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Left Unsaid	By : ElleSmith Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male > Heero/Duo Views: 1021 -:- 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
- 10
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- 12
Chapter 11: DDR
A rumbling, quivering, ache was building up in the pit of his stomach. The rippling sensation crept slowly up to his chest. It shook his lungs and continued its way up, tickling his throat. He fought to suppress it, knowing the subsequent agony he would feel if he let it loose, but he was unable to stop it. He coughed – a dry, wheezing, heave of air – and pain burst forth just about everywhere, igniting in a series of tiny explosions wracking through his throbbing limbs. He moaned, letting out a low, thick and miserable sound, and turned his head aside, eyes clenched tightly. He could feel tears accumulating under his closed eyelids; a few treacherous drops slid down his cheeks.
His right upper arm throbbed viciously with a piercing pain that bit deep into the flesh; so did his right thigh. The gunshot wounds he had suffered must be infected. But the worse of all was his right knee, where pain pulsated on a skeletal level. His tibia bone was fractured badly, still shrilling in agony after being set back into place field-medicine style. Luckily, it was the lower part of the bone that has been fractured, so he could set it manually. It didn't hurt any less, but at least the damage was minimal. All he needed was some rest, to keep it elevated for a while, and then he could get back to work. He should get started on repairs soon; he could not afford to keep Wing inoperative for so long. His leg can recuperate while he worked on restoring Wing's cockpit.
He tried to move, but found that he couldn't. His body was too heavy, too numb. Even immobile it ached, as it was laid slumped heavily against a thin mattress, completely uncooperative.
Strange; he couldn't recall getting into a bed. Last he remembered he was standing on the top deck of a large naval platform owned by a group calling themselves The Sweepers, wedging his foot between the metal railings and using it to push against the strong banister with his other leg, thus setting back the broken bone. He had somehow wobbled up to his feet, his mind still reeling from pain and his vision blurry with tears squeezed out of his eyes by reflex. He had managed to get a short glimpse at how his battered mobile suit was being pulled out of the ocean water by a large crane and then... nothing. Everything just switched off and went black. He must have passed out; finally succumbing to the blood loss and shock his body has endured over the past twenty-four hours. He could feel a fever coursing through him, liquefying his muscles and pulsing heatedly in his flushed, sweaty, cheeks.
Fabric rustled and something screeched; springs, he deduced. It was the sound of a metal cot creaking. There was another bed in the room... someone was there with him.
He opened his eyes, just slightly, and took a peek. The room was flooded with bright morning light. A figure emerged from the shroud of brightness assaulting his eyes, slowly becoming clear as his pupils adjusted to the white glow and focused on the bed at the other side of the room. Someone was sitting there between tangled sheets, legs thrown down to the floor and both arms stretched backwards to support his torso as he leaned back casually. They were bare and muscular arms; lean, but not fragile. The figure was dressed in baggy black trousers, secured tightly around a trim waist, and a loose gray tank top rippling enticingly over a taut chest. A long snake of hair was draped across a slim, bare, shoulder. It dangled down in a lush tangle of hair braided together sloppily and finally straying loose at the edge for there was no hairband to hold it together. The unruly tresses pooled over the figure's open lap, kissing the inner thigh. The rich, chestnut-brown hair seemed to glow angelically under the soft morning light pouring from a hatch above.
The almost androgynous figure sat leaning supported against the bed, looking up at the hatch to the side with a pensive, mellow, expression; a wistful smile hovering over pale lips and a pair of cobalt-blue eyes gleaming warmly under the bright light. He stared, without even realizing that he's been gaping at the tantalizing vision for a few good minutes. His mouth was dry, his breath heavy. He would have liked to blame it on the fever, but he feared that it was something else entirely...
Slowly, the nameless figure turned away from the window, facing him.
"Mornin' sunshine," a soft, lenient, male voice greeted and he blinked, dazed. He wracked his brain, searching for a name, trying to recall who this person was exactly. He could not remember, probably because he had never bothered asking. To be fair, the boy had never asked for his name either. Duo will only find out that he went by the name Heero Yuy after the New Edwards Base mission, when Sally Po will call his codename over the com-link channel and ask him to deactivate an array of missiles—wait a minute. That couldn't be right. It didn't happen yet... only it had, a long time ago. Did that make any sense?
He hadn't gotten used to his new name and he remembered how strange it felt to hear someone call it out during a mission, addressing him personally as though the codename meant something more than just an alias chosen almost arbitrarily. Only Relena had spoken his new name up to that point. She made that name real, she made it his, and by doing that she made him real... but not as real as Duo made him. He used to think that the "real him" was a beast dwelling in darkness; one that had to be restrained, let loose only around those who were capable of taming it... like Duo. But the time he had spent with Duo taught him he was more than just a savage and bloodthirsty beast; there was something beyond the anger and danger, something small and afraid... and Duo was determined to see it. He resented Duo for constantly trying to dig in a little deeper and pull that something out; his entire being rested on that fragile something like a rickety house of cards. Allowing Duo to drag it out into the open would devastate him completely. He had always known that on some level, subconscious or otherwise. Funny how clear it was now that he was looking back into a future that has already happened.
He couldn't remember how he had eventually learned Duo's name. It didn't matter anyway. Allies were out of the question; they will only get in his way. Duo will only get in his way. He'll distract him, change him... fill his world with uncertainty and dangerous longing... the kind of spiritual longing Relena will claim during their endless future arguing that he lacked, but he didn't... not when it came to Duo. He craved Duo in ways he was ashamed to admit; he yearned for him in ways he never even imagined he was capable of... and that was the real menace. Duo was going to suck him in like a black hole and he will never be the same again... that something will consume him from the inside out, reaching out to Duo no matter how much he would try to suppress it. But how could he possibly know that if it didn't happen yet? Past, present and future were all mixed up again... something wasn't right.
Duo sniggered. "You can say that again," he muttered cynically.
Heero turned to glare at him. He tried to move, but still couldn't. His body refused to lift off the bed; he was bound down to it, crushed under invisible heavy weights. He wheezed, straining, but remained immobile despite his efforts. Helpless, he turned to look up at the other boy. Duo was still sitting propped casually on the other bunk, watching him mutely while he struggled. There was an eerily distant expression on his handsome boyish face. That wasn't right either, he realized. Duo shouldn't be so young anymore...
"This isn't real," he determined, looking into young Duo's eyes.
"Nope," Duo confirmed simply, shrugging casually.
"Am I still tied to that chair?" he asked despairingly.
"Yup."
"...and you can't help me," he sighed and turned to look at the ceiling.
"You can't even help yourself," Duo pointed out nastily.
"Don't be a smartass," Heero muttered jadedly, closing his aching eyes. The dim white halo behind his eyelids gradually faded. He was falling into darkness... melting back into himself. When he opened his eyes again, there was only black. The present was all around him, wrapping him in a cold, dark and disturbingly quiet blanket of reality.
He was alone, still restrained to the reclined chair; frozen numb, naked and utterly exposed for his legs have been left propped up on the leg-rests and stirrups, spread wide open. The IV needle stung his arm; dripping fluids mixed with drugs into his vein. His head was swimming... woozy.
Darkness swirled lazily around him like oil stains in a glass of water. It shifted around him, moving like a predator slowly circling its prey... Shadows sneaking stealthily across the room. He could catch them moving in the corner of his eyes, taking humanoid form as they approached. They stilled whenever he tried to take a direct look. They were waiting for the right time to leap out of the darkness and attack. He will be helpless to stop them. They will devour him alive and he will die swallowed by darkness... alone.
"You're alone cuz he's at work, you know," Duo remarked nonchalantly. He couldn't see him, but he knew he was there. Duo was always there, lurking deep within the Shadows in back of his subconscious mind, living on the edge of his darkest emotions... preying on desires he could never truly realize. The only difference now was that he could actually hear him, even if there was no one there. He was speaking to thin air, falling further into himself... going out of his mind, diving into the heart of darkness where Duo usually awaited. It was an inescapable presence; an unbearable pressure constantly pressing against his soul. He couldn't stop it, because he could never stop feeling... not anymore. His soul has been laid bare on a madman's operating table, dissected to pieces... There was no escape.
"This is your chance to get da fuck outta here..." Duo insisted nonetheless.
Heero laughed; a hoarse and hostile whistle of air bursting out of him uncontrollably. The bitter chuckle was followed by a dry cough. His throat was parched, raw and aching.
"I can't break out of here..." he croaked weakly, shaking his head.
"Can't or won't?" Duo challenged.
"You're being a smartass again," he sighed, closing his eyes once again. His legs hurt after being spread forcefully apart for so long. His anus still throbbed after being violated by the vibrator for hours on end. He had screamed, he had cried and he had begged Sloan to stop... to make the apes go away... to make them stop raping him... until it was finally over. The apes vanished at some point and so did the museum. It was just the vibrator after a while, just an object, an instrument of torture, and that he could handle. And indeed, Sloan only stopped when he had finally called a spade a spade and pleaded with him to take the vibrator out. He didn't know if the violation counted as rape... he hoped it didn't.
"Do you think that psycho actually helped you?" Duo demanded angrily, insulted by the mere consideration of the unholy notion.
"I don't know..." he mumbled weakly; "I don't think anything anymore..."
"You're thinking about me," Duo pointed out.
"I can't help it..." Heero murmured dazedly, licking his chapped lips, but failing to dampen them because his mouth was so dry; "I'm always thinking about you..."
Duo snickered scornfully. "In that case, I'm flattered."
"Don't be..." he whispered, sighing; "it doesn't mean much..."
"Da fuck not!"
"Because I never act on it... I never go beyond thinking."
"And why's that?"
"You know why..."
"Da Hell I do. Tell me."
"Same reason you let me get away with it... because you're afraid to lose what we already have..."
"But we never had much of anything, did we Heero?" Duo grumbled, disgruntled; "We just had sex. Great sex, but just sex..."
"Yeah..." he agreed, a silly smile on his lips; "you were always so fucking hot..."
"But sex wasn't enough," Duo accused and Heero released a frustrated sigh. "Don't start that again..." he mumbled weakly.
"Why? Got anything better to do? Maybe if I piss you off hard enough you'll do something about breaking out of these restraints so that you could punch me in the face..."
"I'll end up with broken wrists and nothing more for my trouble."
"I saw you do it before," Duo argued; "I saw you rip through your bonds at the Alliance hospital and I saw you bend steel to break us outta that OZ base... This should be a walk in the park for you, right?"
Heero laughed bitterly, shaking his head in dismissal. "I was on fucking steroids... J pumped me up with so much juice I felt like I could do anything, even if my bones break, even if I was shot and bleeding... I didn't feel any of it. I could keep going until I couldn't anymore."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you being drugged now too?" Duo dismissed his protest easily; "You're aware that you're just talking to yourself, right? You wouldn't be talking to me if I were real... Just do it already. Get this shit over with."
"What's the point?"
"So you're just gonna lie here until you wither and die?"
"Hmm... sounds like a plan..." he mumbled sleepily, closing his eyes. Exhaustion was taking over. He was drifting further into darkness... but he couldn't sleep, not with the Shadows lurking all around. He could hear them moving freely now that he wasn't looking, whispering amongst themselves... scheming his death. They were closing in on him, detaching from the walls... pacing soundlessly towards him... their grimy hands stretched forward menacingly...
"There are no monsters here," Duo countered; "Don't let the drugs fool you."
Bubbly-laughter spluttered out of his aching lungs, loud and untamable. And that was coming from a drug-induced hallucination, Heero realized with great amusement. He found it outright ridiculous that Duo was the one representing his voice of reason! The very idea was absurd and the irony of it all simply drove him into madness. He couldn't stop laughing! He was laughing so hard tears stung his eyes.
"You're going nuts," Duo accused and Heero nodded eagerly in agreement, still laughing madly.
"I know!" he cried out, snickering drunkenly.
"Then get a grip already," Duo muttered in aggravation, scoffing. "Snap outta it, man, you're freaking me out."
Why should he snap out of this crazy daze? Nothing but pain lay beyond the refuge of this illusionary state. Besides, he'd rather laugh than cry again...
"I like it here," he said, struggling to contain the bursting giggles, shoving them down his throat long enough to speak. "This is better."
"He can hear you, you know," Duo suddenly commented. Heero stopped laughing immediately. He opened his eyes and turned his head left and right, searching the darkness. There was no one there and Duo was hiding along with the treacherous Shadows.
"There's no one here..." he argued weakly; "he can't hear me."
"Sure he can," Duo insisted; "There aren't any moving shadows here, Heero. That's just your paranoia senses tingling... You know he's listening. He won't relinquish control, even if he's at work. He's listening... and he can hear you going out of your mind."
Heero blinked, suddenly focused. That actually made sense. The Voice that was constantly invading his dreams... that was Sloan wasn't it? The madman was communicating with him remotely somehow while he was away. Damn it.
He heaved a long sigh and turned his head upright again, gazing at the faint outline of the closed projector-light above him, trying to concentrate and keep his damn mouth shut. His head was still swimming... it was hard to keep his focus. He felt drunk. What he wouldn't give for a shot of Jameson right now... He sniggered goofily, choking on more laughter. He couldn't contain it, and the giggles spewed wildly out of him again.
"Heero!" Duo hissed angrily, "Cut it out! Focus God damn it! Focus!" he urged anxiously and Heero found that very funny! Since when did Duo have to tell him to keep his eyes on the ball? Oh no – a sport's metaphor! Duo must be rubbing off on him... Ha! Rubbing off! Get it!? He couldn't stop laughing. His throat hurt from laughing so hard, but he couldn't stop!
"Jesus Christ..." Duo muttered in disappointment; "You've completely lost it, man." He sighed. "No one is coming for you, Heero," he warned somberly; "It's up to you to put an end to this nightmare. Unless you're actually waiting for me to come for you..."
That got his attention. The laughter ceased almost instantly. He turned to look at the Shadows, his expression wounded.
"You won't come for me?"
"When have I ever come for you, Heero?" Duo snarled nastily. "And please don't say that time at the Alliance hospital," he sighed; "I know you like to think about it as some kind of pleasant memory, but that's just your twisted way of seeing things... nothing more."
"But it was... that was the first... the first time anyone has ever helped me..." he argued feebly.
"That's bullshit and you know it," Duo scoffed dismissively; "I shot you and I left you for dead, drifting face down in the water," he reminded him; "Relena was the one who helped you. She stood in the line of fire for you. She bandaged your bleeding wounds with her fancy prom dress. She pulled you out of the water after I split. She was there when the paramedics took you to the hospital. I busted you out cuz that's what they told me to do. You know that. I wouldn't be sayin' it if you didn't already know it. I rescued you under orders. Why are you holding on to this fairytale version, Heero? What's the point?"
That hurt. Heero didn't want to hear anymore. Duo was right, he's known that all along, but he never wanted to admit that— "I was always the one coming for you..." he mumbled mournfully; "Always... You'd... you'd always let me... you let me have you whenever I wanted, but... but you... you never... never initiated... never sought me out too. You never came for me..." he accused with a small, miserable, voice, "Not after Siberia... not at the Moon Base... They experimented on me... I... I was... I couldn't... I was... but you... you just escaped in the first chance you got and never looked back... You didn't wait for me... never came back for me... you never do... You left me in Brussels... I couldn't talk, Duo! There was so much to say, but I couldn't talk... you didn't wait long enough until I could... you just left... you just left and never came back... you never come for me..."
"That's right," Duo agreed; "so why do you still expect me to show up after I've let you down so many times?"
Heero fell silent.
*     *     *
Seated behind the computer at his desk on the 52^nd floor of the Preventer field office building, Dr. Sloan paused his typing and turned his glace to the small audio-streaming window at the bottom of his computer screen. There was a small Bluetooth earphone plugged into his left ear. His golden-framed eyeglasses reflected the black and white document he was currently typing as he stared intently at the screen. Only the title was bold enough to be distinguished: 'Heero Yuy: Evaluation & Management'. A few heavy textbooks were piled on his desk, some open. The one currently spread next to the keyboard was open on a page on which the title read: 'Trauma Rehabilitation after War and Conflict'.
Only a heavy hissing noise whirred in his ear as he waited for the semi-coherent stream of words to resume.
*     *     *
Heero stared numbly at the darkness. His lips parted slightly, about to form a sound, but the words were lodged deeply in his throat.
"How come you want me so damn much?" Duo pressed on, asking the same question he always did; a question Heero always avoided because answering it meant total and shameless exposure of a secret desire he fought to deny, afraid the house of cards might collapse on top of him and leave his soul in shambles. Denial was a rule he had lived by for as long as he could remember; a rule he had even been willing to die for if necessary. Denial kept him strong, kept him safe... untouchable. The minute he had stopped denying what he felt, things changed. He had gained so much to fight for, and then he had lost... all of it. The house of cards has collapsed, burying him alive until a pile of nightmares. No amount of denial was enough to shuffle the rubble away. There was no denying the fear and the shame, the deep and brazen devotions now ruling his heart, constantly stirring the pain in his soul... so why did he still insist on holding onto that last shred of bogus dignity? What was the point? Why couldn't he answer Duo's question? Why couldn't he just choose and let go?
"Yeah," Duo agreed; "Why is that, Heero? Why can't you just say it? You know the answer... why can't you just accept it?"
"I—" he choked on the word, stopping himself and shaking his head frantically. "I can't..."
"Da fuck not?"
"I can't choose..."
"Why not? What harm could it possibly do at this point?" Duo asked softly and Heero heaved a woeful sigh.
"...because... because... because if I... if I choose..." he mumbled, shaking his head helplessly as he sniveled the words out mournfully; "one of you will leave me... and I... I... I won't be... I won't be able to be... the 'me' that I know... that you all know... he'll... I... I... can't, you see... I... I don't... I can't... can't undo it... I don't have... don't have the right... to... undo... this... you see? It's... not my choice to make..."
Heero's voice faded into a thick, miserable silence. Back in his office, Dr. Sloan smiled smugly. He adjusted the earpiece more securely, shoved his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose, and resumed typing.
*     *     *
Duo left, having nothing more left to say. That was fine. One of them always left the other hanging. Issues were never resolved. That was fine too. He didn't care anymore. He didn't care about anything anymore... There was nothing important enough to care about, to care for.
Elizabeth was dead. His daughter was dead. He would have been able to accept it if they had died together at the museum, but they didn't. He had survived... doomed to outlive his own flesh and blood. That was unnatural, unfair. Life was never fair... only death was. It claimed everyone in the end. He just had to wait his turn.
The Shadows had retreated along with Duo. He was alone again; alone in the dark. He wasn't lying tied to that chair, though. He didn't know how or why, but he was lying on the floor... curled into a fetal position on the soft beige carpet that used to deck his living room floor back in DC.
The apartment was dark. Pale blue moonlight filtered through the transparent white curtains draped over the balcony window. In the far horizon, the Capitol Hill was illuminated in a majestic display of lights. He couldn't care less for the view. His dull gaze was fixed forward, gaping numbly at the foot of the coffee table stationed before him, as he had been doing since he had gotten back home from the hospital many hours ago.
An object has been left discarded under the low dark-wooden table. He could make out its faint outline in the dark. He's been staring at it since dusk, until darkness fell and he could no longer see it clearly.
Fearing that it might disappear, swallowed by darkness like everything else, he felt the burning urge to hold it. He reached a trembling hand forward, stretching it under the coffee table until his straining fingers managed to grab hold of a tiny part of it. The object was soft and fluffy. Tears welled in his eyes once he touched it. He grasped onto a tiny furry foot and pulled the object closer.
It was a bunny, a stuffed pink bunny. Elizabeth's favorite toy; left under his coffee table the day she had died in this apartment.
The floodgates flung wide open and an unstoppable tidal wave of tears gushed out, coursing through him violently. His very soul was crying. The experience was beyond intense. His whole body trembled, agony spilling from every pore, surging out of him through heartbroken sobs and wails. He clutched the toy bunny close to his chest, curled deeper into himself and buried his face against the soft pink fur. He cried for hours, his first real cry since infancy. He was unable to stop even when his throat was raw and aching and his anguished whimpers came out as nothing but pathetic hoarse hiccups. He cried until his tears ran dry and his body was drained; only his soul remained... bare, bleeding and wounded.
The tide receded slowly, leaving him numb, shattered. He remained lying curled on the carpet, hugging the bunny and staring expressionlessly ahead.
Voices drifted from the other rooms of his apartment; mere whispers at first, but when he focused on the words he could hear them; his parents were arguing again:
"There is something wrong with that boy," his stepfather accused.
"There is nothing wrong with him!" his mother insisted.
"He doesn't even cry!"
"He's a strong boy..."
"He's three and he lost his favorite toy – three-year-olds cry over those stupid things!"
He didn't lose it. His stepfather took it away just to make him cry, but he didn't. He refused to give the man the satisfaction.
"I'm telling you," the man insisted; "there something's off with that child, Aoi!"
"And what do you know about it?!" his mother demanded furiously; "Seiki is my son and I say he's FINE!"
His stepfather snorted. "Do you even realize that it's been four days since he last spoke? Do you even notice?!"
"He knows better than to get in the way of our work..." his mother mumbled an obvious excuse; "He's a smart boy, Seis, that's all. He's fine."
"That boy gives me the creeps..."
"Don't you dare speak about my son that way!"
The arguing went on and on... he didn't bother listening anymore. They devoted more time arguing about him than actually talking to him. He could hear more arguing coming from another room, drowning out the continuous sound of his parents' arguing. Two gruff old men were also arguing about him:
"Seven years of work down the drain!" the first accused harshly. Heero recognized his voice. Back then he didn't know who that man was, but now, years later, he was well aware that this voice belonged to the man known as Dekim Barton, the brain behind Operation Meteor and later the Mariemeia Uprising.
"Seven years and what have you got to show for it – a soldier crying over a fluffy little corpse!"
Heero cringed at the sound of utter contempt in his voice. He curled deeper into himself, hugging Lizzie's toy closer... only it wasn't a soft bunny-doll anymore, but a small, dead, white puppy.
"He made a mistake..." the other voice, old and rough, insisted; it was Dr. J. "Civilians died... it's only natural—"
"This is war!" Barton exploded; "Sacrificing the general public is of no relevance – got it?! Now retrain him at once! Our weapon has no use for human kindness!"
Heero closed his eyes sadly and more tears squeezed out. He buried his face in the dead puppy's fur, hiding.
"He doesn't even know how to cry!" Seis shouted from one room.
Yes he could... he could! He cried over Elizabeth... so many tears. They haven't stopped flowing since. They poured out of him all on their own without warning, without restraint. He could cry...
"A soldier can't cry!" Barton barked madly from another room.
But he couldn't help it! Something just... broke. He couldn't help it...
Silence fell. For a while, it was dead quiet... but then he could hear a disturbing, steady screeching sound. Metal hinges creaked in a monotonous rhythm. It was a sound he knew well, for it had been drilled into his psyche like a dog whistle command; a subliminal message demanding his utmost attention... total and irrepressible obedience.
Dr. J's metal-clawed hand was opening and closing; he could see it clearly without even opening his eyes. The sound was getting closer. His body tensed, his heart pounding dreadfully. The creaking stopped. A heavy, forbidding silence engulfed the room. It pushed down against him... suffocating him. He didn't dare opening his eyes, afraid to face the nightmare. He hugged the small furry body in his arms even closer, curling deeper into a fetal position, trying to become invisible.
"Heero," the old man's voice was coming from somewhere near him. He could feel his overwhelming presence. J was right beside him now.
He opened his eyes, blinded by tears. He blinked them away, clearing his vision. The old man was crouching on the carpet in front of him, looking down at him through unreadable, bone-chilling goggle-covered eyes.
"Give me the puppy," he ordered, somewhat softly, like he understood how much it hurt to give it away.
Heero shook his head frantically. He closed his eyes and pulled back, away from J. He buried his head against the small body and clutched it tightly to his chest. Fresh tears dampened his face.
"It's not a puppy..." he whispered dolefully, his voice trembling with anguish; "she's my daughter... and I should have never let her go..." he wailed brokenly and held Elizabeth's small body tightly against his chest, refusing to let go.
"They're talking about retraining you, Heero," Dr. J warned.
"Let them..." he mumbled, petting his dead daughter's long blonde hair; "It won't be as bad as this..."
"They'll destroy every last bit of kindness you've managed to uphold."
"Let them..." he whispered ruefully; "it doesn't matter... I'm sick of feeling... It's... too much. I just want it to stop..."
Dr. J sighed, shaking his head in frustration. "You're a disappointment."
He looked up, glaring spitefully at his former mentor. "I'm human," he reminded J coldly. "They made me human again. Duo... and Relena... they made me feel this way... made me real..." he sighed, bowing his head down again. "It's too much... you can take it away again... undo it... undo me... retrain me... I don't care. You'll be doing me a favor. I can't do it by myself... it won't be right."
Dr. J heaved a sigh. "You're beyond salvaging," he determined somberly. "There's nothing I can do for you."
Heero nodded silently in acceptance. He already knew that. There was only one way out. He closed his eyes and brought the object in his hand up to his face. He wasn't holding Elizabeth anymore, nor was he holding the puppy or the bunny. He was holding a gun, the same Glock 22 his daughter had accidently shot herself with. He tucked the cold metal barrel under his chin. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was no longer lying on the carpet in his old apartment. It was cold and he could feel soft snow beneath him. He was back there, in those ruins on L1... lying between ash-covered rubble of a building he had destroyed by accident. He had held a gun to his head back then too, it was the only way out after they retrained him... but J had stopped him.
"And I gave you three options before disembarking on Operation Meteor," Dr. J reminded him; he was still crouching next to him. "Do you remember what they were?"
Heero nodded against the gun, the barrel digging into his lower jaw.
"Massacre the people of Earth, kill you and escape or... kill myself," he answered calmly.
"And what did you choose?"
"None of those..." he mumbled ruefully; "I chose to fight... on my own terms."
"A bold choice," J remarked.
"An obvious one," he argued; "I didn't know how to do anything else."
"Do you regret it?"
"I should have pulled the trigger."
"And why didn't you?"
"...same reason I didn't do it when Elizabeth died..." he mumbled, sighing; "I don't deserve the choice."
"So you keep waiting for someone else to do it for you?"
OR DO YOU SIMPLY AVOID MAKING TOUGH CHOICES? The Voice was back, bombarding the air around him like a sonic boom. He wasn't surprised. The Voice always spoke up at some point.
"I've made many tough choices..." he muttered a reply.
TACTICAL DECISIONS, NONE OF THEM REMOTELY PERSONAL, the Voice pointed out.
Heero rolled over in the ash/snow, turning away from the Voice. He curled into a fetal position again, clutching the pistol to his chest.
"Go away..." he pleaded miserably; "Just... go away..."
TELL ME ABOUT YOUR MILITARY INDOCTRINATION, the Voice demanded nonetheless.
"There's nothing to tell..." he mumbled; "go away... stop listening... get out of my head..."
TELL ME ABOUT DR. J, the Voice insisted. HOW LONG DID YOU TRAIN UNDER HIM?
"...a long time..." he spoke the compulsorily words; "He... J... raised me... after... after Odin... He... he trained me for... for seven... long... years... always there... always... training... testing me... making me do things... hard things... and I couldn't say no... had to do it... had to do it right... the first time or..."
OR HE WOULD HURT YOU?
"...yeah..."
HOW?
"Go away... please... just... go away... let me sleep..." he begged; "no more talking... no more questions... just... go away... all of you just... go away... let me die here... go away..."
For a while, it was quiet. The Voice vanished, leaving him in peace. He drifted in blessed nothingness... floating like a fetus in his mother's womb... until the flaring pain of electrocution yanked him back to reality and he found himself back in that chair again; bound, naked, exposed, vulnerable... and racked by a terrible pain... screaming.
Dr. Sloan was sitting next to him, holding his yellow notepad. He reached a hand towards the ECT machine, turning a dial.
The pain stopped.
Heero slumped against the reclined chair in relief, the cries dying in his throat. He gaped at Sloan dully.
"Toldja he was listening," Duo whispered from the Shadows. Heero ignored him. He didn't want Sloan to know Duo was there... because he wasn't.
"Children are more malleable and adaptable than adults," Sloan opened formally, holding his pen over the notepad as he looked down at Heero coldly. "They are easier to indoctrinate, as their moral development is not yet completed and they tend to listen to authorities without questioning them. How old were you when Dr. J took you in?"
Heero frowned, trying to digest the long stream of textbook words coming out of his captor's mouth. It took him a moment to realize he's been asked a question.
"I don't know..." he mumbled dozily; "young... less than ten... it was after... after Odin... died... J found me... took me in... I thought I was doing the right thing... following what... what... what Odin taught me... what he... what he... wanted me... to be..."
Sloan nodded, glancing down at his notepad briefly. He wrote something and looked back up.
"Being left alone in your struggle to survive without the care of an adult was what pushed you into recruitment, Heero, nothing else," he determined, fixing his sharp gaze on his patient. He adjusted his eyeglasses over the bridge of his nose and for a split of a terrifying second Heero thought that he was looking at Dr. J adjusting his freakish goggles.
"You might think that you volunteered to enlist," Sloan continued, "but in fact, being a mere child, you had very limited access to information concerning the consequences of your choice. You could neither control nor fully comprehend the structures and forces that you'll be dealing with. Even if it might have appeared to you that you chose to join and remain in the militia, that choice cannot be considered 'voluntary', Heero. You were a victim of circumstance, and Dr. J used that to his advantage. Over time, as your commander, using systematic indoctrination and acculturation, J replaced the position of a caretaker and served as your adult role model, which children will naturally accept, and in fact, need to attach to for mentorship, guidance, and survival. You stayed because you needed Dr. J, you grew attached to him. Despite of everything, you depended on him. You had nothing else, no one to look after you."
"He's trying to screw with you," Duo warned him; "Don't play into his game."
Heero frowned. Duo had a point.
"Tell me about J, Heero," Sloan demanded.
"Don't tell him anything!" Duo hissed.
Heero stared dazedly at the projector above him, struggling to decide to whom he should listen.
"Did you look up to him as a mentor?" Sloan pressed on.
Heero continued gaping dully at the lamp above, trying to concentrate.
"Um... no..." he mumbled, unsure; "I... I don't know... maybe... sometimes... I don't know... sometimes... maybe... yes."
"Tell me," Sloan commanded and Heero complied reluctantly:
"J was... he... he was always... there... the only one I... I... I didn't... there was no one else... I... I needed him... sometimes... to be proud... maybe... to answer my questions... but I... I was... usually I was just... afraid... I never asked... not everything... I didn't know... so many... things... Duo laughed... he laughed at me... it wasn't funny... but he laughed... like I was stupid... He shouldn't have laughed... Relena never laughed..."
"Oh sure, make me out to be the bad guy..." Duo grumbled, snorting.
Sloan nodded and took some notes, focusing on his notepad for a while. Once done, he looked back up at Heero.
"Children enter a new, violent, world as they become child-soldiers," he said; "Militia groups indoctrinate children by forcing them to kill or watch others kill... sometimes their own family. They endure torture, physical abuse and threats of death for disobedience. Many of them are forced to take addictive drugs as an attempt to steel children for combat. Did any of that happen to you?"
"Yeah..." he sighed and closed his aching eyes, tired; "all of it..."
Sloan nodded sternly and wrote something down.
"Many children also suffer sexual assault and rape," he added; "were you forced to endure those as well, or was the time at the museum your first?"
"You don't have to tell him about that," Duo whispered from the Shadows. "You don't have to tell anyone about that..."
But he couldn't help it...
"No..." he mumbled, shaking his head sadly. "No rape... no... I... I... I knew how to... to defend myself... J told them... not to touch me again... ever... I... he said I could... I could kill them if they tried again... they never did..."
"Still," Sloan insisted, "a child-soldier's suffering is profound... inescapable," – he almost sounded sympathetic – "Studies indicate that exposure to extreme atrocities has a more lasting and impressionable effect on child-soldiers compared to adults. They are raised in an environment of severe violence. They experience it and often commit cruelties and atrocities of the worst kind... often against a civilian population. What kind of atrocities did you commit, Heero?"
He kept his eyes closed and turned the other way, ashamed. "Please... don't... don't make me... I... I didn't mean it..."
"How many dead because of your actions, Heero?" Sloan demanded harshly.
"He's fucking with you!" Duo exclaimed angrily; "Stop letting him! It's not your fault, Heero – got it?! Not your fault!"
"But it is... it is my fault..." Heero whispered miserably. "There were... so many... I don't know... I just shoot... I just... I... I shoot, and the target is gone... I don't know... J told me not to count... don't count... just shoot... I don't know... I'm sorry... I can hear them screaming... at night, when I'm in bed... they scream over the open com... they all screamed... then... silence..."
Duo snorted. He retreated deeper into the Shadows and kept quiet. Heero could tell that he was pissed. He felt bad for angering Duo, betraying him by speaking things they weren't supposed to admit... not even to each other; especially not to each other. Why was that? Why shouldn't they share this pain if they both felt it?
"There's something in the human perception of our interactions with one another that seems to give rise to anxiety in the face of caused harms whose consequences we see," Sloan explicated starkly; "When you only hear someone suffering from the harm you inflict, your victim's suffering possess an abstract-remote quality. You're aware, but only in a conceptual sense. Your reason knows, but other parts of your soul haven't registered what's going on. You can reasonably suppose that your weapons will inflict suffering and death, but this knowledge is divested of affect and thus does not move you to a felt emotional response to the suffering of your actions. Have you ever looked at the face of someone you've killed?"
"I didn't want to..." he murmured faintly, shaking his head. There was a pained, tortured expression on his haggard face. "There were... five... five at first... then... many... many... more... I couldn't kill them... It was... it was never required of me... n-not at first..."
Sloan nodded in approval. "That's because visual cues of the victim's suffering trigger an empathic response and provide with a more complete grasp of the victim's experience," he said; "One of the major strategies to enable people to commit harms against others is to use a language of dehumanization, referring to the group being harmed as Ozzies or targets for example... as none-human in some way. When we perceive another as human it's difficult to overcome the tendency not to want to harm them, and this is a tendency they didn't want you to develop. They kept you behind the controls of a mobile suit where you could act but you couldn't see...
"The puppy was an exception... they never took into account that you'd react to the dead puppy as you would react to a dead person... but they should have. It was the first time you were faced with the consequences of your actions. Tell me about the puppy, Heero."
"Mary..." he whispered, sniffling. Tears soaked his gaunt and unshaven face. "There was a little girl... in the park... on L1... she was walking her dog... Mary..."
"And you killed them?"
"Everyone... the whole block... I blew it up... It was... it was an accident... I... I didn't mean it... I miscalculated... I... I was... wrong... it was a mistake... I'm sorry..."
"How many casualties?"
"I don't know... a lot... I... there were so many bodies... I found Mary in the rubble... she was dead. No one bothered taking her along with the others... I... I... I... I took her with me... They... they didn't like it... they said I couldn't keep her..."
"You were forced to give her up."
He nodded, whimpering helplessly. "I didn't want to..."
"How old were you?"
"I don't know... thirteen or fourteen... it was just before... before they sent me to Earth..."
"How did you react when they tried to take Mary away?"
"I didn't want to... I... I tried to kill him... I almost did... but they stopped me... sent me away... to get better..."
"And afterwards you had no more problem killing, did you?"
"I can look them straight in the eye... and shoot. I didn't... didn't ask for anything anymore... I just... I shoot. Five people... I shot them just because... because J... just because he said so..."
Dr. Sloan nodded gravely. "Militia groups target children because they are more obedient than adults, as well as more psychologically vulnerable," Sloan informed him; "To a military eye, children are easy-keepers... they make fewer demands than adults, and thus serve more easily at the bottom of military hierarchy. Children are cheap labor and they are in such bountiful supply, that they are expendable soldiers as compared to trained adults. And yet, you were different, weren't you, Heero? They still chose to keep you, retrain you... put the time and effort to reinforce your psyche. Why do you think that is?"
"There... there wasn't much time..." he reasoned, trying to make sense of issues he had always avoided; "they needed me to fight... so many years... training... there was no time to get someone else..."
"Or you were simply too good to replace," Sloan offered an alternative. "You see, during childhood and adolescence, the mind and brain are particularly plastic," he elaborated; "Exposure to significant stressors during sensitive developmental periods causes the brain to develop along a stress-responsive pathway... it becomes organized in a way to facilitate survival in a world of deprivation and danger, enhancing your capacity to rapidly and dramatically shift into an intensely-aggressive, or fearful-fleeing state when threatened. You were already a well-bred killer by that point, Heero. Years of training wired you in a way that made you unique to their cause – irreplaceable. You knew only how to fight or to flee... like an animal... and a well-trained animal is hard to replace.
"All they had to do was reinforce your mental defenses... fortify you further... make sure you won't flip out again when faced with trauma. By doing that, they denied you of any chance to heal once everything was over. You cannot cope, you just deny... disregarding anything that might get in the way of what you were trained to do. You've been repeatedly exposed to chronic and traumatic stress while growing up, which deprived you from a normal and healthy development and impaired your chances to reintegrate into society as a fully functioning member. Essentially, by retraining you, they've turned you into someone who could never adapt to peaceful environments once the violence has ceased.
"Successful rehabilitation of ex-soldiers during peacetime requires the same strategy that's applied to peacekeeping operations, a strategy I am sure you are closely familiar with in your line of work: DDR – Disarmament, Demobilization and Reintegration;" Sloan stated critically. "As you know, disarmament entails the physical removal of means of combat from ex-belligerents – yet you still walk around fully armed. Demobilization entails the disbanding of armed groups – yet you still belong to one of the very few legally armed organizations on the planet. And as for reintegration into civilian society – you have done everything in your power to avoid becoming a part of peacetime society. You deliberately stay on the sidelines under the pretense of protecting the society you are so keen to shun. You've executed all sort of peacekeeping operations to ensure against a possible resurgence of armed conflict that might endanger this society, but you yourself refuse to DDR. You are the very thing you fight against, Heero. You are, and always will be, a soldier.
"That's why you chose to carry out Operation Meteor under your own terms. That's why you joined Preventer when it was all over, and that's why you didn't quit even after what happened in DC. You don't know how to do anything else. The risk of re-recruitment increases when ex-combatants fail to reintegrate into their civil communities. You couldn't find a place in this world you were forced to create, so you repeatedly thrust yourself into perilous and potentially traumatizing situations as a means to justify who and what you are. This is why you're here, Heero. This is why you chose to take this assignment... to leave Cyber and transfer to the CID. You volunteered for this mission because you wanted me to take you."
"Is that it, Heero?" Duo asked anxiously, speaking from the Shadows; "is that what you really want?"
"No..." he shook his head in denial, but it didn't feel genuine... not at all. "no... I just... I... I wanted to stop him... stop the killing... stop... you..."
"No, I don't think you did," Dr. Sloan objected calmly. "Others could have tried to stop me... it didn't have to be you."
"Is this how much you want to die?" Duo whispered, appalled; "Outta all the ways to go... is this it? Really?"
"There's no other way..." he wept, tearful; "I need him to... to undo me..." he answered helplessly, weeping; "undo all this... mess... just... undo it... make it... disappear... make me... disappear... I don't want to be real anymore..."
"You took this assignment because you were after what only I can offer you:" Sloan interpreted his slurred words simply; "Redemption," he determined. "Because like all child-soldiers, you carry a special burden... one you cannot resolve on your own. It's the burden of simultaneously being the recipient and perpetrator of violence. You were victimized twofold: first by being exposed to traumatic experiences and later when you were forced to commit them and then be blamed and stigmatized for the atrocities you've committed. You cannot forgive yourself. Society also refuses to forgive you. That's why you need them, isn't it? Duo and Relena. They see beyond all that. They see things in you others don't... they accept you in ways only they can. You hold onto them both because that's the only way you can live with the choices you were forced to make. Isn't it?"
Dr. Sloan's face was suddenly hovering over him. He blinked, startled, and looked up into the man's sharp eyes.
"I'm right, aren't I?" the doctor insisted sternly; "Tell me, Heero, can I stop quoting textbooks now? Did I crack the code? Figured you out? Is your need to justify everything with hard cold reason finally satisfied? Are you finally convinced that you need me?"
"Don't answer that," Duo warned, but Heero was no longer inclined to listen. He looked at Sloan, gaping dully at the face that promised him what he could only dream of... and nodded his head slowly.
Dr. Sloan smiled, pleased.
"Good," he said softly and turned to circle around the chair, securing the electrodes to Heero's naked body as he went along.
"Growing up as a child-soldier," he explained casually as he ran cold fingers over the adhesive tape of one electrode, "you were forced to violate your own moral principles and to break from any social attachment," he continued and stood next to Heero's open legs. He released his captive's feet from the stirrups.
"You don't know how to reach out," he continued as he propped Heero's legs up on the chair more comfortably. Heero let out a small sigh of relief. Dr. Sloan readjusted the reclining chair so that he was lying down again, legs closed. The man secured his ankles to the bottom part of the chair, restraining his feet while he continued his speech:
"You could never truly connect to either Relena or Duo, nor did you want to. You took whatever you needed from each one, ever the pragmatic soldier. You kept bouncing between them as you deemed necessary, because that way the relationship was never really validated, never final, and you still reaped the benefits.
"You kept your distance... you still do. That's why you refer to her as 'Her'. Not because he used to call her that out of contempt, but because it makes it less personal, makes it easier for you to stay angry with her if she's just a 'Her' and not the person you fell in love with for so many reasons. And as for Duo... you let him get away. He did most of the work for you, and you let him. You never tried to bridge over the distance between the two of you, not then and not now when you need him even more to keep strong.
"In the end, you let them both go because you never truly wanted to seal the deal with either. You were afraid of losing the advantage of having them both. To lose the person who made you weak, human, and the person who made you strong, the soldier. That's why you won't make the choice, Heero. That's why you're still lost as you ever were."
Tears flooded Heero's eyes as he listened helplessly to the man's analysis of the deepest secrets ruling his soul. He watched Sloan numbly as the man circled back towards the ECT machine. The man began prepping it for another session and Heero just stared through tearful eyes, unable to care enough to protest against the torture that was to come.
"It was easier to reenlist... stay the unfeeling soldier," Sloan accused, flipping a switch; "to stay the person you've always shown others, but we both know that this isn't what you want." He turned to Heero, scowling grimly.
"You never wanted to be the soldier. You were forced into it. What you really want is to reintegrate. You want peace, acceptance and love... the kind of love you couldn't even get from your own mother. You seek the kind of love you've felt as Heero, only you want to be loved as Seiki... to just be you... at least, whatever you believe that person should have been if you'd been given the chance to live normally."
Sloan concluded by shoving the mouth-guard into Heero's mouth. Heero didn't fight it. He moaned meekly, turning his head the other way. He closed his eyes, bracing himself as the machine whirred to life. The electric currents washed over him slowly at first, just a low tingling sensation as they built up to a more intense blaze, though not as painful as before. There was no agony, just... dim pain.
"Tell me, Heero," Sloan's voice cut through the unpleasant stinging; "has Relena's role in Elizabeth's death ruled her out as a choice?"
Keeping his eyes closed, Heero shook his head 'no'. Tears streamed freely down his pale and bristly face.
"And has what happened at the museum ruled Duo out because he's a man?" Sloan pressed on.
Again he shook his head, crying silently.
Sloan deactivated the machine and Heero slumped into the chair mutely. He opened his eyes, turning to Sloan. The man was leaning over him, studying him closely.
"You have to decide which one of them can save you," the doctor whispered gently. He reached a hand to take the mouth-guard out. "I know you're afraid that if you let one of them down, then he or she would leave you for good," he whispered sympathetically and reached under the reclined chair, drawing out a folded gray wool blanket. He spread it open and covered Heero's naked body. He turned to him, smiling softly. Heero looked up at him with thankful, tear-bleary, eyes. He was so grateful to feel covered, warm... secured...
"You take great comfort knowing that you're loved by both of them," the man continued; "you're afraid to lose that... to lose the people who define who you are and go back to being that unloved little boy named Seiki. That's why you still go by your codename. As 'Heero', you are loved. 'Seiki' was never loved, and that's what you're truly afraid of. You have to conquer that fear. You have to let one of them down, Heero. Let go. Choose."
"I can't..." Heero croaked weakly, weeping like a child; "I... I need them both... why can't I have both!" he wailed brokenly, looking up at Sloan like a son seeking his father's guidance. The man smiled at him tenderly. He caressed Heero's forehead gently, pushing sweaty, tear-soaked bangs out of the young man's eyes.
"Because they don't want to share you, Heero," Sloan whispered, petting Heero's hair soothingly. "They can't... and you shouldn't expect them to. You have to choose. It's the only way you'll ever be whole. You'll never come to terms with who you are if you continue splitting yourself between the two of them."
"I can't..." Heero cried, shaking his head in denial; "I can't... can't choose... I... I need... need them both... I can't choose... please... just end this... please... don't make me choose... I can't..."
Sloan continued petting his hair gently, leaning over him like a loving father. "There's redemption in death, Heero," he said softly, "but not for you. Death is too easy... you've been ready for it your whole life. I cannot kill you, it won't accomplish anything. So just... choose," he whispered into Heero's ear softly, "and it will all be over."
Sloan pulled back, smiling warmly at his patient. He reached for the instruments' tray and picked up a glass of water. He brought the drink to Heero's mouth, spilling a few blissful drops over his chapped lips. Heero licked his lips, accepting the relieving dampness with gratitude. Sloan allowed him a few small sips and took the glass away.
"I'm afraid our time is up," he said, glancing at his wristwatch. "Lunchtime is almost over... I have to get back to the office." He picked up a syringe and a medicine vial from the tray and turned back to Heero, preparing the shot.
"We've made a lot of progress in this session," he stated as he injected more of the Magic drug into the IV bag. "I think that by the time I return, you'd be able to make your choice," he said, looking down at Heero's tearful face; "Christmas Day might turn out to be your lucky day after all..." he added with a sick smile, caressing Heero's hair softly.
"Can you do that for me, Heero? Will you think about it? Will you choose a path to redemption?"
Heero stared at him mutely for a moment, before nodding his head in compliance. He closed his eyes sadly, more tears squeezing out and soaking his unshaven cheeks.
"Good," Sloan approved and placed the empty syringe back on the tray. "Then I look forward to tonight," he said and turned to leave the room, leaving Heero to lie in darkness, contemplating his final choice.
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