffling the boy’s hair. His cheeks were flushed with healthy color and Milliardo tried hard not to stare, he was so lovely.

“By the way, I don’t think I caught your name? I’m Milliardo.”

“Heero.”

“Hii-roh?” Milliardo turned the exotic syllables over in his mouth. He should have known his name would be something special. He smiled. “I like it.”

Heero shrugged turning the menu around between his fingers. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Are you sure this is ok?” Milliardo searched his features. “I know it’s not the best, but the crowd’s pretty nice and the prices aren’t too bad. Still, if you had somewhere else in mind…”

Heero shifted in his chair. “No, it’s all right.”

“You’re sure?”

Heero nodded.

“So … how’s your day going so far? You’re a freshman right?”

“Yes. Today is my first day.”

Milliardo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Heero to be a first semester freshman. It made his presence in the library all the more puzzling. “This is your very first day then? First time in college?”

“Yes, I…,” Heero’s gaze dropped to the tablecloth, “I couldn’t start right away. I … wanted to work for a year after I graduated from highschool.”

Milliardo twiddled with he salt shaker, “So you’re nineteen?”

Heero shook his head. “Eighteen. I—” he cleared his throat and picked at his rolled-up napkin, “Advanced placement…” he trailed off with a flush.

Milliardo listened and a softness rose up in him. He had not expected it: this shyness in Heero. Most of the good-looking men he knew (beloved Treize included) were very well aware of their charms. Yet, the more he studied Heero, the more Milliardo realized the younger man had no inkling of his own appeal. He saw the little curves of Heero’s earlobes reddened in the light from the window behind him … his smooth skin … the exquisite slenderness of his neck and wrists and blood beat strong in Milliardo veins. Maybe it was just first-day jitters or nervousness about meeting someone new, but there was something in the stiffness of Heero’s shoulders and the way he couldn’t quite meet his gaze that made Milliardo think it had more to do with inexperience.

Heero was an innocent.

Maybe Heero was too reserved, or the opportunity simply had not presented itself, but Milliardo was almost sure he was right. He was equally surprised at the jealousy that sprung up at the thought of Heero with another lover. He only just met him, but Milliardo knew he wanted to be the one to introduce Heero to passion. How sweet it would be to hold Heero’s small, firm body in his arms and watch pleasure transform him…

Heero had pulled one of the pamphlet menus from the sheaf at the center of the table and was studying it with a frown. Milliardo watched as a lock of hair fell into his eyes, shielding them. He worried his lip.

The question was: would he get the chance?

Milliardo released a shaky breath. Lost in his amorous haze, he realized he hadn’t spoken for some time. He berated himself. Fate threw him a wonderful chance to redeem his love-life and what did he do but wander off to never-land. Where was his charisma, his sharp repartee? Milliardo marshalled his resources and tried again. He smiled at Heero with what he hoped was a measure of charm. “Shall we order?” Heero nodded and he signalled to the waitress, “And while we wait, why don’t you tell me more about yourself?”

Heero did not answer right away. His brows knitted as if he was somehow thrown by the question. He darted a glance at Milliardo. ” I … am unsure what there is to tell,” he said carefully.

Milliardo found the curious turn of phrase utterly endearing. A warm, expanding feeling spread through him. So soon, and already he knew he would have to see Heero again. Milliardo leaned forward on his elbows. “Well, let’s start with the simple stuff. What’s your major?”

“Programming.” Heero pressed a little backwards into his chair, “You?”

“History; I’m working on a thesis right now.”

“Then, you’re a grad student?”

“Right,” Milliardo nodded, “just turned twenty-three. Like you, I finished up a little early.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” the waitress pulled her pen from her apron pocket and smiled down at them, “what will you have today?”

“Hey, Rita,” Milliardo handed her the menu. “Give me my usual.”

“All right,” she scribbled on her pad. “That’s one cappuccino — dry. She nodded to Heero, “And what’ll you have, hun?”

Heero slid the little booklet across the table. His voice was soft: “I’ll just have some water, please.”

“Water?” Milliardo protested, ” Come on, Heero, surely you—”

Insistent, Heero turned to the waitress, “Yes, water — with ice.”

“Alrighty,” she tucked her pen behind her ear, ” One dry cappuccino and an ice water. Sound right?”

Both men nodded.

“Then I’ll be back before you know it.”

Milliardo frowned as he watched Rita make her way across the room. He was an ass.There was a much nicer cafe down the street. They should have gone there instead. He was sure Heero would have preferred it — most people did. Milliardo shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like such an idiot he doubted he would have any taste for his cappuccino when it came — especially if Heero was sipping water. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Heero, we shouldn’t have come here.”

Heero looked up, startled. “What?”

“I’m sorry nothing on the menu caught your fancy. Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere else? There’s another coffee shop just round the corner…”

“There is no need.”

Milliardo grimaced. ” It’s really all right. We don’t have to stay here.” He started to reach for his coat. “Come on, let’s find somewhere with a better selection.”

“No, the menu is fine. Only—” Heero stiffened and jerked to his feet. His chair scraped harshly against the tiles. “I should go.”

“Wait! Don’t leave!” Milliardo scrambled to his feet. Christ, whatever he said, it was obvious he had just firmly planted his foot in his mouth.

“No, no, this was a mistake.” Heero was shaking his head and gathering up his backpack. “I must get to work.”

Shit! He was such an idiot! Milliardo grabbed his keys and stuffed his coat over the crook of his elbow. He hurried after Heero. “Well, at least let me take you there. I’m parked about five minutes away. If you’d just wait—”

“No!” Heero whirled, eyes flashing and fists clenched. “Just stay away!”

Stunned, Milliardo stopped. He watched as Heero weaved blindly across the room to the entrance, his shoulders hunched in hard little line as he sprinted up the street.

A small crowd had gathered and Milliardo thought he recognized a few faces from his classes, but he was too confused to care. In a daze, he went back to the table, dropped a few bills for the drink, left Rita a tip and made his way outside.

The cafe was at the foot of a slight incline and in the growing dusk, orange light spilled from the top of the street, making the cobblestones shine like pennies. Milliardo gathered his coat about him. He stared in the direction Heero had disappeared and sighed. What the hell had just happened?

————————–

Heero didn’t stop until his heart was contracted painfully in his chest and his lungs threatened to burst. He found himself in an arbor on the perimeter of the science buildings and he collapsed on the grass, breathing hard. Every one of his limbs was shaking and for long time Heero lay there, confused and afraid in the leaf-dark grove — battling himself.

What had he been thinking? J was at home struggling for every breath and he had been ready to squander their resources on expensive coffee. What was worse, for a minute in the cafe he had actually considered abandoning all duty and not going to work — just because a stranger smiled at him. Heero remembered the blonde’s name, long and regal-sounding: Milliardo… He didn’t understand himself or the strange yearning that rose in him in the other man’s presence. It filled him with fear. What kind of person was he, to betray his responsibilities so easily? What must he do to become stronger?

Heero closed his eyes. At least he had come to his senses when the waitress had come. He inhaled, forcing calming breaths into his body. It was okay, it was okay: he hadn’t completely failed. He had misstepped, but it was not too late to redeem himself. He looked at his watch and saw that it was almost time he was at work. Heero stood and hurried towards the bus stop with new determination. He would do better. He would not become another disappointment. Heero’s resolve grew with each step and by the time he changed into his uniform and found his seat among the other tired students, darkness had fallen, and the memory of the blonde was swiftly fading, like the distant howl of the wind in the night.

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter Two

Milliardo squinted against the sunlight. “Come on Treize; don’t tell me you can’t wait a few minutes.”

“Mil, Wufei has been waiting for the past fifteen minutes in Westwit Hall. I’m already more than late!”

“What’s the big hurry to get home all of a sudden? The two of you usually leave at three o’ clock anyway.” Milliardo frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re blowing off our Wednesday afternoon coffee — again.”

Treize ran a hasty hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, I know this is the second time in a row and I’m not blowing you off…”

Milliardo raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not…,” Treize’s shoulders slumped. “All right, perhaps I am. It’s just —” Milliardo watched as his best friend actually flushed. “It’s just that ah…” Treize coughed. “Wufei and I have this thing planned and…” Treize scratched his head and smiled rather sheepishly. “You know…?”

Shaking his head, Milliardo gave a snort of laughter. “Jesus Christ, Khush, don’t you two ever give it a rest? You had the whole summer to screw like bunnies, and still you can’t spare your best friend a little time on the first day of classes.” He smiled, taking the sting out of his words. “I don’t know how Wufei manages to keep his grades up with you being such a bad influence.”

A smile of relief lit up Treize’s handsome features at Milliardo’s reassuring tone and he relaxed. “Why am I the bad influence? How do you know this wasn’t Wufei’s idea?”

“Please Treize,” Milliardo rolled his eyes. “Left on his own, Wufei would be going to the library — like me—” he glared “and not being carried off to bed.”

Treize sighed. “That’s really unfair, Mil. It’s not my fault I happen to have the most desirable man on campus for a boyfriend.” His eyes twinkled.

“Idiot,” Milliardo shooed him away, “get out of here.”

Treize grinned. “Thanks, Mil. Call you to re-schedule?” he asked seriously.

“Yeah,” Milliardo hefted his books under his arm. “Next time, you’re buying.”

“Of course,” Treize began sprinting in the direction of the liberal arts buildings. He waved over his shoulder before his bright head disappeared in the crowd of moving students.

It looked like Milliardo was going to be doing a lot more studying today, than he had planned.

The library was a tall gloomy building on the other side of campus and Milliardo headed towards it with a sigh. As he walked, pale sunlight dappled the pavements in front of him and warmed his skin. There was a little coolness in the air, hinting at the coming fall, but it was a crisp, playful breeze that tickled under his shirt and ruffled through the hems of girls’ dresses. A pink rosebush had burst into flower near one of the water fountains and Milliardo plucked a tender blossom and brought it to his nose. Musky-sweetness wafted from the soft, cool petals and Milliardo smiled wistfully. It really was a beautiful day. He absently tucked the rose into his waistband. No wonder Treize wanted to spend it dallying in the pursuits of love.

Milliardo entered the darkened hall of the library. In search of a particular writing manual, he headed towards the shelves.

“NP .. NQ … NR … NY?” Milliardo frowned. “What the devil…?” He scanned the call numbers again. “NP, NQ, NR— This is pointless.” Milliardo checked the scrap of paper in his hand. “NS.5667″ He nodded to himself. “I knew I wasn’t imagining things.” He strolled over to the front desk. “Pardon me.”

A full-bosomed girl with bright, copper curls looked up. A wash of pink touched her cheeks as he spotted him and Milliardo shifted nervously. The girl smiled. “Hi, can I help you?” Her gaze roved his figure and her color deepened. She leaned a little forward. “Did you have trouble finding something?”

Please, not again … Milliardo stifled a groan. Why was it that he only seemed to attract attention from the wrong sex?

“Ah, yes,” he slid his scrap of paper over to her. “I can’t seem to find this. The author’s Donally.”

“Hmm, lemme see here…” the girl’s shiny red fingernails glinted as she reached over to grab the crumpled sheet. Her fingers brushed over Milliardo’s and she blushed prettily. “Hold on a sec, will ya hun?”

Milliardo coughed. “Uh, sure.”

There was a rapid tap-tapping of keys as she searched the electronic database. “Donally…” her eyes moved back and forth across the screen. “Found it!” She looked up at him. “Check the stacks over in the far corner. You know the shelves kinda in an ell-shape?” Milliardo nodded. “It should be on the one nearest the wall.”

“Thanks.”

“No prob.” Her lashes lowered. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will — thanks,” Milliardo hurried over to the shelves in question. What was it about him? He scanned one shelf and then the other. Maybe it was the hair. He rounded the corner. Was it time for a change…

“Sweet Mother of—” Milliardo’s jaw dropped. He could only stare at the beautiful youth sprawled on the desk before him.

His dark head was pillowed upon his arms as he slept and Milliardo could see his soft cheeks and berried lips in wonderful profile. A flutter of excitement coursed through him. He approached the desk.

His sleeping beauty did not stir, and so Milliardo contented himself with a closer examination. He knelt, bending close to see the thick crescents of the youth’s lashes and the dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. A smooth brown curl, was cupping his ear and it took all Milliardo’s willpower not to trace the pink, delicate, little shell it framed. Blood rushed hot to his thighs. His eyes closed. Oh, this was torture.

Still, he could not help noting the way the boy’s shirt gaped just so at the collar, giving him a tantalizing view of slim, dusky neck and chest. Heat pulsed in his veins. Milliardo craned his neck, trying to find a better vantage point. He glimpsed the velvet-pink of a nipple and Milliardo felt almost in a swoon. He pulled away, gasping.

Breathe, Milliardo, breathe… He ran a trembling hand through his hair. This was just ridiculous! He had to get control of himself. Knowing his luck the boy would be straight or taken — or both.

Milliardo looked at the stack of books at the boy’s elbow. Whoever he was, he was definitely neat — and remarkably studious for a boy at his first day of classes. What was more, he couldn’t be older than a freshman. Milliardo frowned. Not even Wufei was that dedicated. He must have been exhausted to fall alseep at his work like this.

Milliardo’s gaze returned to the boy. He really was very lovely. He looked at his closed eyelids and wondered at his eye color. He knelt again. With his coloring, they were probably brown or hazel.

There very last thing he was expecting was the sudden fluttering of the boy’s lashes and a bright blue gaze pinning him in place. Milliardo started. He blurted the topmost thought in his mind:

“My god, you are beautiful.”

—————————-

Heero had to admit, that of all the tricks his subconscious played on him, this was really the most creative. He faced no dark images or endless recriminations — just a golden vision of masculine perfection. So few things were pleasant in Heero’s life that he just knew this had to be a dream. For once, it was safe to stay in the corners of his mind and Heero allowed himself to appreciate the little gift he had been given.

He saw the long pale hair, the muscular shoulders and narrow hips and his dormant sexuality stretched and loudly asserted its approval. Easy warmth spread under his skin and Heero knew lust in all its foreign exhilaration. It was like breathing sweet fire. A soft ache settled between his thighs and Heero didn’t fight it. He felt full and heavy and flushed with blood and Heero let the sleepy-drunken sensation wash over him in a pleasurable wave. He marvelled at his own body.

The survivor in him argued this was dangerous but this new part of himself trembling into consciousness protested. What could be the harm in savoring something so rare?

An answering flare of heat seemed to blossom in the Adonis’ eyes. The urge to touch him was almost too strong to resist but Heero did not give in to it. He was afraid it would dissipate beneath his fingers like the surface of a lake and be destroyed. Instead, he traced with his mind’s eye, the aristocratic nose and sensual lips. Heero’s gaze dropped to the man’s broad chest. His imagination was just about to become bolder when the vision spoke:

“My god, you are beautiful.”

Heero froze. Something was very wrong.

He felt the books digging into his elbow and the stranger’s warm breath against his cheek and he knew with painful clarity that he was awake. Heero jerked backwards. Hot, bitter shame filled him. He pressed his thighs together.

“Get away from me!”

The man kneeling before him started. He rocked back on his heels and seemed to flounder for a moment. There was dazed, puzzled expression on his face like he too had been startled out of a dream. He groped blindly at the desk.

“Wait.”

Heero barely heard it. He remembered how he had been sprawled on the chair as if in offering and his teeth came down hard on his lip. In his mind’s eye he saw his sharp, awkward body, flung against the wooden slats of the chair in comic relief. Heat rushed to his cheeks. He was a fool.

An almost physical need rose within him to purify himself of his shame. Heero thought of the nearby gym and began searching for his backpack and books. He would punish his body at the machines until he knew his weakness — until he could never forget it again.

His backpack was near his feet and he snatched it up. By this time, the tall blond — whoever he was — was standing on the other side of the desk. Heero was only concerned with him insofar as he was staying out of his way.

Heero moved to get his books but the man prevented him. His golden arm suddenly intervened and grabbed up the pile instead.

“I know I was out of line, staring like that, but please don’t leave. Let me make it up to you.” He smiled. “Have some coffee with me.”

Heero was not amused. He started forward. “No. Give me my books.”

The man held the books a little higher, out of his reach. He shook his head, “Not until you allow me to apologize properly.” His light blue eyes shone, “Coffee?”

A rage began to boil within Heero. Was his humiliation not enough? Did the man have to bar him from atonement as well? He clenched his fists. “No.”

“Forgive me,” the man sighed. “You’re right: this is childish.” He laughed a little as he started to lower Heero’s books. “My friend stood me up for our afternoon drink and when I saw you … you struck me so strongly…” His lips quirked upward and he shrugged. “I just wanted to get to know you.”

I just wanted to get to know you.

The rage abruptly left Heero and he stood uncertain and confused. He stared at the stranger, trying to make sense of what he was saying. His brow furrowed. Wanted to get to know me…? The words hurt him, somehow, but not in the way Heero was used to. He tried to place it, but could not. It made him want to cry. Heero’s head jerked and he blinked. He took a half-step forward then shuffled backwards against the shelf. He shook his head. “I…”

“Yes?” the man smiled uncertainly, “You will come?”

His eyes were warm and bright and Heero looked at him for the first time. He was wearing a cotton shirt, tan trousers and supple, brown loafers. For some reason a flower was notched in his belt and the pink petals fanned outwards as if blossoming from his hip. With his yellow hair and his smiling lips, he was to Heero a shining fragment plucked out of the world of brightness that was closed to him. Even with the desk between them, he felt hemmed in on all sides, like the stranger were pressed up too close against him, encroaching on his space. It was unbearable and strangely pleasurable at the same time. Heero wanted to escape…

He was curious…

Heero remembered his shame and he hesitated. “I…”

The man’s smile broadened. “Come on, what will it hurt?” He extended his hand. “We can go to the little cafe off Winston Street.”

Heero blinked slowly. He slung his backpack over his shoulder with trembling fingers, “All right.”

Table of contents for Beautiful Dawn

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight

Beautiful Dawn
by Michalyn
Chapter One

Heero bolted awake — panting. He clutched at his sheets, trying to make sense of the darkness around him. Yes … the vague lump in the corner was really his green armchair, and not the half-crouching figure it looked to be … and those glowing slits near the foot of his bed were not monstrous eyes but the reflectors on his worn sneakers… Trembling, he listened and knew the wailing on the roof was not a voice from his past, and that the insistent bang, bang bang echoing in the silence was not a gun, but the autumn wind clattering against the shutters.

Heero sighed. Above him, the wind howled on the roof and rattled the old guttering. The cutains stirred and the film of sweat on his body evapaorated in the cool, night air. His breathing slowed, became easy… the nightmare faded into nothingness.

He was so tired of the games his mind played with him. At night, it seemed to turn in on itself, like a bitch who attacks the very pups she has just labored to bring into the world. No matter how hard he tried to forget, how strong he built up his defenses, under the cover of darkness, the past always came back to haunt him. Would he never escape its soft footstep — its fetid breath bristling the hairs on the back of his neck?

Heero rolled over to look at his alarm clock. Almost five AM: much too early to be grappling with questions he would find no answers to. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and his feet slapped noisily against the floor. The old wooden boards were chill and damp, and his toes curled against the assault. Heero thought of searching for his bedroom slippers, but the effort didn’t seem worth it. Gray light was already spilling across the horizon, and Heero knew there would be no more sleep for him after the nightmare. He was awake, and there were things to do.

There was a slight wobble to his step as he padded over to the bathroom, and Heero frowned, disgusted. Unacceptable — this weakness… How was he to overcome it, when his subconscious was constantly working to undermine his hard-won control?

The faucets, as usual, were leaking, and the silvery drop of water against the tiles, rang loud in the morning stillness. Heero undressed in the shadows, glad to not have to see his own nakedness. He hated his body, and the failure his wiry limbs confessed to. As a child, it was a ravenous, selfish little thing, gnawed always with a hunger his mother had died trying to satisfy … and now, it failed him again, with his father. He was not strong enough to give J the care he needed and it galled Heero to have to rely on hired help, but he had no choice, if only because he could not be with J while he was at class. Heero most regretted the expense. He was barely staying within budget as it was.

Heero stepped under the shower, and turned on the hot water until the spray stung him and his skin blosssomed red. He shampooed his hair and rubbed his washcloth over his chest, arms and thighs with a roughness bordering on cruelty. The little pain satisfied him: It was a small atonement for his failures. He had already lost so much to his ineptitude that even this, helped balance the scales. At the very least, it soothed his conscience a bit: It seemed only fitting that he should suffer as well. Heero sighed. He moved the rag in tight, soapy circles.The sensitive places between his legs, he gave only brief, clinical attention, before rinsing off.

By the time he had dried himself, a tinct of honey was spotting the sky. He had made it to another dawn.

Forced to turn on the light to brush his teeth, Heero examined his reflection in the mirror: blue eyes, thin nose, small mouth — easily forgotten. He saw the unruly mass of his hair, still damp from his shower, and like everything else about him, the brown of it was dull and uninspiring. He shrugged and the young man in the mirror mimicked. An acceptable picture, if not the most appealing, he decided. He rinsed his toothbrush and put it away. Peering into the medicine cabinet, Heero straightened the row of bottles that had deviated from their precise formation, before descending into the darkness of the kitchen.

The rattle of the old refrigerator greeted him. Its white surface was marred by numerous, leprous patches of rust and the small stove cowering beside it shared in its contagion: flecks of paint and rust sloughing off of it in thin, curling layers. Heero yanked the refrigerator door open and a belch of stagnant air bomabarded him, ripe with the odor of festering vegetables.

The cooling had failed again.

Heero tamped down a surge of annoyance. He refused to give in to the urge to kick the bloated appliance. Instead, with deliberate calm, he discarded the spoiled food and re-adjusted the week’s rations in his head. He would have to go to the supermarket sooner than he had thought. Between that, and the cost of J’s medication, there would be little left over for anything else.

Heero would survive, however.

He had gone hungry before and could again. J’s health must take priority over everything else. It would be nothing compared to all his father had done for him.

By the time he had resuscitated the fridge, dawn was spilling gloriously through the half-lidded windows. Heero set a pot of soup on the stove and returned at regular intervals to stir it as he went about his chores: washing the dishes, retrieving the milk and restoring the battered countertops to worn spotlessness.

Leaving the meal to cool, Heero glanced at the ceiling. He listened to the shifting of the old house on its foundations, his ears trained for the distictive creak that meant his charge was awake. Silence … and then … there, the almost inaudible squeal of the floorboards as J shifted about in bed. Immediately, Heero doled out a portion of soup and rose to greet his patient.

The room at the end of the hall was dark, forlorn and musty with the odor of sickness. Setting his tray down, Heero moved to open the window. The breeze rushed in, bringing with it the scent of earth and the chattering of two, bright bluejays as they hopped about the window sill.

J lay bonelessly against the pillows, but his grey eyes — sharp, perceptive— followed Heero about the room . The grizzled length of his hair had becomed tangled about his face and neck as he slept, and Heero brushed it away with tender hands. A trail of saliva was seeping from the corner of his slackened lips and Heero attended to that, too, mopping up the errant moisture with the corner of a rag.

Bracing an arm behind J’s back , Heero prepared to feed him, and the webbing of bones, sharp and delicate as a child’s, pressed against his forearm. Heero pulled the old man into a sitting positon and when he brought the spoon to his lips, J tried to grasp it, but his withered right hand was useless and it flopped heavily against the mattress. The movement jarred Heero’s hand at his mouth and soup spilled over Heero’s fingers, staining the sheets and the light gown J was wearing. Heero simply picked up the spoon and tried again.

Several attempts later, his father had been fed, changed and resettled into clean linens.

There was a knock at the door and Heero hurried to answer it. He opened it to find a slender woman with a shining cap of black hair waiting on his porch. She extended her palm to Heero with a smile to rival the morning sunshine.

“Hi, I’m from Corona Medical Center, here to take care of a Mr. Jeremiah Yuy?” She pointed to her nametag. “Hilde Schbeiker at your service — and if I’m not mistaken, you must be Heero.”

“Yes,” Heero nodded as he showed her into the house. “He’s already eaten and been washed for the morning.” Heero led the nurse through the kitchen. “I usually keep his meds for the day in his bedroom, but if you need more, they’re over here,” he opened a drawer to the left of sink, to show her.

There was a browninsh ring on the countertop above: a persistent stain that no amount of scrubbing had been able to erase. Heero had all but forgotten it, but now, under the nurse’s dark attentive eyes, he was embarrassed. Flushing, he covered it with his palm. He pivoted a little half-step, shielding it with his body. “Everything else is as we discussed on the phone: no milk foods — the soy’s in the cupboard above the fridge — and he likes to watch TV in the afternoon, so don’t forget to turn it on.”

“Sounds great, Mr. Yuy.”

Heero thrust his hands into his pockets and gave a stiff nodd. “Heero— is fine.”

She smiled. “‘Heero’ it is, then.”

“My work schedule is posted on the wall. I … don’t have a cellphone … but if you need to reach me, leave a message with my boss. I will respond as soon as possible.” Heero spied the frayed ends of the tablecloth and he shifted uncomfortably. “Well— that’s it! Do you have any questions?”

“Not at all.”

” All right, then I will be leaving. Thank you.”

“No problem Heero, I’ll see you at about seven then?”

Heero nodded. For all her cheery nature, the nurse seemed competent. He was satisfied. It was more than he could say of the housekeepers cum caretakers he had hired before. He grimaced. Their services were of course, much cheaper but J’s care had been compromised. He had no choice but to find someone more qualified, despite the tremendous costs.

Heero slung his backpack over his shoulder and jogged down the front steps. As he turned the corner, he was just in time to catch the bus. Easing through the crush of bodies, he managed to find a seat at the back. As the bus rolled forward, Heero settled in to enjoy the ride. He took careful note of each landmark enroute, knowing that there would be days when even the discounted monthly pass would be too much. He would have to walk.

All in all, he was off to the start of a typical “Heero Yuy” day — except of course, that it was his first day of college. Heero pressed his backpack to his side and shuffled closer to the window. Sunlight glinted at him through the dark leaves scrolling by. He stared into the filtered green and frowned, wondering what the day would bring.