Huffing out a breath, Hunter shook his head and rolled on to his side. As always, the searing, sickening pain took his breath away for a moment, then faded to something tolerable. Closing his eyes, he silently recited every profanity he knew, then pushed himself up to his elbows. He waited for that pain to ease, then drew his knees up. That time, the profanity was out loud. Lowering his head, he struggled to breathe through the pain that was very nearly a solid thing. His arms were shaking with the strain. When he tried to make himself sit the rest of the way up, his body rebelled, nearly pitching him forward on his face. Frustrated, he snarled, “Dammit!”

“Much as I appreciate the view from here, Hunt, Michaels is going to gut me if he finds out that you’ve been pushing yourself.”

The fondly amused voice from the doorway made Hunter look up guiltily. With a sheepish grin that did exactly nothing to make Sean stop glaring at him, he muttered, “It was worth a shot.”

Sean sighed and, setting down the packages in his arms, crossed to the bed. In a few quick moves, Hunter was on his back again, gasping with that same damned inevitable pain. He barely felt gentle fingers pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Sorry.”

Waiting until he could trust his voice not to crack, Hunter shook his head. “S’okay. Would’ve hurt no matter how you did it.”

“Herniated discs do that, man.” With a last quick touch to soften his words, Sean slid off the bed.

Hunter tilted his head to watch him go back to the chair where he’d left the packages, letting the fond smirk tilt up his lips. “Smartass.”

“Such disrespect for the guy who brings you painkillers and groceries.” When Hunter made a face, Sean narrowed his eyes at him. “You’ll take the painkillers and like it, Helmsley, or so help me I’ll stuff them down your throat.”

“Okay, okay. Jesus. Little fucking Superdom.”

“Damned straight.” Rummaging through the packages, Sean added without looking up, “Besides, I’m on orders to threaten you if I have to.”

Suspicious, Hunter demanded, “Orders from who?”

“The usual. Vince, Jo, your boytoy-“

“The guy who happily threw himself off the top of a thirty foot cage through the announcer’s table when he already had a fucked up back? He’s one to talk.”

“Hey, I just take orders around here.” Sean finally came up with a brown paper bag and held it out. “I brought McDonald’s. Forgive me yet?”

Hunter brightened. “My God, kid, I love you.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, Sean held the bag away when Hunter reached for it. “Painkillers first,” he said sternly, “then food.”

For a moment, Hunter wavered on the edge of argument. Then, with a sigh, he visibly gave up and wearily held out his hand without a word. Sean’s expression softened; Hunter had to be in serious pain for surrender to come that easily. Handing him the Coke and the bottle of painkillers, he watched as Hunter forced two pills down a little painfully and slumped back to the pillows. His expression was hard as he nearly spat, “I hate this.”

“I know.” Sean passed Hunter the bag. “Take it from the master of spinal cord injuries. It’ll get better.”

“I hope so.” Squirming up the pillows, Hunter grimaced. “I really shouldn’t have done that Hell in the Cell.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“Wow, watch you be supportive.” Hunter eyed him, a spark of life coming back into his eyes as his irritation slid away. “Your bedside manner sucks.”

“Take my pissy moods and be grateful, bitch.” Sean grinned as Hunter snorted less than politely and rolled his eyes. “I’m doing this out of the pure kindness of my heart, dammit.”

“Yeah, God forbid anybody find out that there’s actually a nice guy in there.”

“Pfft. Shyeah, right.” Looking away, Sean rose. His tone was too carefully light as he said, “All being nice has got me is consolation prizes, permanent midcarder status and a fucking broken neck.”

“Sean…” Hunter sighed as the younger man studiously looked everywhere but at him. “It’ll get better for you. I promise. You’re still young-“

“I’m almost thirty.”

“And as for the relationship thing-“

“Hunter, if you even breathe one word about ‘I’d take you in a heartbeat if I wasn’t attached, really’, I’m going to throw something heavy at you.”

With a sigh, Hunter muttered, “There goes that idea.”

Shaking his head, Sean started to gather the packages together again. “Look, I’m gonna go put these in the refrigerator and pretend there’s something on tv to watch.”

“Or you could sit and talk with the temporary crip for a couple minutes.” When Sean opened his mouth, a protest forming on his lips, Hunter added hopefully, “Please?”

As he had expected, Sean caved. With an exaggerated sigh, he crawled back on to the bed, stretching out beside Hunter and folding his arms behind his head. “Okay. Whatcha want to talk about?”

“Nothing in particular.” Turning his head to look at Sean, Hunter frowned and reached out to touch the younger man’s forearm with gentle fingers. “Where’d the bruise come?”

“Hmm? Oh, that.” Sean laid his head back, his smile genuine this time. “I got the crap kicked out of me by my sparring partner.”

“Jesus. Who was your sparring partner, Jericho?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, man.” With a crooked smirk, Sean added dryly, “But they’re about the same height.”

“Nah.” Letting his head hit the pillows, Hunter smiled faintly at Sean. “I usually believe you.”

Sean snorted. “I think that’s the drugs talking.”

With a rueful smile, Hunter rubbed at his eyes, looking endearingly warm and sleepy. “That’s entirely possible. But on the plus side, my back doesn’t hurt.”

“Good.” Reaching out, Sean tugged the old quilt over Hunter’s shoulder, earning himself a drowsy, playful growl. “Now we just need to keep it that way until Shawn gets back and take care of this himself.”

“Mmm.” Hunter sighed, his eyes half-lidded as he burrowed his head further into the pillow. “No offense, kiddo, but I like his version of pain relief better.”

“Yeah, and he’d break my legs if I tried it with you.” Sean laid his fingertip on the bridge of Hunter’s nose, smirking as the older man’s eyes crossed.

“You’re such a bitch.”

“And you’re in denial about the fact that you’re going to pass out in a minute, but you don’t see me bringing that up.”

“No. ‘Course not.” With a yawn, Hunter shook his head. “Not you. Never.”

“It’s true. It’s true.”

“If I have a dream about Angle in m’bed, I’m gonna be really pissed off at you, Waltman.”

“Sure you will.” Sean tilted his head back and forth to ease the building ache. “Although hell, there are worse people to be in bed with. He’s got a really perky ass and you could always duct-tape his mouth shut. I mean, hell, he’s not Rocky…"

There was no answer.

Turning his head, Sean looked at the man sprawled out beside him. “Hunt?”

His only reply was a soft snuffling grumble as Hunter burrowed deeper into the comfortable warmth of the bed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Sean shook his head fondly, easing the untouched food away from Hunter’s side. “Sleep tight, you putz.”

Putting away the groceries took less time than he wanted it to; it at least gave him something to do besides listen to the pressing silence around him. He had enough of that waiting for him at home. Tucking that thought firmly away, he took a beer from the refrigerator. Shawn wouldn’t begrudge him that. He had practically promised Sean his soul when he’d volunteered to keep Hunter from killing himself while Shawn was gone on signing tours. Texas was a long way from Greenwich, and until they managed to find a way to inform Vince that Shawn had moved in with Hunter months ago, these tours would keep happening. It just figured that it would happen when Hunter finally realized that unless he took time off his back was going to force him into a more permanent vacation.

Never mind that he had no room to talk.

Sean flipped the cap of the beer into the trash and wandered into the living room. The nice, soft leather couch was calling to him. Flopping down on it, Sean nursed his beer and let his thoughts drift like they usually did when he was exhausted. He could use a nap. Well, to be honest, he could use a neckrub and a long, vigorous fuck, but neither of those were coming. He had to settle for a nap, no matter how old it made him feel. Because, damn, even Kevin was still choosing sex over sleep, and the guy was over forty.

Occasional threesomes aside, it truly sucked to be the fifth wheel.

With a sigh, he informed himself, “Quit it, or you’re going to turn into one of perma-bachelors who cruise high schools for dates and talk to themselves. You’ve even halfway there already.”

His neck was starting to cramp. Grimacing, he rubbed roughly at it with one hand, then downed the rest of his beer and pressed the cold, empty bottle against the ache. It felt remarkably good. Pressing his stinging knuckles against the cold, Sean sighed out contently. This was as good as his life got.

Maybe a dating service…

He snorted at the thought and shook his head. “Desperate, Waltman. Just plain pitiful.”

Setting the bottle aside, he curled up on his side as best he could on the narrow couch, then closed his eyes. When Hunter woke him a few hours later with a slightly shaky request for something to down the painkillers with, Sean remembered, faintly, that he’d dreamed of a warm body and strong, sure hands stained with gun oil and blood.

He made himself forget it again. It was easier that way.
*****************
“’Cause I’m freeeee… freeeeefaaaaaallin’….”

The sounds and smells of something cooking, and a loud, off-key voice singing along with an already atrocious song on the radio greeted Wufei as he opened the door to the apartment. With a sigh, he shut the door behind him and called, “Ohayo, Duo.”

“Woofy! Hey, you’re home!” A braided head poked over the kitchen counter and grinned at him, an expression that usually meant trouble for everyone within radius. “C’mere for a second.”

Wufei resigned himself to fate and complied. He had long since given up on ignoring him or trying to discourage that damnable nickname. Leaning against the counter, he watched Duo turn back to the stove long enough to throw spice into the skillet on the stove without bothering to measure. “You’ve been watching the Food Network again.”

Duo nodded. “Yep. Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Hn.” Sparing a private moment of pity for the stomach of whichever poor fool Duo talked into eating his newest creation, Wufei asked, “Where are the others?”

 “Eh, we’re the only ones home. Quatre’s working late tonight, and God only knows where Trowa's off to. He never said.” Duo made a face and added, “Not like that’s new or anything.”

“He likes his privacy.”

“Yeah, that’s one way to put it…” Brightening, Duo reached out and tapped his hand. “Hey, try one of my potstickers, huh? I wanna see if I did them right.”

For a moment, Wufei considered resistance. Then, recalling the last time he had refused Duo’s food and had been forced to sit through a lecture about how he was so skinny his collarbones were visible through his shirt and damn it, they didn’t have to live like that anymore, he nodded. “Fine.”

“Aw, c’mon, y-… hold on. Did you just say yes?” When Wufei just nodded again, his expression slightly pained, Duo grinned. “Wow, you are in a good mood. Lemme grab a plate.”

The potsticker, Wufei noted as Duo dropped one on a plate and held it out with a expectant look, looked both deformed and rich enough to cause instant death by artery clogging. With a sigh, he resigned himself to death and picked it up. Biting half off, he closed his eyes and braced himself for the taste to hit him.

Resting his chin on his hand, Duo demanded, “Well?”

Wufei chewed, swallowed gingerly. “It’s…” Surprised, he opened his eyes. “It’s good.”

“See!” Beaming, Duo declared triumphantly, “I bet that didn’t even hurt.”

“I didn’t say that.” Despite his words, Wufei popped the other half in his mouth. He was slightly startled to find that he was actually hungry, a feeling he hadn’t had since…

The knot of dull, nagging ache that he had slowly gotten used to came back, and tightened as if in rebuke. How dare he forget.

He sighed, rubbing at the pain. His hunger suddenly seemed subdued in comparison.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” Something thunked down on the counter directly beside Wufei’s elbow. He jumped, looking up into Duo’s suddenly serious violet eyes. The American smiled at him humorlessly, seeing familiar old ghosts in his eyes, then held up one of the two beers he had just taken from the refrigerator. “Have a drink with me, Wu. It won’t take a minute.”

Something in Duo’s expression, a hint of the battered man behind the joker’s mask, made Wufei nod solemnly. The American had earned his respect. He would indulge this.

“Cool.” Busying himself with opening the caps, Duo kept up a running commentary as he moved. “I mean, I was gonna wait until the others got here, but you got here first and Quatre won’t be in until nearly midnight so it’d be pointless, and he doesn’t drink anyway, and  Trowa kinda wouldn’t understand. I hate to remind them of these things, I hate putting that damned dead look on Trowa’s face just when he's starting to act human, and-“ Duo blew out a shaky breath. “Hell. It’s just an excuse to have a beer, y’know? Aren’t college students supposed to do that?”

“We are.” Accepting the bottle of beer that Duo offered him, Wufei pretended not to notice that Duo’s hands were shaking.

Duo drew in another breath, then solemnly moved to clink his bottle against Wufei’s. They stood in silence for a moment, before Duo sighed. “It’s been a month already.”

He didn’t have to ask what Duo meant. A month of classes and studying and suddenly having time to be bored. A month of trying to learn how to have a normal life, while at the same time waiting for it to crack and shatter around them like it always had before. He had lost track of the days. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“No.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, Duo stared at the counter with too-old eyes. “It’s funny. Sometimes I’ll wake up sweating because I think it’s started again. And sometimes… I miss it. I miss risking my life, I miss fighting, I miss knowing that if I died it wouldn’t be because I stepped out in front of a damned bus. I miss being Shinigami, and not just Duo Maxwell, average student.” Violet eyes tipped up to meet Wufei’s as he added, “You know what I mean.”

Wufei nodded. There were no words to be said.

“If the Doctors called tomorrow, asked if you wanted to start fighting again… would you say yes?”

His own chuckle sounded bitter as Wufei took another drink to ease the ache that was starting to blossom, its roots growing deeper. It would kill him if it kept going like this. “Without hesitation.”

“Hmm.” Duo smiled a little, self-consciously, and looked down into the depths of his bottle of beer. “I used to think that, myself. Now I’m not so sure. Sure, I miss it, I miss it like hell, but give me another month of being able to sleep without having to worry that I might not wake up again, and I’ll be damned near domesticated.” With a snort of disgust, he shook his head. “I know what you’re gonna say. It’s weak.”

“No. Enviable.” The words slipped out of their own accord, startling them both.

Wrong, taunted the ghosts behind his eyes. A true warrior would never say such things. A true warrior should be empty of weakness. A true warrior would not want like you. You aren’t worthy of the ones who have died for you, instead of you, at your hands. It should’ve been you, your blood, your death, you…

Wufei drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was empty. As it had to be. His voice was stiff with formality as he said tersely, “I have to meditate.” As an afterthought, he added, “Thank you for the beer.”

With that, he turned away and, shouldering his bookbag, strode down the hall to his room. The door slammed shut with a sharp bang that made Duo flinch.

Well. So much for bonding.

Sighing for what felt like the thousandth time that night, he downed the rest of the beer and threw it into the trash, sickly reassured by the familiar sound of shattering glass.