Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters.

Warning: Violence, death.

Note: Randomly inspired by a song called "Your Eyes Open" by Keane, recent GW RP activity, and a wandering mind.



August 2011

Doubt was like a palpable presence beside him, dogging his thoughts, wreaking havoc on his concentration. He shook his head sharply in an attempt to clear his head, but the nagging insecurities lingered.

The body-warmed metal in his hands had always felt so reassuring before. Today, in the heat of an August summer, sweat rolling down the side of his face like nervousness personified, the gun was a foreign thing. He'd learned to field strip and reassemble the damned thing at the tender age of seven. There were no afternoon bike rides, no rough and tumble games of street football or tag. There never would be. His childhood had disappeared in the midst of hunger, fear, and war.

His target was moving, striding confidently across the open city lot, cocky in a way that made his finger tighten reflexively against the trigger guard. This was the type of self-assured asshole that started new rebellions, new uprisings. He was an imminent threat to the fragile peace they'd fought so hard, sacrificed so much, to attain.

This man had to die, today.

The scope gave him a clear view, a textbook shot, but still his hands shook. There was a burst of static in his ear that signified a detour from policy radio silence, and then a familiar voice guiding his trigger finger, easing the metal back fluidly, the solid recoil absorbed easily in his forearms as his target hit the pavement with a sick thump and bled freely.

"Get out of there before the locals show up and start asking stupid questions," his lifeline said quietly into his ear even as his hands were concealing his weapon, his feet were carrying him away from the edge of the rooftop ten stories above the slowly-cooling body of the target. Years of training allowed muscle memory to dictate his actions even as his mind wandered.

"You did good. That jackass has been drumming up resistance fighters for months now. It was a matter of time."

The affirmation took the edge off of his erratic heart rate and the fine trembling in his hands as he took the stairs two at a time, descending into the bowels of the building as quickly as he dared. It never got any easier. His clinical detachment had been blown to pieces after the incident with Mariemaia, but he had a duty to perform.

That trigger wasn't going to pull itself.

"Your evac team is two clicks west of your location. You have ten minutes. Run."

He did. Never once had he hesitated with that confident baritone in his ear, guiding him through each mission, bringing him home.

Heero made it to the pickup location in under six minutes. The voice in his earpiece was a constant and comfortable presence as he was urged into the unmarked SUV, relayed to the drop point to rush across a tarmac beneath the whirling windstorm of helicopter blades.

Once airborne he finally reached up and pulled the transmitter from his ear, slumping back against the cool metal of the aircraft's interior and letting his eyes fall closed. He didn't need the device anymore, because that soothing voice was in his other ear as deft hands stripped him of Kevlar and electronics.

Two hundred kilometers from his residence and sixteen hundred yards in the air, the Japanese agent opened his eyes, caught Duo's indigo-blues and knew he was home.