Disclaimer: Tatsunoko Productions owns Gatchaman and the characters therein.  This work was not written with intent to infringe upon ownership or copyright; it is only to entertain.  Honest.

Eagle’s Dare

Ken wasn’t sure just what was wrong with him.  He just knew there was something.

He lowered his eyes to stare at his hands, clasped before him on the table.  Dr. Nambu continued on with his lecture to the team, his voice a steady rise and fall.  It wasn’t a reprimand, it wasn’t informational, it was just . . . a lecture, one they’d all heard many times before.  He couldn’t concentrate on it.

Not when he knew there was something wrong with him.

Gods above, there had to be.  There was no way this was normal . . .

Get a hold of yourself, he told himself firmly.  Think about it rationally . . . well, as rationally as you can . . .

He let his eyes flit around the table, glancing sidelong at his teammates and family.  Jun loved him . . . or at least, she thought she did, which amounted to the same thing.  He couldn’t talk to her about this.  Jinpei was far too young.  Dr. Nambu was completely out of the question.  Ryu . . . He grimaced.  He knew just what Ryu would do and say.  He could almost hear the conversation in his head.  Not that Ryu would ever tease him, or fail to keep it secret if he asked.  But what was the point, if he already knew what was going to be said?  That left . . .

Ken sighed inwardly.  The gods do so love having a joke at my expense, he thought a bit sourly.

Shortly thereafter, Dr. Nambu dismissed them, and the team filed out of the conference room.  Ken hung back, walking slowly, letting them all get far ahead of him, as they talked and laughed together.  Then, when they turned the corner and went down another corridor, he stopped, slumping against the wall.  He ran his hands through his unruly hair.

No way.  No way I can talk to Joe about this.  Not when . . . He let his hands cover his face.  Spit it out, Ken!  Don’t be such a coward. 

Not when . . . I think I’m attracted to him.

Shame overwhelmed him.  It went against everything he’d been taught, everything he’d absorbed since early childhood. It is wrong to have these feelings, he thought hopelessly.  It is wrong to be attracted to another man!  I am supposed to marry a nice girl and have children with her.  We’re supposed to raise a proper family, be a proper husband and wife.

His hands fell away from his face, and he stared blindly across the corridor.  Without realizing what he was doing, he wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself tightly.

Why was it that that thought of marriage- the thought of spending his life with a woman- set his insides trembling with dread?

Jun loved him.  He did love her in return, very much . . . but only as his very dear sister, while she obviously wanted something more.  He doubted that he would ever see her as she wished to be seen- as a desirable woman in her own right- for just that reason.  Some days, it was difficult indeed to bear the disappointment and confusion in her eyes.

Especially when he found the reason so difficult to face.  How could he expect her to understand?

Oh, gods, does this mean this is incest, too, because I think I love my “brother” that way?  Despair settled over him, an almost palpable cloak surrounding him.  Only by the greatest exercise of will did he keep himself from sobbing.

He had first noticed something wrong a few weeks ago.  Upon their return from another mission, they had all immediately headed for the showers.  He had been toweling off as Joe stepped from the shower stall, and had simply stopped and stared.  It hadn’t even been that long since he’d seen his brother naked, but today, something was different.  His towel forgotten in his hand, he’d watched, fascinated, as Joe dried his hair.  The complex play of muscles in Joe’s arms and chest held him mesmerized for a long moment, then his eyes had wandered down the long legs, and back up again.  Slowly, he became aware that Joe was no longer moving, and glanced up at his face.  Good looking, yes, but his features were too rugged for beauty.  The light blue eyes were glowering at him, startled and angry, the towel draped over his head.

“What the fuck are you looking at?”

Somehow, Ken had managed not to blush, had managed a credible smile.  “Oh, just making sure you weren’t hurt worse than you let on.  You did take quite a beating today.”  Then, affecting unconcern, he wrapped his towel around his waist and started gathering his clothes.

Trying not to let on that his heart was beating faster, for some strange reason.

“Ken?  What the hell are you doing?”

Ken blinked, and looked up.  Joe was studying him, standing a few paces down the corridor.  He looked concerned, the expression a bit out of place on his face.  His deep voice had insinuated itself into the memory seamlessly, Ken noticed calmly, wanting to keep himself from panicking.  It had been a long, long time since anyone had been able to sneak up on him like this.

“What makes you think something is wrong?” He prided himself on his even tone, betraying no emotion.

Joe frowned.  “The way you’re standing, for one thing.”

Abruptly, Ken realized he was still hugging himself, and let his arms drop, cheeks reddening.

His frown deepening, Joe continued, “And the fact that I know damn well you never heard me coming up the hall.  You were so lost in thought that I could have been leading a parade and you would never have noticed.  That could get you killed.  What’s going on?”  He took a step closer.

Ken straightened away from the wall.  “Nothing.” He turned away, preparing to beat a hasty retreat.  Ken, you are such a coward! he screamed in his head.

Before he could take a step, though, behind him he heard Joe snort. “You’re a lousy liar.”  His shoulders stiffened involuntarily at the slightly amused tone.  But that tone changed, infused with worry as he continued,  “Now I know something’s wrong, Ken, so why won’t you tell me?”

The fight went out of him again, but he kept his back straight, not wanting to show any more weakness than he already had.   Very slowly, he turned to glare over his shoulder, a glare that sometimes seemed to work when Joe was being especially intransigent on the God Phoenix.   “Not now.  Maybe later.” Without waiting for a response, he began to walk briskly down the branch of the corridor opposite to the one the rest of the team had taken.  He wanted to run.

Listening carefully now, he could hear no sound, and knew Joe was not following him.  He still didn’t slow.  He felt a quick pang of guilt.  Joe trusted him, and would take him up on the “later” part.  That pang grew deeper and sharper.  Joe trusts me, he thought, on the verge of tears again.  How can I tell him . . .

Eventually, he slowed, and made his way through the complex to his on-base quarters.  The sound of the door locking behind him was a welcome sound, and he flopped onto the hard bed, kicking off his shoes.  He really wanted to go back to the airfield, but knew he wasn’t steady enough now to handle his plane, despite the calming exercises he’d been practicing.  Turning to look out the window, he saw that it was almost too late to start back anyway.  The sunset was turning the sky into a brilliant blaze of red and gold.

Ken curled onto his side, away from the sight.  Even after his mother died, he had never felt so completely miserable.  I’ve got to stop feeling this way, he thought.  If I can just stop thinking about Joe so much, I will stop feeling these . . . feelings for him. . . and everything will be all right again, everything will be normal.  But the mere idea made his chest feel completely hollow inside.  Oh, gods, I’m so confused.  I want to stop . . . but I don’t want to at the same time.

He was shivering.  Though he knew it wasn’t a physical reaction to the cold, he reached down to pull up the blanket anyway.  Huddling down into its folds, he closed his eyes and tried to think of anything else, but his mind kept turning to Joe, and what he would say.

He’d honestly thought that what had happened at the showers was unique.  He wondered at it, but dismissed it as concern, as he’d told Joe.  But it came again, the urge to study him, to look at his body and admire.  Again, it caught him off-guard, and he’d given in to it, this time while Joe had been working on Jun’s motorcycle.  Kneeling down to tweak the engine a bit, Joe had been totally wrapped up in his work, unmindful of Ken’s presence.  Ken knew Joe knew he was there, but that didn’t stop him from eyeing the other’s broad shoulders, the way his back narrowed into his hips . . .

It was then that Ken realized he was staring, blushing, and he fled from the work bay, to his office at the airfield.  Once there, he’d stared blankly at the paperwork he needed to complete, unable to shift his mind from the image of Joe, and the strange feelings it provoked in him.  It was a yearning . . . a desire to make his angry “brother” happy.  It was inexplicable, and made Ken very uneasy, as he’d never felt anything like it before.

The feeling returned stronger each time he was in Joe’s presence, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to stare, especially when the rest of his “family” was around.  What had driven Ken over the edge into his state of near hysteria and despair had happened only that morning.  He’d awoken later than usual, feeling unusually relaxed, and had crawled out of bed and into the shower.  The spray was pleasantly warm and distracting, and the memory of Joe coming out of the shower had floated across his still sleepy mind.  Unbidden, his hand had drifted down to caress his stirring member.  The first sigh of pleasure that slipped from his lips, however, had brought him to full wakefulness in an instant, and he’d stared at his hand in horror.  What am I doing? he asked himself, and his cheeks burned in shame.  Viciously, he twisted the temperature knob all the way around to cold, and stood shaking in the icy water until the last vestige of his excitement had faded.  Then he’d slid down the wall of the shower, wondering if even greater dishonor would come from giving in to the tears burning his eyes . . . but not caring in the end.

What is wrong with me?  Gods, there’s got to be something wrong with me . . . I’ve never felt this way before . . . Ken curled into a ball beneath the blanket.  And if I tell him, he will hate me . . . I know he will, and I don’t want that, I don’t want him to hate me . . . The very thought started silent tears.

It was some hours later when a faint noise brought him awake.  Someone was softly knocking on his door.  Who could that be? he asked himself blearily, then, with a sinking heart, he remembered.  A bit desperately, he wondered what would happen if he didn’t answer the door, then how long he had before Joe would try to pick the lock.

“Ken?  Are you there?” Joe’s voice carried easily through the door.

“Just a second.” His voice sounded thick.  He fought his way from the tangled blanket, and over to the door.  Dread filled him, and he hesitated briefly before opening it.  Hastily, he flicked on the lights.  “Come in,” he said, stepping back.

Joe entered the room, his manner, as usual, easy and confident.  Quietly, Ken closed the door behind him.  When he heard the door latch, Joe turned around, about to speak, but the words died on his lips, as he took in Ken’s appearance.

His eyes were slightly red, and Joe’s suspicion that he might have been crying was confirmed by what could only be tear tracks streaking his cheeks. He was hunched in on himself again, but at least he wasn’t hugging himself pathetically, as he had in the hall earlier.  He wasn’t even trying to smile, to pretend that nothing was wrong.  This unnerved Joe almost as much as the evidence that Ken had been so unhappy that he would cry.

“Ken?” he said in disbelief. “Are . . . are you all right?”  Oh, brilliant question, he berated himself as Ken looked down, coloring slightly.  “What’s wrong?”  He paused, then said slowly, “You said later.  Do you want to talk about it now, about what’s bothering you?”

Ken’s blue eyes flicked up at him briefly through thick lashes, and then he nodded once.  “I think so.  Please sit.”  But his voice was uncertain.

Joe pulled out the chair to Ken’s desk and plunked down.  Ken blinked at him, then perched himself on the edge of his bed.  Unconsciously, he pulled the blanket up around his shoulders, another surprise for Joe.  Why does he feel he needs to hide?

Silence reigned for several moments.  Ken stared at the floor, tracing whorls in the fabric of the blanket, avoiding Joe’s gaze.  Joe tried not to let it anger him.  After all, he thought, I’m the one who invited myself here.

Actually, the encounter in the hall had him quite worried.  Ken was acting completely unlike himself.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  “Ken,” he said, his deep voice serious.  Startled, Ken looked up, eyes wide.  “You can talk to me about anything, you know.  It’s obviously upsetting you, whatever it is.  So talk to me.”

Ken swallowed, and opened his mouth to speak, but no sound emerged.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  “I . . . I want to talk about it,” he said, his voice a bit hoarse.  “But . . .”

Taking a deep mental breath to steady himself, Joe said leadingly, “But?”

Ken dropped his eyes again.  “But I . . . I’m . . . afraid.” His voice fell to a whisper, barely audible even in the small room.

“Afraid?”  Joe’s world rocked unpleasantly about him.  Ken, afraid?  “Of what?”

When Ken looked up, his eyes were brimming with tears, and Joe felt his heart wrench inside his chest, wanting to take away the pain that was so torturing his brother.

“I’m afraid . . . that what I have to say will change how you feel about me.  I don’t want you to hate me, or think less of me, or,” and the sudden spate of words chopped off as he choked.

“Ken, unless you tell me that you are really a secret agent for Galactor, I will never hate you.  And even then, I’d have a hard time.”  Joe filled his voice with as much sincerity as he could muster, and was rewarded with Ken’s tremulous smile.  “That’s better.  And I can’t imagine I’d ever think less of you.  Now, spill it.”

Ken took a deep breath, steeling himself.  Joe waited patiently, watching him.  He noticed suddenly how young Ken looked, then scoffed at himself.  Of course he looks young.  We are young.

He wondered why Ken was so deeply flushed.

“Recently, I . . .” Ken hesitated, and it seemed to Joe that he was choosing his words with care.  “I think I’ve started to develop . . . feelings . . . for someone . . .”

“But that’s great!” Joe interrupted.  “What’s the matter with that?”  He frowned as Ken quickly looked away.

“It’s another boy,” Ken blurted, then closed his eyes.

Silence settled over them.  As it grew deeper, with no reaction from Joe, Ken huddled further into the blanket, as if wishing he could disappear.

Joe managed to shove his amazement aside.  Ken needed support, no matter what.  If I don’t say something, he thought, Ken is going to go crazy.  He already looks like he’s halfway there.  Hoping it was the right thing, he asked, “So what’s wrong with that?”

Ken’s gaze flew to him, shocked.  His mouth worked soundlessly.

Joe smiled wryly at seeing Ken so disconcerted.  It certainly didn’t happen very often.  Under other circumstances, he thought, I’d almost enjoy it . . .

Ken finally found his voice.  “But . . . but it’s wrong!” he all but wailed.  “It’s wrong to feel this way about another man!  It . . . It’s only supposed to be with a woman . . .”

The smile quickly disappeared.  “Well, yeah . . . usually . . .”

Joe felt he was rapidly getting out of his depth.  Never mind that, he thought.  I’m about to drown, here.  He could find no trace of revulsion in his attitude toward his brother, but that didn’t mean that something hadn’t changed.  I know nothing about what he’s going through, Joe thought, other than it’s obviously causing him great pain and he thinks it’s shameful.  It’s just . . . I know that Ken needs comfort, and reassurance . . . but I’m not sure I can give it.  Uneasily, he said, “Do . . . do you want me to go get Dr. Nambu?  You might be better off talking to him . . .”

He was stunned at the lost expression that settled over the other’s face, even more so at the tears that started to trickle down his cheeks.  “I knew it,” Ken whispered.  “You hate me now, you don’t even want to be around me . . .”

“That’s not it!” he exploded, shooting to his feet.  He knew he shouldn’t yell, that it wouldn’t help Ken any, but he was nervous and upset, and when that happened, he got angry.  “I just . . . I just think that maybe you ought to talk to someone older, you know, who might know more . . .” He trailed off helplessly, as his brother vainly tried to keep from crying, hiding his face against his upraised knees.  It would be so easy to believe that this is some sort of plot from Galactor, he thought distantly.  It would be so easy to believe that they’ve done something to him to pervert him, weaken him like this . . .

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that what Ken had admitted to him wasn’t really perverse or wrong, but, like Ken, he couldn’t shuck off his strict upbringing to openly admit it.

He stared at the trembling form on the bed, falling apart before his eyes.  It was just too much to bear; his brother, usually so strong and self-assured, reduced to these inconsolable tears.  Reacting almost without thinking, he sat down next to Ken and put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close.  “I don’t hate you, Ken,” he said softly, knowing finally that it was true.  “I would never hate you.”

He was completely unprepared for Ken’s reaction.  Rather than stopping, his sobs came harder, shaking his thin body as he leaned into Joe. “H-Hey,” he said uncertainly.  “That was supposed to make you feel better!” Carefully, he wrapped his other arm around Ken, and held him tightly, but this didn’t seem to help, either.  “If you don’t stop, I will go get Dr. Nambu, and he’ll have to sedate you,” he threatened quietly.

That earned him a breathy laugh and a hiccup.  “You think I’m kidding,” Joe muttered, unsmiling.  He glanced down at a sudden tickling sensation, and saw that Ken had buried his face against his shoulder.  Strands of the other’s flyaway hair were tickling his cheek.  He moved one hand to smooth them away, and Ken shivered at the soft touch.  Joe continued to stroke Ken’s hair, knowing at some level that it was soothing, though he felt awkward doing it.  Eventually, the sobs stopped, though Ken made no movement to pull away.  Joe could hear him taking deep breaths to steady himself again.

“Feel better now?” he asked gently.  He felt a nod against his shoulder.  Still, Ken did not sit back away from him, and he wondered at it.  But it didn’t bother him, and he continued to let his fingers run through the soft brown hair.  He didn’t want to push Ken away, either- what would that kind of rejection do to him in this fragile state?  If he could comfort his brother like this, then that was what he would do.

For a moment, he wondered idly who this other boy was, with whom Ken could have had so much contact outside the team as to develop feelings . . .

His eyes narrowed and his mind began whirling.

Ken’s eyes were closed, and he breathed in Joe’s scent.  There was the very faint touch of his cologne, overlaid by his own natural clean and fresh smell.  It was something he’d never noticed before.  Something he’d never been close enough to notice.

It felt so good, to have Joe’s strong arms around him, to have him stroking his hair and back.  He smiled faintly, even though he felt a twinge of guilt.  I don’t have to tell him anything more.  Maybe . . . maybe I’ll be all right now?  I will never have those unsettling feelings again, because this would be enough . . . He could feel himself on the edge of sleep again, worn out by the emotional highs and lows.  Would it be all right if I fell asleep against my brother like this? he wondered.  Would that be shameful in any way?  Reluctantly, he decided it might be, and prepared himself to pull away from Joe’s warmth.

“So, who is it?”

He jerked in surprise at Joe’s question, but was unable to break from the circle of his arms.  He shook his head, feeling his relaxation drain away.

Joe felt the movement, and urged, “Come on, who is this boy?  Is he cute?  You told me the other; surely you can tell me this.”

He muffled his reply against Joe’s shoulder.  “You . . . you don’t really want to know.”

“I think I do know.  I just want to hear you say it.”  His voice didn’t change at all, still calm and . . . almost accepting.

Ken felt his heart stop beating in his chest.  He shook his head again in denial.  Oh, gods, he thought despairingly.  No, you can’t know, you can’t!  His eyes stung, but he didn’t think he had any tears left to shed.

“Ken, it’s all right,” Joe said as he felt Ken start to quiver against him again.  Strange that he wasn’t upset . . . except at himself, at how long it had taken him to figure it out.  He continued to rub Ken’s back, trying to ease the tension that had suddenly returned at his words.  “The other boy, the one you said you had feelings for . . . it’s me.  Isn’t it?” It was a statement more than a question.

All at once, Ken slumped against him.  It’s as if, Joe thought, as if he’s decided that it’s no use to fight anymore . . .

“Yes,” Ken whispered.  He tried to pull away once more, and this time, Joe let him, though he kept his hands on Ken’s shoulders.  He looks horrible, Joe thought sympathetically; his face was red, his eyes puffy.  But his brother met his eyes, and that steady glance as much as dared him to take back his earlier words.  “I . . . I didn’t want to tell you.  I didn’t want you to . . .”

“Weren’t you listening?” Joe rolled his eyes in exasperation.  “I told you I’d never hate you, and I meant it.  Gods, you are thick sometimes.”

Then he sobered, and tightened his grip.  “But . . . Ken, you know, don’t you, that I . . . I don’t feel about you that way?”  He looked intently into the other’s blue eyes, holding his gaze, though he knew Ken wanted to turn away.  “I do love you . . . but only as my brother.”