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Diamond Desperado finishes his drink, but isn’t done for the night. Not by a long shot. He motions to the bartender, but is ignored for the moment. He scowls and Mike smiles.
“He’ll be back,” Mike offers and grins at Desperado’s grumbling.
After a pause, Desperado taps his fingers against the table and asks, after waiting for months, “So...you have a woman or something?”
Mike smirks at the choice of words before shaking his head. “We’ve been here--what, seven months? You think anyone would wait for me that long?”
“Hmm,” Desperado grunts, but listens to the choice of words. Anyone. What does that even mean? It’s been months since that accidental drunk kiss that Mike, very gently, rejected.
But, still, they hang out with regularity and they both look forward to it, in their own ways.
“Anyone for you?” Mike ventures to ask, knowing the answer, but also knows it’ll ruffle the other engineer and looks forward to that.
Desperado shifts uncomfortably. He hasn’t dated. At all. Ever. He hated most people and most people hated him. It was a comfortable relationship.
“I haven’t the interest or time,” he answers and finally the bartender interrupts his lie. “I want another one. Make it quick, would you?”
“Mm-hmm,” the bartender sniffs, turns to Mike, “Another, too?”
“Sure, but whenever you’ve got the time.”
“You got it, chief.”
Desperado’s beady eyes squint in disgust when the bartender leaves. “He only likes you because you tip.”
A smile comes easy to Mike’s mouth as he lights a cigarette between his lips. “It’s the fastest way to anyone’s heart.”
“Not to mine.”
“Obviously,” Mike takes a long drag before unspooling it from his lungs. “But you’re not really just ‘anyone’, are you?”
It’s almost endearing. Just the way he says it. The way the tone lifts so slightly at the end.
Desperado taps his fingers harder against the sticky bar counter, getting impatient for his drink. Drinking is at least one thing they have in common.
“Any kids?” Desperado finally asks just after receiving his drink, takes a scowling sip of the whisky sour. “You seem like you’d have kids.”
“How’s that?”
“You seem...paternal?”
Mike laughs hard enough to cough and Desperado keeps sipping his drink, slightly embarrassed.
“No,” Mike manages through coughing and wheezing, “No, nothing like that.”
“But you want them.” It’s said as a statement, but it’s a question. It’s several questions, actually. It’s questions of the future, of genetics, of sexuality, of interest. It’s frustrating how much he wants to know about Mike and how little he does.
Desperado wants to know what makes this guy tick, what makes it impossible for him to despise Mike like he does with the other scientists. What his hobbies are. What he dislikes. What he smells like, tastes like, feels like.
He just wants...and it’s awful. He hates wanting for things. Wanting for these things comes with disappointment. Always disappointment.
“Eh…” Mike draws out and taps his cigarette against a cracked glass ashtray at the bar. “I don’t know. The future...It’s probably not so great, you know? Maybe I shouldn’t bring a kid into all that.”
“I think you’ve been around me for too long.”
The smile on Mike’s face lights up. “Yeah, maybe.”
There’s a stillness that Desperado stews in and that Mike allows with casual leisure. It lingers as Desperado stacks his courage so it’s solid and impenetrable.
“I’ve thought about it before,” Desperado says quietly, “Maybe once or twice.”
Mike’s eyebrows shoot up as he takes a long, steady drink of his old fashion, moving the orange slice from his lips with a lazy finger. Desperado waits the few seconds of silence for his reaction.
“Really now? That’s surprising.”
There’s a hope that that statement was actually a question, too, but for him. It’s a thin hope, but Desperado can feel it heavy in his stomach along with the alcohol. He hopes that it’s to know more about him, too.
He shrugs and wonders if Mike is curious enough about him to want to know more. Desperado knows he’s ugly, angry, short, but maybe he can be interesting. Maybe at least he can garner attention that way. If he’s interesting, maybe the other things won’t matter as much. Maybe he can still hold Mike’s interest.
“Huh, having a son,” Mike wonders into his glass before drinking.
“Or daughter,” Desperado adds, a bit surprised that it wasn’t considered. In fact...maybe a daughter would be better.
“I’d rather have a boy,” Mike decides, as if for the first time. “Too many things to worry about for a girl. A boy doesn’t need as much looking after.”
It’s Desperado’s turn to snicker. “And you think raising a boy would be easier ? Wouldn’t be as much work? I was a boy once, and trust me, they need as much ‘work’, if not more. There’s more expectations on men. More pressures. Women are better at handling that. Kinder, too.”
Mike's lips quirk. “Oh, you want a kind kid? And one that can handle whatever you put them through?”
“Of course,” Desperado scoffs, offended. “Don’t you?”
Mike contemplates and takes another thoughtful drag from the cigarette and sets it on the ashtray. “I think I’d want my kid to be smart. Scrappy. Like me. Could figure shit out quick.”
Before Desperado could add anything, Mike says, soft enough for just the other man to hear. “Yeah, and kind, too…”
“We could engineer one together,” Desperado says, but then immediately realizes his mistake. It sounds like having a child together. It sounds like settling down. It sounds like love.
He blushes. He actually blushes, from his cheeks to the rest of his face. Feels all red and fuming at the heat.
He doesn’t know how to escape this torture and he’s just waiting for the word from Mike, any word to tease him or degrade him. And then he’d strike. He’d bite! He’d be a fury and force to be reckoned with!
Mike just has to say the word. He just has to say anything...and it’ll all be over.
But Mike slides the chuckle down his throat with another sip, feeling the heat of the whisky mix with that swallowed laughter. He can sense the upset from his companion and the vulnerability there.
So, instead, he says, “Boy, what a kid that would be, eh? With your resilience and my scrappiness, and both of our smarts...Damn, what a kid, huh?”
The fire cools from those words and that hope is even heavier and more cumbersome in Desperado’s stomach. God, how much he hates it. He hates this ambiguity and stupid feelings that he can’t help but feeling.
Their child. Their dumb and imaginary child. It fills his heart so much, he can barely take another breath.
So, instead he just orders another and hides his face in his hands. He can’t look at Mike yet, and pretends to be drunker than he actually is. He knows that this just complicates things. Hates when things are complicated.
But he can’t help being endeared to Mike. He can’t help it, and he hates that, too.
***
AC192
***
The video screen crackles as it connects. Mike Howard’s face appears suddenly and Dr. G smiles wryly, waiting for the joke.
“I just left. Miss me already?” Howard says from Earth.
“Not much to miss, you should try harder,” G sneers into his smile. “How’s Earth?”
“Beautiful, like always. Getting a tan already. Settling some things right now. I'm getting a barge. It’ll be nice to float around for a while.”
‘As if that’s not what you’ve done all your life,’ G thinks to himself, but there’s very little bitterness or bite to it.
“So, is this a social call?” Howard asks, adjusting his sunglasses. He doesn't mind it, though. Even though it's only been a few weeks, it's been quiet without G's sardonic commentary as an undercurrent in Howard's life.
“No, I have some news. Good news, in fact.”
Professor G pauses for effect.
“Oh?”
“I’ve found my pilot.”
That is news and Howard’s eyebrows flit up with surprise. Operation Meteor is G’s passion; Mike opted to stay out, but they talked about it enough. He knows the level of pilot G was looking for, though. He knows the stakes.
“No kidding? What’s he like?”
“A kid.”
There’s a pause, weighing the truth in that. “You’re joking.”
“No,” G presses with a smile. “He’s young. Probably eleven or twelve.”
“Diamond...?” Howard’s tone is warning, critical even. “That’s too young.”
“No,” G is quick to respond. “You just haven’t seen this kid yet.”
Mike pauses because the tone was of respect. A rare and excited respect that he hadn’t heard in G’s voice for years. There was something there, something powerful and final.
And yes, G knew it as soon as he was introduced to this young ‘Duo Maxwell’, this ‘god of death’. This kid had the drive, the passion and the skills to utilize the very best Gundam the universe could ever offer. His Gundam, in fact. His own perfect machine...
Because when he saw that sharp and deadly look in the boy’s eyes, the smiling bitterness there, he knew there could be no other. They were made for each other -- Deathscythe and Duo Maxwell.
It was such a surreal and strange experience then. G felt the odd stirring of an old hope and memory when he first met Duo, when he heard Duo. Duo was brilliant in ways G wasn’t. He was assured and brash. Went with the flow until cornered. He was strong and simple. Open with his appreciation, but critical of his work. Duo was proud and brutally honest…
And kind.
“Sounds...special,” Howard says, still thinking.
“He is. Just wait until you meet him. He’s a real shakeup! He’ll give J and the others a run for their money,” G says with a cracked laugh. "They'll never see him coming. Not at all..."
After a few seconds of static, Howard concedes, “Okay...Okay, I’ll see for myself...one day.”
“Sure, I still have to train him and get him ready,” G agrees.
But after a pause, he adds, softly, just as if they were still in the bar, “But you’ll like him, Mike. He’s a really good kid.”
In fact, he was everything they wanted...