Title: All that's left of us now.
Pairing: Heero/Duo.
Summary: After the war, all they have is silence. After the war, all they can hope for is each other.

'Love. Yes. Love was so much more destructive than anything he'd ever witnessed before and he wasn't quite sure he could cope with it on his own.'

After the war came silence and that, in itself, was much harder to adjust to than all of the rest. Hearing a crash in the middle of the night - or the low hypnotic buzz of someone else's alarm clock through the wall - and the curtains were ripped apart; haphazardly: nothing but the still cresent of the moon or a galaxy of newly born stars on the other side, smiling through the curve of the glass.

But it was habit.

Like static, background noise. The sharp hiss of terror sticking to the base of your spine at every little creak that was out of place. And Heero was used to it. Duo, too. Falling asleep through a cascade of hair and violence.

"It's the sound of what we're fighting for." Wufei would hiss under his breath (under his pillow) and Quatre would clench his eyes shut until he felt the pulsing pressure of veins and could trace them against the ceiling. Trowa. Trowa sat there, not quite able to make sense of it but trying, regardless.

Waiting.

None of them questioned it but it lingered hastily after midnight - the fears, the doubts. 'what if this is all for the wrongs reasons' versus 'it's better than letting them all die, pointlessly' - tossing and turning, slick, sweaty backs and awkward knees : tangled with threadbare sheets or wrap-around jackets, a size too big.

It was hectic. Chaos. And it blocked out all of the thoughts they couldn't quite keep out of their heads. So when it was over - when they weren't startled upright with staggering explosions or radio calls, or shoved over sofa edges for a round of bullets - without it, all they were left with was the silence.

And, really, it wouldn't have been so bad, Heero realised, if his wasn't so full of Duo.