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Left Unsaid	By : ElleSmith Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male > Heero/Duo Views: 1020 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: GUNDAM WING is a Registered Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi. This work of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10: 1PP
Strong winds howled loudly as they gust through the dense urban jungle composing the streets of Lower Manhattan. Standing on the balcony at top of the Preventer building, Duo could feel the soaring skyscraper sway slightly from side to side as he leaned over the hefty stone banister and observed the city spread at his feet. It was a foggy Christmas Eve morning. To the west, the Hudson was completely obscured by thick gloomy mist, though in the near east he could somewhat make out a few murky patches of the East River, along with a vague silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge.
It had snowed all through the previous night and the surrounding rooftops were covered with a thick layer of white. The constant drizzle showering over the gray streets below since early morning has melted much of the icy piles away, leaving the roads riddled with shallow puddles reflecting the dreary sky. The ever-bustling lanes were packed with traffic; vehicles splashing water as they raced up Broadway. Frantic last-minute Christmas shoppers were rushing up and down crowded sidewalks, hurrying to finish their errands and get home before the holiday. From fifty-two stories above, those people looked like nothing more than busy ants scurrying around. Duo watched them, looking down at those ignorant insects with a pair of hard, detesting, cobalt eyes.
He used to envy those blessed fools. Once, as a filthy orphan living on the harsh streets of L2-V08744, he had wanted nothing more than to be a part of that picture-perfect life. He had spent hours watching from the shadows of deserted alleyways, observing smiling couples lead their well-fed children hand in hand; running errands for the holiday: buying gifts, food and festive clothes... showering their young with materialistic love. He used to dream of the day when he would become a part of that enthralling picture, but years spent on the outside looking in have taught him that those dreams would just get in his way. They were a drug he could not afford; it was far deadlier than anything people were using on the streets, so he had let go of those childish notions and never looked back. He came to accept his place on the outside, stranded in darkness and watching dreams pass him by. With time, those dreams became nothing more than a distant memory feeding his pain, hardening his heart until all he could do was watch those fools with hard, angry eyes, seething internally with the untamable emotions of a betrayed child.
He could never be a part of their world, and that was fine; he didn't want to anymore. After years of failing to fit into their world of ignorance and bliss, he now pitied their mediocre existence. He knew that his role was a different one – an outcast condemned to live his life in desolation. He embraced this indubitable truth with all his being; he couldn't live any other way now. The umbrage had formed into a smoldering fire constantly burning in his veins, seething behind his eyes, keeping him alive. He welcomed whatever allowed him to fire away, unleashing the rage, setting it loose; it kept him strong, fearless. He had nothing to lose and nothing to gain – no risk and therefore no fear.
But now, as he stood watching Lower Manhattan from above, Duo could not shake the rotten feeling that it was all a lie he had kept telling himself in an attempt to justify his lonely existence. If he truly had nothing to gain or lose, then why did he feel so devastated by Joe's loss? Why did he beat himself up over failing Jesse? And why did the very thought that now he might lose Heero forever was more terrifying than any of the above?
He felt as though every God damn thing he had ever lost, gained or wished for was at stake of being taken away for good. The ultimate loss was still ahead and he was terrified of it; he would do anything to stop it and therefore he had rushed down here without thinking twice. He was at risk of becoming that deluded little orphan again: watching from the shadows, hoping love would finally find him and save him from a despairing Hell, but he could not help himself. Heero was, and always has been, his last hope. Heero was the one hope he had allowed his heart to keep, hence the very survival of his soul depended on whether Heero lived or died at the hands of the Redeemer. Failing Heero again meant failing himself; it meant that there will be no salvation for his lonely heart. He will be doomed to spend his life as that filthy kid watching others from the shadows, looking longingly at something he could never gain, because Heero would be gone, dead... just another dream that had passed him by.
That morning had marked the fourth day since Heero was taken; two more days until the psychopath's deadline. Hope of finding him before it was too late was beginning to fade, eroded by despairing hours spent in idle waiting and not much progress in the investigation. Duo had paced the CID conference room like a caged lion for about half an hour before he got fed up with being cooped and stomped out of there in search for a quiet place to fume with rage and smoke through a whole pack of cigarettes.
He came back to the CID at around lunchtime, looking for Shaw. He wanted to know if there was any news, even though she would have told him about it, but asking was something to do, so he asked. He found the redheaded agent at her desk, working. She had nothing to give him. Sighing, he nodded in thanks and walked away, pacing dejectedly down the long aisle cutting between numerous office cubicles. He stopped when he passed by an empty workspace, the only unoccupied desk on the floor. Its blatant emptiness screamed silently, drawing Duo to it. It was Heero's desk; he knew it. He pulled the wheeled office chair back and settled into it slowly. He spun around to face the desk, grabbed its edges and pulled himself closer.
The desk was neat and spotless. The computer monitor was turned off. He stared at it for a moment, his vision blurring as he gawked at the black screen. Looking at it filled his heart with a heavy sense of desolation. He turned to scan the desk instead and noted a three-compartment letter tray on the other side of the well-ordered table, stacked tidily with papers. He leafed through them out of boredom, maybe curiosity. Most of the paperwork was of little interest, but he did find a copy of the latest issue of Time Magazine with a picture of Relena on the cover. Frustrated, he shoved it back into the tray, messing the orderly pile of papers.
Rummaging through Heero's drawers he found a few restaurant delivery menus. One menu, a Chinese take-out, had a buy 9 get 1 free punch-card at the bottom and it was all punched out. Thinking that Heero must really like that restaurant, Duo ordered himself some lunch. He went by the conference room to see how Relena was doing and after a particularly discouraging conversation he left the senator to wait while staring out the window, brooding. With nothing to useful do, he went back to the balcony on the roof and continued gazing at the city, feeling helpless, discouraged and growing more irate by the minute.
Unlike Relena, he was not satisfied with merely staying put and waiting for the Redeemer's next call. There was too much turmoil running rampant inside of him; he couldn't sit tight. Knowing that Heero has been out there for over four days – subjected to torture and God knows what else – was simply unbearable, intolerable... inexcusable! He was furious with Preventer for their incompetence, with Heero for volunteering for such an obviously stupid mission as part of his lifelong passive-aggressive attempts to end his own life, and with himself for failing Heero by doing nothing since he had arrived at New York City.
If Heero perished, then Duo's last chance for happiness will die with him. There will be no more point to living if he no longer had that dream, that option... the possibility of patching things up with Heero. It might be an egocentric and self-indulgent epiphany, but Duo could deny it no more: Heero had to live, or they would both die.
But as things currently stood, there was little he could do to save Heero and anxiety was taking over. Gazing down at the city for hours, smoking one cigarette after the other, did little to help or to calm him down. He hated waiting, being useless. The helpless inertness was driving him mad, sending his mind spiraling into a dangerous cycle of painful revelations. He was never one to simply stand around pondering the truth of the universe, nor was he a patient man. He would always dive in head-first into the fight, shooting first and asking questions never. His motto: 'If you haffta shoot – shoot, don't think, don't talk'; an ironic trait considering he was often accused of being a senseless blabbermouth, but he did know when to keep his mouth shut and let the rage take over, forming into an eerie, quiet kind of calm solidifying his center... focusing him on what he had to do so that everything else melted away into the background, reduced to nothing but a single, clear, target. Heero had once said that this was why he trusted him with his life, because he knew that when push came to shove he will come through for the mission... or maybe he meant that he knew that he'd come through for him, if needed.
Duo scoffed. He took another drag on his cigarette and rolled his eyes.
Heero would never say it directly, of course. Chances were that he never even meant to hint at it either; he always left the interpretation to others and kept his thoughts to himself. It didn't matter what Heero thought of them anyway, because when shit hit the fan between the two of them, they both blew it. He never came through for Heero, because with no real battles to fight – when it was all finally over back then in Brussels – he had lost his focus. He allowed the burning rage to entice him into talking rather than listening. Dr. Gavin, his unwarranted shrink back on L2, had once called it "abandonment rage". She gathered that his "Outer Child" [[i]] – the self-sabotaging nemesis of his utterly borderline personality, or so she claimed – was spurred by this rage and he became extremely destructive. While Duo detested her sickly psycho-babble, he had to admit that there was some truth to it. There was certainly a part of him that tended to act out without giving him, the adult, a chance to intervene.
And indeed, when he realized that Heero will never choose him, his hopes and dreams were shattered and that traitorous child lashed out with a vengeance, dashing out of that dark alleyway with weapons drawn and a dark lust for blood in his eyes. He felt devastated, bewildered, mortally wounded... and he had succumbed to despair and panic. He attacked Heero when he should have just kept his damn mouth shut and listened, even if Heero had nothing to say, even if he couldn't express himself verbally. He should have at least given Heero the chance, but he was all over the place. Overtaken with grief and still hyped from the fight, all he could be was that betrayed child. He was too distraught to do the right thing, be the God damned bigger person.
Fuck that – he was sick of being the bigger person! Sick of being the only one who gave a fuck while Heero bounced freely from one partner to the other! He was sick and tired of guessing, reading between the lines, interpreting every minuscule expression on that handsome stoic face, desperately trying to put the sex into some kind of meaningful context and figure out what were Heero's intentions towards him, what went on in that heavily fortified head of his. He tried coaxing some answers out of Heero, but in vain. Heero didn't come to him to talk; he came to fuck, to vent and ravage. Their relationship was all about flesh, about heart and passion, but never about soul.
He could clearly remembered every single time they had fucked. While it often felt like they've been together a thousand times, in actuality those moments had been scarce, so it wasn't hard to keep track.
The first time was at the St. Gabriel's Boarding School, after they took down the Alliance's naval base. They were both drunk with too much power and whiskey; two destructive teenage boys with raging hormones and not much experience in anything but violence. At fifteen, he probably shouldn't have consumed as much alcohol as he did that night, but after losing that stupid competition at that damn base, he decided that he'd be damned if he lost another dare, especially a drinking match. And what did it get him? He had been fucked by Heero twice over – first at the base, then in his own bed.
He never saw that coming; and most likely neither did Heero, because when Duo woke up the next morning between tangled sheets reeking of sweat, whiskey and semen – a splitting headache pulsing between his temples, his hips bruised and his poor anus sore beyond belief – the Wing pilot was nowhere to be found, and all Duo could remember was that he probably made a big fucking mistake they will both regret.
But as time went by Heero had turned out to be his favorite mistake; one he had kept repeating in a masochistic game of cat and mouse.
Their second time was also a surprise, because he never took Heero for the type to make the same mistake twice. They were traveling across Europe, heading west to east and executing small guerilla-warfare attacks on enemy strongholds while living undercover in one boarding school after the other for about two months. An order came to attack two large OZ weapon's conveys heading down the Siberian Plain – one a decoy, a trap, the other real... and the militia intelligence had no idea which was which. It was up to them to find out upon arrival, meaning one of them will be heading into a trap, alone. Such predicament would make anyone tense, even Heero.
In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn't have been so surprised when he heard the bathroom door open while he was showering. The sound was followed by a quiet clicking noise as the door was shut again and locked, from the inside. He stilled under the hot shower stream, his drenched long hair plastered over his naked body, and listened with bated breath: nothing; not a peep from his intruder.
He pushed the shower curtain aside, just a tad, and dared a peek. Dense white steam engulfed the small bathroom. Heero was leaning against the closed door, his hands tucked behind his back and his head bowed down low. He was staring numbly at the small rug on the floor. He almost looked timid, almost, because his expression was as tense and stony as ever; only the doubtful shine in his deep blue eyes gave away his troubled thoughts.
The young teenage pilot was wearing tailored black pants and white dress shirt that were a part of their school uniform, along with a black tie – the same attire he had been wearing a few minutes ago when he had paid a short visit his dorm room and found Heero sitting in the dark, working on his computer, reading over mission specs; the same mission he had been sent a few moments earlier. He warned Heero that they should come up with a plan for this one or they're toast, but Heero didn't say anything in return, as usual. Duo didn't know if Heero's silence meant his agreement, or if he was simply being ignored, so he had left and headed back to his room to take a shower, leaving the other boy to contemplate their fate in peace.
Standing inside the shower stall, warm water still running over him, Duo studied Heero's profile carefully, trying to determine what he was doing there, in his private bathroom... while he showered.
Heero's head was hunched down, his messy bangs obscuring his eyes; his expression was unreadable. The unruly mane was catching moisture from the steam and a few damp locks were sticking to Heero's forehead. Duo's fingers itched to wipe them away, but he didn't dare making a move and waited, watching.
Heero just stood there, sunken deep in thought, debating something grave, it seemed. Duo could easily detect the second Heero finally reached a decision. The change was rapid and total: Heero pushed decisively off the door and reached one hand up to loosen his tie. His head was still bowed and his gaze still on the floor, but his eyes weren't as pensive as a moment ago. On the contrary, he looked just as calculative and intensive as he did on the battlefield. He raised a second arm and began unbuttoning his shirt. Duo watched, dazed, while Heero shed his clothes off one by one, letting them fall to the floor. Finally nude, he turned to the shower stall, and raised his gaze up to look at Duo. His arousal was hard to miss.
Duo will never forget that raw and uninhibited look burning fiercely in Heero's Prussian blue eyes: humility, shame, hesitance, lust, dare and iron-hard determination all wrapped into one intense blue gaze pointed at him like the barrel of a gun. That moment, Heero seemed so hard – tough, confident, unbreakable – and yet... cracked, mellowed somehow. The impossible ambivalence was overwhelming.
Holding Duo's gaze with his, Heero stepped forward, pushing the shower curtain aside. Duo stepped back, bumping into the cold tile wall, already panting heavily. There was danger in the air. A disturbing kind of darkness gleamed ominously in Heero's deep blue eyes, but Duo was not intimidated; he only wanted Heero more for it. There was a promise lurking in that alluring darkness, implicit whispers pledging him pleasure and pain, heartache and elevation, if only he dared taking what he was being offered.
The Wing pilot joined him inside the small stall and closed the curtain behind him swiftly. The sex was hot, slick and desperate... far more memorable than that drunken first time. Even after that first time at St. Gabriel, Duo wasn't exactly sure about his sexual orientation, but that second time left no more room for doubt. Heero had won him over; he was hooked.
It started raining and thunder rumbled over Manhattan. Duo sighed and pushed off the stone banister, still holding a cigarette up to his lips. He turned around, leaning his back on the cold stone barrier, and took a long puff. He released the smoke into the air and gazed up, watching it dissipating and mingling with the cloudy gray skies above. He closed his eyes slowly, allowing the light drizzle to tingle his unshaved face. Light stubble covered his cheeks and chin, bestowing him with a rugged look he was growing quite fond of lately. Cold raindrops prickled his closed eyelids and a tragic smile tugged at his lips. Memories flickered dimly behind his closed eyelids; wistful visions of time past, but never forgotten.
It was a long while before their third time, he recalled sadly. The attack on the Siberian convoys didn't go as smoothly as planned. Heero was the one who stepped straight into a trap – knowingly, Duo suspected – and he had nearly paid for it with his life. By some miracle, Heero survived, but not for a lack of effort to the contrary.
Duo let go of the finished cigarette butt and let it fall to the floor. He stomped on it with his black boot, grimacing solemnly.
Thinking back, he knew that the only reason Heero had stepped into his shower room that night was because the young Wing pilot felt that he was already a dead man. He probably wanted another small taste of life before he headed willingly to his death, and that was understandable, even flattering in a way. Although he suspected that Heero simply turned to him out of practical convenience, what boggled Duo still was why Heero chose to persist with his strange sex-in-the-shower rituals afterwards.
A cold breeze swept by the large concrete balcony. The drizzle turned into a soft shower of snowflakes falling gracefully from above. They piled on Duo's black leather jacket, some caught in his long braid. Another flake descended on his nose, tickling him. Duo reached a hand to wipe it away, sniffling loudly. He pulled out his cigarette box and Heero's blue lighter from his pocket. He stared forlornly at the plain lighter, sighed, and then lit up another smoke. He turned back around to face the view of the city and leaned over the massive stone railing with two elbows, the burning cigarette in his hand. He stared numbly ahead at the foggy horizon where the Manhattan Island kissed the Upper Bay, his mind wandering back into the past.
Their third time was perhaps the most memorable, because it was the first and only time Duo felt that maybe there could be something more behind the physical contact, more than just desperate, ruthless, sex. It was the only time he could remember Heero being somewhat... soft. It was just after the Wing pilot had rescued him from OZ imprisonment on C-102. The rescue in itself had been a welcomed surprise. First of all, he had no idea that Heero was still alive; he was certain that the 01 pilot had perished in Siberia. Secondly, he never expected to be rescued before his public execution, and certainly not by the do-everything-by-the-book, never-refuse-an-order, kill-you-if-you-dare-making-a-single-mistake Heero Yuy!
Heero had done the impossible for him, going against everything they've been taught in the militia and disobeying orders to silence him before he could do more damage to their cause. The rules were simple: if there was even a remote chance of treason – done willingly or otherwise – the source of the threat should be terminated. No trial, no jury – just a quick and merciless execution, no questions asked. The colony rebel forces were small, constantly dwindling and losing support as the violent incursion brought on severe reaction from the Occupation forces, but treason was intolerable, even if such executions reduced their already depleted forces.
Yet instead of killing him for his shortcomings, Heero got him out of that OZ Hellhole. Duo never thought he'd find himself playing the role of the damsel in distress, but for once in his life he could just lie back and let someone else take care of him, fight for him... save him. Heero was the first person to make him feel that way. That was probably when he had fallen in love with the frustratingly aloof pilot. He couldn't help it; there was no resisting such powerful allure, because somewhere deep down he had always wanted to let go, allow someone else to take charge, to take care of him, maybe even care for him...
He would have liked to claim that the third time counted as making love, but it hadn't, it couldn't possibly. Heero never allowed them to connect so intimately, but still... there was something different about the third time. It wasn't as hard, wasn't as rough. It was just as desperate as the previous times and yet... kinder, somehow; tender. More than lust, it was relief that guided them as they moved together in the small confines of his hospital shower room; relief they had felt for being alive, together, at least for a short while.
Soon after Heero took off to the Moon Base for another mission, leaving him behind to worry and recover, and that precious sexual encounter became just another distant memory feeding wishful thoughts of what could have or should have been. Duo tried to avoid thinking about it as much as possible, or else he'd find himself dreaming again when he had already decided to silence those dreams and let them go. He even tried swinging it the other way, hanging out with a girl – Hilde – for a few months, trying to see if it would work. It didn't. Unlike Heero, he was set on guys and guys only.
The fourth, fifth and sixth times were a series of passionate and brutal quickies preformed secretly and quietly in the dead of the night at the spaceship Peacemillion's empty locker rooms. It was towards the end of the Eve War, when all five pilots were gathered aboard the massive ship before the final battle. Heero didn't want to be caught with his pants down in either of their quarters, so they snuck into the showers when no one was supposed to be around. At least there, or so Duo figured, they'll have an excuse for being caught naked...
Only the seventh time was actually memorable, because it was the first time Duo bothered talking afterwards; the first time he had dared questioning Heero's motives. The young Wing-ZERO pilot was rising back to his feet after going down on him in the shower and Duo was still leaning against the wet wall, panting and staring unseeingly ahead, riding out the aftermath of an intense orgasm. Heero didn't just fuck him for his own pleasure. He had the inimitable ability to wring both pain and pleasure out of him like nothing or no one else ever could. Coming without him was like not coming at all... nothing else compared.
The young pilot was about to leave the small shower stall when Duo flung a hand forward and grabbed him by his wrist, stopping him. Heero turned around slowly, glowering darkly, but Duo was never fazed by that intense blue glare. He looked Heero straight in the eye and asked:
"How come you want me so much?"
Still gripping Heero's wrist tightly, Duo felt the other teenage boy tense, startled by the blunt question. He pulled back, quickly yanking his hand from Duo's grasp as though scorched by fire. He turned to leave again.
"I mean it," Duo insisted and took a step forward, glaring determinedly at Heero's nude back; "why me?"
Heero bowed his head down. He stood there for a second, staring at his bare feet.
"Why not you..?" he mumbled quietly.
"That's no answer," Duo protested harshly; "We've been fucking all through this damn war... It isn't much, but I... I still wanna know why. You like her, so why fuck me? Why pin me against the shower wall when it's her you want?"
Heero whirled back around to face him; an angry scowl set on his hard face. "I don't force myself on you," he growled, insulted.
"I didn't say you did," Duo sighed, shaking his head in frustration; "I like this, but I... I wanna know... I dunno. I just wanna know where this is headed, I guess."
Heero scoffed dismissively and pulled away, leaving the shower stall. "Same place we're all headed," he grunted and grabbed his towel from one of the empty benches. He wrapped it around his waist as he headed for the exit, barefoot and dripping wet. Duo remained standing inside the shower stall and watched him leave. Heaving a sigh, he leaned back against the tile wall and closed his eyes sadly, muttering a frustrated: "Fuck."
He had scared Heero off with his stupid, useless, questions.
Gazing ahead at the forest of high-rises spread before him, Duo regretfully recalled that they never saw their eighth time through, because he had been determined to talk again. The conversation had been a final nail in the coffin that was their failed relationship.
He had joined Heero in the empty shower rooms between battles, ready to confront him again. Heero tried to silence him with a ferocious kiss, clearly driven by his suppressed anxiety, but Heero's fierce belligerence has never daunted him; Duo stopped him and insisted on getting some answers. So Heero had bolted, again, leaving him with the fatalistic declaration that they didn't have a future. The next morning, he found out that Heero had taken off to the space station Libra on his own, to rescue Relena from White Fang. After that, there was no need to ask any more questions; Duo had gotten his answer loud and clear: Heero saw his future with Relena, not with him.
And yet, when it was all over, he still allowed Heero the ninth, tenth, eleventh and so forth times... a whole year of occasional booty calls whenever Heero fancied him enough to show up at his doorstep without warning. Being just a stupid teenage kid, Duo took whatever he could get, believing that Heero seeking him out time and time again actually meant something, despite of the obvious truth always staring him in the face when Heero disappeared again, heading back into her arms. For a long while he had kept telling himself that he was fine with the whole 'friends with benefits' routine, until he realized that he's been deluding himself about the 'friends' part too, because Heero has never said nor did anything that supported such a wild assumption. They didn't share much beyond the sex, unless burning the midnight oil hunched over battle plans or Gundam maintenance counted as hanging out like friends – and it didn't. It was strictly business.
Although, if he thought back hard enough, Duo could still come up with a few fond memories, mostly during the times they had shared undercover in various boarding schools. There wasn't much time for a genuine school-life – it was just an act – but he did get to spend some time with Heero doing ordinary things, like going to class (Heero always let him copy his homework because he was too damn lazy to devote the time to keep up appearances), playing sports (they played one-on-one basketball to pass the time between classes while a crowd of horny teenage girls cheered at the sight of their vigorous match) or having an honest to God meal for a change in the school's dining hall (Heero always criticized his choice of foods and he would tell him to stuff it, enjoying the playful banter). They couldn't afford to get close to anyone, so they pretended to be friends. That was the closest things they got to friendship when frankly, they were comrades and fuck buddies at best. At some point Duo grew tired of rising to the occasion whenever Heero felt that he needed to exorcise his demons on an accommodating partner, because she obviously couldn't take it. The fucking-in-the-shower routine got really old, really fast.
Their last time was just before the Marimeia Uprising broke out back in Christmas AC 196. He had reluctantly sought Heero out at Quatre's request, asking the ex-Wing-ZERO pilot for his Gundam so they could dispose of it along with the rest so they would never fall into the wrong hands again. It was hard letting go of the Gundams. Sending them away had left an aching hole in their souls, which they tried to make up for with senseless sex... just before news of Relena's abduction reached Heero and he took off with more important things in mind.
So that brought it up to twenty: the total number of times they've had sex before Duo decided that he has had enough being second place. Twenty times he had tried to connect with Heero and twenty times he had failed to reach beyond physical desire. Accepting defeat, he had stepped aside, allowing Heero to be with the one he truly wanted.
Only it turned out that what Heero thought he wanted wasn't exactly what he needed... or so Relena now claimed. Despite what Duo always told himself, the princess seemed to have a better understanding of Heero than he ever had, perhaps even more than Heero understood himself. It seemed that she wasn't as naïve as he had mistaken her to be. Relena saw right through Heero. It might have taken her a while to come to terms with what she saw, but now she was convinced that he was the one right for Heero, not her. Duo wanted so much to believe that, but he was afraid; afraid of dreaming again, afraid of getting his hopes up and suffering disappointment again. He didn't want to go back to being that hungry child watching hopefully from the alleyway, never again. So where did that leave him?
It left him hanging in the line between fear and blame; afraid to dream yet chasing the dream anyway. He had followed the Redeemer's breadcrumbs trail knowing that it would lead him to Heero. He played right into the man's game... He could never turn away after seeing that awful video that son-of-a-bitch had sent him and the bastard knew it. Much like Heero, he had allowed himself to fall as a willing victim to the psychopath's scheme; allowing the Unsub to encroach upon his most private pain and systematically melt down layers upon layers of anger and bitterness, leaving him no choice but to face the dream again. He was a part of some vague ploy, its purpose yet unknown, but he knew that he was already in too deep.
The Redeemer has left Heero's fate in his hands. By forcing him to guess whether Heero would choose Relena or him, he had left the decision of whether Heero died brutally or peacefully up to him. It may seem like a lose-lose situation to most, but as people who've lived their whole lives ready for death, the choice of how they'd die was just as grave as the choice between life and death was critical to others. Accepting death was one thing, but knowing that you'd suffer greatly before you achieved that relief was another thing entirely. No one, not even suicidal individuals like Heero, would willingly choose to die a gruesome death. A quick and painless death was the preferred way to go. One would have to be completely mad to choose the other, and Heero wasn't there yet... he hoped.
Either way, the odds of guessing correctly were against him. Duo had a feeling that Heero was going to choose Relena, as he had done so many times before. History was bound to repeat itself. People don't change; rather they make the same mistakes over and over again... which was why he had named himself as Heero's choice when he should have named Relena. Foolish as it was, he was still hoping Heero would choose him in the end, but that wasn't going to happen, was it? It was that damn child talking, selfishly proclaiming himself as Heero's choice of a future, and now Heero was going to die a terrible death for it.
It was just like Heero had once said – they had no future together. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy; one Duo has always been helpless to stop. Heero was determined to stay away. What could possibly be different about this time? The choice was entirely up to Heero. All he could do was keep waiting in dreadful anticipation.
"There you are," a female voice called softly and Duo looked up, frowning. He turned away from the view of the city and faced the balcony again. Agent Shaw has just exited the building and was heading his way.
"I was looking all over for you," she said as she approached.
"Couldn't stand being in that room another minute," Duo grunted and took a drag on his smoke. "It's fucking useless."
Shaw nodded gravely. "Yeah, I know," she agreed; "That's why I figured you might be interested in joining me for the BAU briefing."
Duo raised a skeptic eyebrow. "Them geniuses finally got a new profile ready?"
"Yes," the redheaded agent confirmed with a curt nod; "They're going to be giving it down at One-P-P in half an hour. Care to join me?"
"You guys are handing the investigation back to the cops?" he marveled and threw his burning cigarette to the concrete floor.
The agent sighed, shrugging helplessly. "Baker thinks it's the right thing to do, all things considered," she clarified; "We can't afford to keep this internal anymore." She looked up at Duo, meeting his hard eyes with a hopeful, somewhat apologetic, look in her bright green eyes.
"Bet they could use another detective on the case," she offered; "if you're interested."
Duo scoffed. "Right," he grunted suspiciously; "You're just offering so I won't get in their way flying solo... but I'll take it," he concluded with a weary sigh and stomped over the burning butt with his boot. He turned back to Shaw, his expression harsh, prepped for battle. "Let's go."
*     *     *
The unit handling the Redeemer case within the NYPD was known as the Major Case Squad. The unit – along with her parallel: the Special Victims Unit – was a part of the Special Investigation Division of NYPD's Detective Bureau and specialized in kidnapping cases, among other things. It operated from NYPD Headquarters at One Police Plaza in Downtown Manhattan. Despite its bulkiness, the fortress-like reddish-brown building was quite impressive. It certainly put L2PD-744's building to shame. Duo actually halted for a moment, looking up at the massive structure with awe, before following agent Shaw inside. He marched determinedly into the lobby, his stride confident and brisk as though he had walked 1PP's halls for years. Dressed in his rugged pair of blue jeans and black leather jacket, a hard glowering expression set on his face, one could have easily mistaken him for just another hardhearted NYPD detective.
Deputy Chief Fulgencio Lopez, the man in charge of the MCS unit, certainly did. He paused for a moment as he reached to shake agent Shaw's hand and glanced at Duo, frowning in puzzlement as though trying to place a name to a face. The man, a harsh-looking middle-aged officer who looked like he had seen his fair share of horror on NYC's streets, turned to Shaw and completed the handshake.
"Agent Shaw," he greeted; "welcome back."
The young redheaded agent shook the man's meaty hand firmly, nodding in acknowledgement. "It's good to see you again, Phil," she said politely; "I just wish it wasn't always under such grim circumstances."
"My invitation to our annual Christmas Ball still stands, if you like," the man reminded her with a warm smile.
"I'm afraid I'm not in much of a party mood," she muttered, casting her gaze down briefly.
The man nodded in understanding. He turned to Duo next, a wary question in his dark brown eyes.
"This is detective Maxwell – L2PD," Shaw hurried to introduce; "He's an old friend of Heero's," she explained; "he wants in if that's okay."
Lopez reached for a handshake and Duo shook the man's hand briskly.
"L2, huh?" the man grunted, examining Duo carefully.
The young man nodded curtly. "Born and raised."
"Which prefect?"
"744," Duo replied solemnly and Lopez grimaced.
"Damn, kid, that's some tough shit," he muttered sympathetically; "I worked East Harlem for twenty-two years before they put me behind a desk... bet I didn't see half of what you've seen up there."
Duo looked at him intensely. "Probably not," he agreed.
"Well, I guess another pair of ears in the room wouldn't hurt," the Deputy Chief determined, thus approving Duo's presence at the briefing. He escorted the two into the conference room further down the hall.
The room was packed with cops and detectives seated in rows of chairs facing a podium and presentation screen. Duo stood in the back, leaning discreetly against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his hard cobalt blue eyes fixed intently on the three men standing at the front of the room: Deputy Chief Lopez, an older man Duo recognized from that press conference he'd seen on TV back at the L2PD station – the one Heero had approached during the broadcast to hand him a phone. He gathered that it must be Shaw's and Heero's superior: A-SAC Baker. The third was most likely the BAU agent – a man in his mid-thirties dressed in a black suit rather than Preventer uniform.
Baker was the first to speak. "I'm sure you're all wondering why we're back here, so I'll make this brief and we'll get on with business," he said; "I know there were some rumors running around this place that our agents were tagging NYPD for a while and tension was starting to affect this investigation. So let me make one thing clear – we do not suspect the involvement of anyone in the NYPD. On the contrary, we now have probable reason to suspect that we are dealing with one of our own, which Agent Malone here will explain in more detail shortly," he gestured with his head at the man in the suit.
"NYPD will be taking back the lead on the Redeemer case," Baker continued; "with our support," he clarified; "Agent Shaw will continue acting as liaison and the BAU will continue offering its support as needed. We're all after the same thing here, so let's do this right and get our missing agent back before the holiday is over. Thank you."
The profiler, Malone, stepped in next. He greeted the crowd with a curt nod of his head and got straight down to business. Some cops took notes while he spoke. Duo just listened carefully, a dark scowl on his face, as the man detailed the BAU's new version of the profile. He didn't trust shrinks and their methods, profilers included, and the fact that those damn brainiacs had already formed three profiles and still had nothing to show for it only supported his aversion of their questionable techniques. Psychoanalyzing the crap out of a case didn't put any villains behind bars. Putting yourself out there, getting your hands dirty and kicking some serious ass usually did... at least where he came from. Undercover work and the right connections – real detective work – was what got things done. They managed just fine on L2 without those fancy psychoanalysts telling them who they should bust. Crime rates were high, but so was the number of criminals they took off the streets.
"We've made some changes to the profile since we last presented it here," Agent Malone addressed the attentive crowd and Duo looked up, focused on the man's every word despite his wariness; anything to get Heero back.
"Recent developments have brought us to make some significant changes in the Unsub's profile. Now, taking into account that all the other victims lacked defensive wounds, we've already suggested that they had willingly put themselves in danger, so someone of authority or otherwise easily trusted has lured them into a trap. That is why, despite precautions taken, the Unsub was able to get his hands on agent Yuy. This supports the theory that we're dealing with an insider... someone Yuy knew well."
Duo spotted Agent Shaw's red head in the crowd. She was shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
"This guy obviously knows a lot of personal information about Yuy," Malone continued; "so it's safe to say that he's intimately familiar with him. This Unsub is obsessed," he warned; "We suspect that this obsession could be what triggered his killing spree rather than the desire to avenge the victims of the DC Incident. He hasn't fixated on Heero because of the DC deaths, but the other way around. His target was agent Yuy from the very beginning. By killing seven other people, he has cast a net to capture the object of his obsession. He is willing to go to great lengths in order to fulfill his desires, which makes him extremely dangerous."
There was some murmuring in the room and Lopez gestured at everyone to keep quiet. Malone resumed his speech:
"An Unsub this obsessed with a particular victim is usually trying to act out a fantasy, most of the time it is a sexually motivated fantasy, but we know from past victims that his torture lacks a sexual component, which is incredibly rare. That's why we believe it's not necessarily about exerting power, but more like overcompensating for a lack of it. This guy craves control. That is why he also enjoys extending the pain to people close to the victim.
"A man this obsessed with control most likely feels powerless in his everyday life, so he would require stability, security. He will keep up appearances, keep going to work for instance, which is why the phone calls come before and after office hours. It's hard for him to change his routine... that could work in our favor. He will stick to his previous MO as much as possible, meaning that he will use the same location he used before. It's a place he is comfortable in, probably someplace he had visited frequently before, maybe a former work place or place of residence." He paused, giving his audience a moment to absorb his words, before continuing:
"The reason that the Unsub has gotten away with all seven murders is that he's been meticulous at every stage, from how he chooses his victims to the torture and the dump site. He's coming from a place of weakness, trying to demonstrate strength. This could very well be the reason why he has fixated on agent Yuy. Having intimate knowledge of Heero's history, the Unsub sees him as a challenge... an opportunity to overpower a most resilient persona. He thrives on the challenge of emasculating his victims... and he sees overpowering Heero as the ultimate display of power.
"Now we see this a lot in Unsubs who've have been abused. And given the obsession to control his victim with torture, we can say that with almost certainty that the Unsub has experienced abuse in his past. We suggest unsealing juvenile records and searching for agents who fit the profile and also have a history of child abuse.
"In short, we are looking for a male agent somewhere in his mid-forties to mid-fifties, a familiar face no one gives a second thought when passing down the hall... someone methodical, intelligent... with a possible background in surveillance or computer programming. This could be someone from the Cyber division, where Heero has worked for the past year. Maybe someone he had worked a case with... someone who he might have gotten close to at some point. This will be someone who's unhappily married to a dominant woman, someone accustomed to being dismissed and ignored, so he's fed up. He would also have a history of child abuse. He is someone people trust easily, someone you wouldn't even consider for this profile. But please bear in mind that he will be ready for this. Someone this methodical has every moment planned. If he is captured, he'd most likely take his own life rather than give up any sort of control. He will die before he gives us agent Yuy's location. He's calculating, and he's intelligent, and he's been ahead of us through every step of the way. To capture him, we're going to have to do something that he's not expecting... otherwise, he'll slip right between our fingers."
A-SAC Baker stepped forward again. "I am giving you full access to our FO," he declared; "Agent Shaw will coordinate anything you need – full transparency. Needless to say, your discretion is imperative."
"If the Unsub is lurking in plain sight," Malone interjected; "he will obviously know you're there. If he fears we're getting closer, he might slip, which frankly we're hoping he would. The trick is to catch him before he drops off radar."
"And how do you suppose we do that?" one detective asked gruffly.
Agent Malone turned to him with stern eyes. "We beat him in his own game... by taking out one of the pieces," he elaborated, fixing his gaze on the young braided man standing rigidly at the end of the room.
All eyes were suddenly turned towards Duo. The young L2PD detective glared back at Malone, keeping his arms crossed tensely over his chest, jaw clenched angrily.
*     *     *
It was late afternoon by the time they left 1PP. Shaw wanted him to go back to the hotel, to keep waiting there until she'll have some news. He had nodded numbly in agreement and turned to leave, but not before he asked her to check into the Zechs Marquise angle again. It was a long shot, but given the new profile he thought that maybe it could be a possibility, even if it was just grasping at straws. The man certainly knew Heero well enough, he was an ex-Preventer and he knew about the DC Incident. While he didn't believe Zechs would be capable of kidnapping and torturing seven innocent people just to extract vengeance on a former-foe, he had nothing else to go on and neither did Shaw, so he insisted that the agent look into it while he obliged her request to step out of the playfield. In the very least, ruling out another suspect would bring them one step closer to the actual Unsub, because – as the saying went – "once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth". He had read that once somewhere [[ii]].
The rest of the day went by in a blur. Words, sights and events passed him by without registering. He had left 1PP in a daze and never made it back to the hotel. He had lost his way, wandering off course, and ended up roaming the streets aimlessly until nightfall. He had no recollection of how he had spent the hours after the BAU briefing; no idea where he had been or what he had done. It didn't matter, because he was out of the game, sent to sit at the sidelines and wait for the final score.
That was "The Plan" – and it sucked. The rationale was explained to him personally after the briefing. The BAU wanted to level the playing field and break the stalemate situation they were currently facing. He was not allowed to participate in the Redeemer's game anymore: he must refrain from taking anymore phone calls, if ever they should come. Only Relena was allowed to answer now... God damn her.
The move was deliberate. Malone explained that the Redeemer had gone through much trouble to lure him back to Heero's life. He had worked hard to bring Duo into the playfield; he had put more effort into him than he had in Relena. Therefore, the Redeemer would take it much harder if he could no longer control him as a pawn. They wanted to undermine the Unsub's compulsory need for control, to get under his skin and force him to make a mistake in his desperation to regain the upper hand. It was a long shot, but it was all they had until the MSC came up with a viable suspect.
As evening fell it started snowing again. It was Christmas Eve and the streets were empty, except for a few Chinese restaurants here and there that remained open for business. People had long retired into their homes to spend the holiday with their loving families and friends. He must have been drifting in circles, leaving a trail of cigarette butts in his wake, because at around midnight his directionless wanderings had lead him to the footsteps of the Saint Peter Roman Catholic Church, less than a mile away from One Police Plaza and still in walking distance from the Holiday Inn where he was supposed to have ended up.
St. Peter's was one of the more ancient churches in Manhattan, the first Roman Catholic Parish in New York. It was a well-known landmark and therefore he vaguely recognized the massive temple-like structure. The Greek architecture of smooth masonry walls and church porticos lend an air of great dignity to the building. Large stained-glass windows, brilliant with vibrant colors, shone warmly in the night, beckoning him. He stood before the enormous house of worship, his heart heavy with apprehension, reverence and undeniable yearning. His feet carried him inside without conscious thought.
The interior was even more impressive than the outside. A grand luminous atmosphere of gold and white engulfed him as he walked down the aisle. The church was packed with worshipers who were there to greet Christmas Day with a Midnight Mass. The large hall was filled with the vibrating whirr of people murmuring in chorus until the service began. An imposing and powerful painting of The Crucifixion hung over the main altar. A priest was standing there, dressed festively in gold and white and facing his parish as he prepared to deliver his sermon. Duo took a seat on one of the polished dark-wood pews at the far back and fixed his eyes on the altar. He noted the screen behind the minister displaying the words:
Imagine God speaks to you tonight.
What are you afraid He might ask you to do?
The priest cleared his throat and an attentive heavy silence fell over the large hall. Every head in the audience turned in the direction of the altar.
"I won't ask you to raise your hands and answer this question," the old man opened dramatically, his voice deep and stern; "because most likely, you'd make something up, rather than share the thing you really think God might ask you to do. But, between you and God, I want you to hold onto the thing you truly believe He is challenging you about."
The priest paused for a few moments, letting the words sink in.
"Now, I could try to comfort you by saying: 'do not be afraid', but I find that those words often achieve the opposite effect. They are far from reassuring. To quote the Poet Dillard: 'Church should be a dangerous place, a zone of risk, a place of new birth and new life, where we confront ourselves with who we truly are and who God is calling us to be'. That's not very reassuring now, is it?" the priest asked with a helpless smile and the crowd responded with obvious embarrassment in their eyes, some laughing nervously.
"Some of you come here out of obligation, thinking it doesn't matter what I say during my sermon – that it will all fall on deaf ears, but I can see that you are all paying attention now, even the bitter amongst you. The challenge of 'do not be afraid' summons us to listen, not just to me but to what God is saying to you, personally. We listen because we're afraid... and we should be."
There was some uncomfortable murmuring in the crowd. A few people were shifting uneasily in their seats. Duo kept his eyes front, fascinated. He had a feeling that Father Dixon would have liked this sermon. Most likely he was delivering a similar one at that very moment. He found that very comforting... like a part of him was back home.
"Most of you come here for reassurance," the priest continued; "Some come regularly, some just once a year at Christmas, but both are just as committed to God without even realizing it. You are all here for the same reason: you are all struggling with that question – what is it I fear God will ask me to do? Will I be able to do it? And that is what Christmas is really about! As much as we love the mince pies, turkey, crackers and colorful trees, Christmas is not about this lovely, warm and fuzzy story. It isn't safe. The story of the birth of Christ is a narrative in which each character is asked to do something that many of us would rather not be asked to do:
"Mary is asked to tell her boyfriend, Joseph, that she is pregnant with someone else's child and Joseph is asked to bring up this bastard child – is this something you'd be comfortable doing? Joseph, Mary and Jesus are asked to flee the land of their birth to escape the massacre that King Herod has in store, and end up living as refugees in Egypt where no one speaks their language... is that something you'd like to do? Would you be able to do any of those things without reservations? Do you feel safe when you think about what God has in store for you?"
Duo's hand snuck into his open leather jacket and under the collar of his shirt, seeking the cross hanging from his neck; Father Maxwell's cross. He pulled it out and placed it over the black sweater he was wearing so it would remain in plain sight, as though to listen to the sermon along with him. Father Maxwell would have stomped angrily out of the church, refusing to hear those words, believing this priest was speaking blasphemy. That was why he could never see eye-to-eye with the old man on matters of faith, no matter how much he loved him. Father Maxwell simply refused to adjust to the times in which they lived; that stubbornness was what eventually got him killed and left the church in charred ruins. Dixon and this priest were different, more down to Earth, as the saying went. That was why he could relate to their words, to their representation of God, far better than he could have ever relate to Father Maxwell's beliefs.
"This is a dangerous world," the priest determined; "Exactly a year ago, on December 25th AC 203, people just like you were gathered in five churches on the L4 colonies. A few minutes later, sixty-two of them were dead, blown to smithereens by bombs planted by anti-Colonists fanatics. We have people in this church tonight from the Colonies. You or your children have friends from the Colonies. People just like us, blown up for going to church at Christmas, just because they weren't born on God's Earth."
A few people grimaced and looked away anxiously. Duo's fist clenched even tighter around his cross, his glaring cobalt eyes fixed on the screen. He clutched his fist around the delicate sliver pendant, his eyes never leaving the words: 'What are you afraid He might ask you to do?'
"Now," the priest continued, silencing the crowd's quiet murmuring, "when you were pondering that question at the beginning of the mass, whatever God is asking you to do, I bet it's not as scary as what happened to those Christians on L4. In a world where it is dangerous to be a Christian if you're not born on Earth, you have chosen to come here tonight, and I am glad that you have made the decision that for you Christmas is about more than just mince pie and turkey. For you, Christmas begins with Christ, with the challenge God has laid before us. We are constantly being challenged and tested by God..."
Duo's vision blurred as he continued gazing at the words on the screen. The priest's words faded into the background, drowned out by a swirling turmoil of thought.
His greatest fear has already been realized tonight: he's been asked to step aside, to resign to whatever fate God had in store for Heero and him. But what was the real challenge: was he being challenged to act despite being told otherwise, or did the test lie in the waiting itself?
Did he have the power to change the outcome of whatever was in store, or was it only his faith that was being tested? What did he fear more: Heero dying, or Heero choosing her again? Will he accept it if Heero chose Relena in the end?
More importantly: will he be capable of stepping aside without reservation if Heero chose Relena and somehow still came back alive?
He feared finding the answers to those questions. While he was certain that he would do the right thing, Duo was nonetheless terrified of discovering just how dark-hearted he could truly be when the moment comes and he would do one thing while feeling the exact opposite.
If God was asking him to act on what he truly wanted – the things he wouldn't even admit in his own mind – then he did not deserve redemption. He did not deserve God's love. He didn't deserve love at all... because deep down Duo feared that he would rather mourn for Heero's death than accept Heero choosing Relena once and for all. That was why he had named himself as Heero's choice, isn't it? It was the only way to ensure that Heero either chose him – or suffer a slow and agonizing death for his mistake.
"...In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen," the priest concluded his sermon and crossed his heart, bowing his head down respectfully.
Midnight Mass was over. The crowd scattered slowly after the service, people returning to their homes in preparations to greet Christmas Day. The large hall of worship remained empty and quiet, yet Duo was still seated at the back of the church, staring numbly ahead with a haunted look on his stubbly face. His bleary eyes were fixed on the vacant altar, staring dully at the large painting of The Crucifixion.
And then – God called unto him.
His cellphone rang. The loudly intrusive sound resonated off the church's walls. Duo jumped back in his seat, startled by the sudden uproar vibrating inside the empty hall. He yanked the ringing phone from his pocket, fumbling with it anxiously for his fingers were suddenly shaking.
The caller ID read 'Heero'.
His heart jumped up to his throat. He stared at the name displayed on the screen, unable to breathe.
Shaw and Malone said no more calls. He's been instructed not to act. The test was finally at hand... and he answered the challenge by taking the call.
He pressed the cellphone to his ear. His throat clamped shut; he was unable to speak. His heart pounded wildly in his chest.
"Don't speak, just listen," a cold, stern voice ordered harshly; "He wants to speak to you," it said; "Say one word and he's dead."
Duo's hand clenched angrily around the cellphone and his other hand trailed up his chest, searching for the cross. He grasped it tightly in his fist, and waited.
There was some rattling, like the phone was being moved. For a while, no one spoke, before a faint, shuddering gasp was heard.
"L-Lena..." a small, beaten voice rasped weakly and Duo felt his chest constrict and harden like stone. Heero had just whispered her name. He had whispered her name while speaking to him – why? Was he going to choose her? Was she also on the line?
He bit his lower lip down, struggling to keep quiet and listen. He had a feeling that he will regret it.
"...you... there..?" he heard Heero mumble miserably; it sounded like he was in terrible pain. "I... he says I... I have to... tell you... I... I have to... to tell you... so he'll... so it... so they'll... stop..." he moaned, hurting. "Th—there— were... three... there were... th-three... of them... at... at the... museum... They... they... I let them... for her... for Elizabeth... I... I'm sorry... I... I'm letting them... now... they... they're—" he stopped, gasping sharply, and then let out a small, pathetic sob. Duo felt tears sting his eyes. He didn't want to hear anymore... this was a private conversation. Those words were meant for Relena, and the fact that the Redeemer has connected him to the call meant that he really shouldn't be listening. This was the endgame move, and he was helpless to stop it.
"They're raping me!" Heero suddenly bellowed and Duo's heart just stopped. His face drained completely of color. No! He wanted to scream, but couldn't. He wasn't even breathing anymore.
"...again... and again! And again!" Heero wept helplessly; "—I'm sorry! I'm sorry Lena! I can't fight back... I have to do it... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm... I'm... I'm sorry you... you have to know... I'm letting them, but she'll die anyway... I'm so sorry... she died... with my gun... in my home... I'm so sorry, Lena... I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean to be this way... I didn't want to be like them... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I just want them to stop... please... make them stop... the apes—please... I—I— they're hurting me! I can't stop them! I'm sorry! I don't want to do this... I have to... I'm so sorry... Don't hate me... don't leave me... Lena... plea—"
The call disconnected.
Duo slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared at the empty screen numbly, his expression pale, mortified.
He had just allowed himself to be played... again.
Game, Set and Match.
*     *     *

[i] A term coined by psychotherapist Susan Anderson. See bibliography

[ii] This is of course the most famous quote from Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes.
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