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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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter 15: DNR
Bellevue Hospital was just down the street from the old BPH building. It was a Level-1 trauma center, always on stand-by to receive critically ill patients in need of rapid resuscitation. Two EMTs – a man and a woman – rushed into its hectic ER, pushing a wheeled gurney. A couple of doctors ran over to lead them inside.
"Twenty-four-year-old male, presumed overdose," the female paramedic announced, handing one doctor a chart while addressing his senior, who was already looking over the patient.
Heero was laid on the gurney, a bloody blue sheet covering him up to his chest and an oxygen mask over his airways; the mask was a part of an ambu-bag, which the other paramedic was squeezing repeatedly to keep Heero breathing. An electrode was glued to Heero's upper arm and another to the left side of his chest, just below the collarbone. They were both connected to a portable AED kit lying between his legs. The young Preventer agent lay convulsing on the gurney, his upper body jerking slightly as he was rolled towards one of the trauma rooms.
"Tried Narcan – no response," the woman continued briefing; "Had to shock him once on the way at 300. CPR was already given in the field. Prevees say he was shocked... using an ECT machine."
The senior doctor quirked an eyebrow at her. "No kidding," he muttered and the female paramedic smiled helplessly.
"Yeah," she agreed; "Did the trick, but then he coded again on the way. Stopped breathing a couple of times too so we had to bag him. BP is now 80 over 60. SATs 96 on 100%."
They pulled the gurney over alongside a bed.
"All right," the older doctor said and all four prepared to lift Heero off the gurney and place him on the bed. "On my count: one—"
The AED kit started beeping wildly.
"Stop!" the doctor called; "V-fib!" he announced urgently and reached two hands forward. The male EMT handed him the paddles out of the AED kit. "Charge to 300," the doctor ordered sternly and pressed the paddles against Heero's bloody chest.
"Clear!"
Heero jolted up and then slumped back down against the gurney.
The AED monitor returned to beeping steadily.
"There we go," the doctor sighed, satisfied, and handed the paddles back to the paramedic. They moved Heero to the bed and immediately began their assessments:
"All right, let's get a tox screen, an EKG, a CBC, a CMP and an X-ray right away..."
*     *     *
It was two a.m. and Christmas Day was over. The ER's waiting room was dim and empty. Rows upon rows of plastic chairs stood empty, aside from a single row occupied by a lone figure. Duo sat hunched forward at the far end of the row, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting against the heels of his hands, his fingers entwined; they were still smeared with Heero's blood. Some blood also lingered to the corner of his lips, though he had managed to clean most of it off his mouth and chin. Scrubbing the blood completely off his hands proved a bit more difficult, so he gave up for the time being. He will get cleaned up later, once he knew Heero was alright and he wasn't erasing the last trace of him.
With his head curled downward, his messily-cropped hair touched the collar of his black leather jacket. He suddenly found that he missed the weight of his long braid against his back. Had it still been there, surely it would have offered him some comfort at a time like this. He felt strangely naked without it. He hoped that sacrificing his precious braid counted for something; he didn't think he could handle losing both his braid and Heero at the same night.
Agent Shaw stood in the corner of the room, by the vending machines, speaking quietly into her phone. She was still dressed in tactical gear: black uniform and body armor under a black windbreaker marked 'Preventer'. Her long red hair was gathered into a tight ponytail. She was the only other person in the waiting room.
The sound of hurried footsteps could be heard; high heels clicking briskly against the floor as they approached. Duo looked up, raising his head and lowering his bloody hands down slowly.
Relena marched into the waiting room, looking pissed. Dressed in the same blue jeans and lavender sweater he had ripped off her body in the heat of drunken passion merely two hours ago, she stomped over to where he was sitting. He stood up, opening his mouth to speak, and then she slapped him – hard.
"You son of a bitch!" she spat furiously.
Agent Shaw gasped and ceased talking on her cellphone.
"Dammit bitch!" Duo exclaimed; "What da fuck?!"
"How dare you leave me behind like this?!" Relena demanded angrily; "You went to get him and you didn't even tell me?! I had to find out when it was all over!"
"Fuck, woman! Do you really think I had the time to walk you through it!? Jesus! I barely got there in time! Five more minutes and he woulda been dead! Jesus Christ Relena – what the Hell!" Duo muttered irately, rubbing his throbbing cheek.
Relena's eyes immediately noticed the blood on his hands and she calmed down somewhat, subdued by the painful realization of whose blood it was. There was some dry blood at the corner of Duo's lips too. She cast her gaze down mournfully, wincing as she looked the other way.
"He's right," Agent Shaw finally intervened and stepped between them. "I called you as soon as I could, Senator. There wasn't much time."
"He could've died and I wouldn't have been there," Relena admonished sternly, shifting her intense gaze between the two. "That's unacceptable."
"Well, he made it," Duo grunted, still rubbing his cheek. "No thanks to these guys," he added nastily, glaring at Shaw.
"And what about Sloan?" Relena asked him, her blue eyes burning with fury; "Did you get him?"
"He should count his fuckin' blessings and thank God I didn't get ma hands on him first," Duo growled. "He got away... but Shaw here didn't let him get very far."
"We got him," the redheaded agent nodded to concur. "He's being processed as we speak."
"And Heero?" Relena asked the next question dreadfully.
"They got him up in surgery," Duo said, sighing. "His heart keeps failing... he keeps slipping away all the time. They told us to wait outside... and no one's told us anything yet. He could be dead for all we know," he finished miserably, shaking his head in despair. "That bastard did a real number on him," he added bitterly; "Believe me it wasn't pretty walking into that room. You should thank me for not taking you along. I don't think I'll ever be able to get that image outta my head..."
"Any idea why Sloan did this?" Relena turned to Shaw. "How could he be right under your nose this whole time and no one even noticed?"
"I wish I had answers for you, Senator, but I don't," the redheaded agent apologized. "Malone is going to take Sloan into questioning. Hopefully he'll be able to shed some light on his motives. Psychos like to brag sometimes... and Sloan craves recognition. He'll talk, I'm sure."
"Frankly I don't give a shit why he did it," Duo muttered resentfully. "I just wanna see him fry for it. If Heero dies tonight I swear to God I—"
A doctor stepped into the waiting room and Duo fell abruptly silent. The three turned to greet the older man; he was the same senior trauma surgeon who had treated Heero when he was first rushed into the ER.
"How is he?" Relena asked anxiously.
"Stable," the man opened with the most crucial bit of information and they all calmed down a little. "He ODed," the doctor began to explain; "It was the drug overdose which slowed his respiratory system and heart rate. We ran a tox screen and it looks like he's been administered with a dangerous cocktail of illegal narcotics and SSRIs."
"Magic," Duo concluded easily, "That's some powerful shit."
The older man nodded. "Yes, so I hear. It's a very strong hallucinogenic, and it had a deadly affect when combined with the SSRI medication. The overdose caused serotonin toxicity, which is usually associated with multiple drug ingestion. In this case, it caused cardio-toxicity, meaning that Heero's heart muscles were damaged. His heart became weaker and not as efficient in pumping and therefore circulating blood," he elaborated further. "Given Heero's cardio-history, we had to place an AICD implant to help treat the arrhythmias."
"A pacemaker?" Relena whispered, horrified.
The doctor turned to face the worried young woman. "It's only temporary," he explained; "an AICD is a more sophisticated device than the pacemaker. It can also send defibrillation shocks and help treat sudden cardiac arrest," he clarified. "If we see that he remains stable over a long period of time, we'll remove it. Right now, we don't want to take any chances. His heart has suffered enough over the past two years."
Relena cast her eyes down shamefully, and Duo winced. Neither said a word.
"When can we see him?" Agent Shaw asked.
"We'll be keeping him sedated for a while and continue intravenous therapy of SSRIs, weaning him off of them slowly to avoid SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome and any cardiovascular side effects it might cause so his heart won't suffer any more damage," the doctor said. "We'll keep him under until the critical withdrawal symptoms are over."
"How long are we talking about here?" Duo asked.
"A few days at least," the man said, sighing. "We'll keep monitoring him closely and see how it goes. All in all, his physical injuries are not severe. The cuts are mostly superficial and we've set his broken fingers back in place."
"Was he raped?" Duo asked tensely and an awkward silence fell. He glared anxiously at the doctor, waiting for an answer. The older man cleared his throat and cast his gaze down to the floor briefly, before meeting Duo's eyes again.
"I'd have to say yes," he opened apprehensively; "a forensic medical examination didn't reveal any evidence of sperm cells and semen, but there was evidence of forcible penetration with a foreign object." [[i]]
Relena raised a hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes watering. Shaw looked mortified. Duo, however, was seething with rage.
"Even so," the doctor continued, "We've treated him with medication as a preventive measure to ensure against STDs," he said. "There was no internal damage."
"Jesus..." Duo let out, wincing. He clenched his fists tightly, glaring at the floor. "That son-of-a-bitch is gonna fucking pay for this," he grumbled angrily, directing his fierce gaze at Shaw. "So much for you lack of sexual component bullshit," he accused hatefully and the young agent looked away, ashamed.
Another tense silence fell, until the doctor spoke up again.
"As I said," he concluded, "our biggest concern at the moment is heart failure. Heero has been stable since he got here, so for now it's looking good." He paused for a moment, and then released a nervous sigh.
"There is this one other thing..." he said uneasily, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"What is it?" Relena asked in concern. Her eyes were still glistening with sorrowful tears.
The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Apparently, Heero's healthcare directive contains a DNR."
"DNR?" Duo arched an eyebrow, confused.
"Yes," the doctor repeated, turning to him. "It's a legal order: Do Not Resuscitate," he clarified. "Heero doesn't want any extreme measures to be taken in order to resuscitate or sustain his life."
"Son of a bitch..." Duo muttered in dismay.
The doctor scowled at him briefly, before turning to Relena again. "Unfortunately, the paramedics at the scene didn't know that, especially with CPR already underway, and neither did our ER staff. I must stress that we are not legally required to search patients for a DNR order. Usually people carry the order in a wallet-card, but..." he sighed. "We found out only a while ago, when accessing his healthcare directive through Preventer HR."
"So you went against his wishes," Relena surmised; "and now you're afraid we'll sue?" she spoke cynically, marveling at the untimely conversation. Duo burst into laughter.
"Oh, that's rich!"
"The order is legally binding," the doctor pointed out; "which means that if he codes again..."
"Wait a minute—" Duo cut in angrily; "you sayin' you'll just let him die?!"
"Chances are that the AICD implant will successfully restart his heart," the doctor assured them, "Unless you tell us to take it out."
"Da Hell we will!" Duo whirled around to look at Relena anxiously. "Right?"
The young senator offered the doctor a cold gracious smile. "He won't sue you, doctor," she assured the man calmly. "He might resent you for life, but he won't sue. Keep the pacemaker in."
"As much as your words reassure me, Senator, Legal still needs you to sign a liability waiver... as his next-of-kin."
Duo nearly flipped out when he heard that. He glowered accusingly at Relena – next-of-fucking-kin! Some next-of-kin she was if she let Heero sign his own death sentence! He would have jammed that damn DNR down Heero's throat before he let him hand it in!
"I'll be more than happy to do that and take the heat for you, doctor," Relena said calmly, ignoring Duo's scowling face and keeping her eyes on the doctor. "When can we go see him?"
"He'll be in recovery for another hour at most and then a nurse will show you to his room."
"Thank you, doctor," Shaw said, smiling kindly, and the man nodded in acknowledgment. He left.
"I have to make some calls," Agent Shaw apologized to the two. "I'll be back soon," she promised and stepped out of the waiting room as well, already dialing. Duo and Relena remained standing at the end of the large empty hall, staring at each other awkwardly.
Duo broke the uncomfortable silence with a heavy sigh and turned to have a seat. The plastic chair creaked as he settled back into it and resumed staring dully into thin air. Relena observed him quietly for a moment, her eyes lingering to the blood on his hands, before she sighed too and took the seat next to him. They settled in for a long wait.
For a long while, neither one of them moved. They simply stared quietly ahead, their expressions bleak and lost in thought. When Duo finally shifted, Relena glanced towards him, her eyes drawn to the movement of his hand. She focused her eyes on the clotted blood under his fingernails and felt a chill creep down her spine. She watched him reach into his jacket and pull out two small pill containers; the same ones he took from Heero's kitchen when he finally put the pieces of the puzzle together. He fumbled with them in both hands, turning them round and round in a mindless, nervous, game of fingers.
"I took them along in case I had to convince Shaw about Sloan," he explained; "turns out there was no need... one close look at the bastard's records and they all agreed with me."
He closed his fists tightly around the bottles.
"Son of a bitch's been poisoning Heero for God knows how long and no one even noticed. I don't get it... how could Heero trust him? How could he just take a bunch of pills and..." he sighed, shaking his head. "It musta been real bad if he was so desperate to get better..."
"I wouldn't exactly call it desperate," Relena sighed sadly. "He didn't really care. That's probably why he signed the DNR order. He just... he couldn't function without those things and taking them was a lesser evil, I suppose. If he was to live, he wanted to be stable so he could keep working, and I guess the end justified the means. Work was all he had. He was probably hoping to die in the line of duty one day, and he had to take those meds to ensure that he will," she finished with sad smile.
"Yeah well, I hate these God damn things," Duo mumbled with a sigh, still fumbling with the small bottles. "I guess I hate the idea of having all of my problems neatly labeled, cataloged and prescribed with just the right amount of medication. It just makes it feel so... lame. Like... I dunno. Like it ain't all that. Like this thing that feels so fucking huge inside of me is actually so... small. You can just take care of it with a little white pill and be done with it."
Relena observed him worriedly as he gazed at the bottles quietly for a moment.
"It pisses me off... being labeled as sick, yanno?" he muttered and clutched his fists tighter around the small bottles. "Everything feels so... BIG. It just fills everything and... Sometimes it's okay, but usually it's too much. People tell me it isn't supposed to be that way... but I never felt anything else. What I feel for him it's... it's everything. It... It doesn't leave much room for anything else. It drives me crazy... but if I wasn't so God damn crazy I never woulda figured it out. If doctors wouldn't have tried to shove those cursed things down my throat, I woulda looked at those pills and wouldn't have given it a second thought. I dunno..." he sighed, "Maybe... maybe I was meant to be this fucked-up. I wouldn't have been able to save Heero otherwise. He woulda died and no one woulda figured out who killed him. Maybe I was meant to love him so much I couldn't handle the size of it. Maybe this love is so fucking big so I won't miss it... so I won't be able to ignore it, even after all this time. Maybe this crazy is part of God's plan for me... for both of us. Maybe that's what saves us..."
Relena offered him a small, sad, smile. She tapped on his leg lightly, trying to give some reassurance. "Maybe," she agreed, whispering. "It's a comforting thought. If you hadn't been there to resuscitate him, they would have let him go because of that damn DNR. You got his heart going again and they carried on from where you left off... saving him. Maybe it was meant to be."
"Yeah, well, coulda fooled me..." Duo muttered bitterly and shoved the pill bottles back into his jacket pockets. "Fooled me twice, actually, because in the end... Heero chose you again." He turned to her; blue eyes burning accusingly. "Maybe this big love of mine is only meant to be one-sided," he mumbled sadly; "Maybe it's just meant for me, so I would save him... and bring him back to you."
She bowed her head, looking away shamefully.
"Am I right?" he asked and Relena closed her eyes sadly.
"Sloan said Heero called you in the end."
"He did," she confirmed, sighing. She opened her eyes, pulled out her smartphone and stared at it, her blue eyes shimmering with tears.
"He tried to call, but I didn't answer," she mumbled guiltily. "Can you imagine what he must have thought? His last few moments and I... He could have died thinking I had abandoned him." Her voice trembled as she fought back the tears. "God, this is..." She heaved a burdened sigh. "Three times he called and we were too busy having..." her voice trailed off and she shook her head in self-reprimand. She opened her eyes and stared ahead ruefully.
"I'll never forgive myself."
Duo studied her face in guilty silence. He cast his gaze down, ashamed.
"He left me a message," Relena suddenly added and glanced down at her phone again.
Duo swallowed the lump in his throat. "What did he say?" he asked dreadfully.
"I don't know," she admitted; "I didn't have the heart to listen to it yet," she said and swiped her finger across the touch-screen, unlocking it. Duo grimaced when he saw her lock-screen wallpaper: a picture of Heero and their daughter. He shivered, feeling awful. He watched her French-manicured fingers work the phone, entering the call-log. There were three missing calls listed, all of them from Heero, and one voicemail message waiting. She pressed on the icon to open it. The phone dialed her voicemail box. He wondered if she was going to let him hear it too, but then she gave the mailbox the order to delete the message without even playing it.
Duo gaped at her, stunned. "What did you do that for?!" he exclaimed. She had just deleted Heero's last words! Even if that wasn't really his final message, he still thought it would be... and she deleted it without even listening to what he had to say! That was beyond disrespectful. It was... appalling!
"How can you do this to him?"
Relena tucked her phone back into her pocket. "I have to," she said, sighing, "It's for his own good..." she added and stood up. Duo remained seated, looking up at her in confusion.
"Are you leaving?" he asked, baffled.
"Yes," she said; "I'll sign their stupid legal papers and then I'll go."
"But—but... why?"
"Because I can't be here when he wakes up," she explained. "One look into his eyes and I'll stay. I have to leave now."
"But—but—that don't make no sense!"
She smiled sadly. "Of course it does," she said; "You're the one he needs to see. We've been over this. It's my turn to step aside. I'm not leaving him a choice."
"But you're the one he called! His last words were to you... Heero chose you, Relena... not me. I can't help him the way you do. I never could."
She slipped a hand into her jeans pocket again. This time, she pulled out a key – Heero's apartment key. She handed it to Duo.
"Take good care of him, you hear?" she requested, tears in her eyes. "He isn't going to let you... but promise me that you will."
Duo reached up numbly, accepting the key. He closed his fist around it tightly, still gaping at Relena.
"He's gonna ask for you..." he mumbled, still dazed; "He'll wanna know why he's still alive... what am I s'pose to say?"
Relena smiled sadly. "Tell him you love him... and that you're not going to leave," she said, shedding sorrowful tears. "And when he pushed you away, you push back harder," she added with a wistful smile, and walked away.
*     *     *
Darkness was wrapped around him like a thick snug blanket. A tremendous weight was pushing down against him, keeping him under. His body was numb, heavy and warm; solid and completely deadened. All he could feel was warmth. It tingled in his flesh, pumping through his veins. It was unpleasant warmth; an ill kind of heat pulsing in his limbs. There was a dull ache in his chest; it burnt. Something cold, scratchy and uncomfortable was pinned under his nose. Little by little more sensations began to register: faint noises, distant and muffled; a steady beep and the hiss of airflow. He could feel the cool jet of air tickle his nostrils. It smelled like plastic. He tried to turn his head away from the distasteful scent, but it would not budge. He would have moaned, but his throat was parched, as dry as sand. His tongue felt very swollen. He was bone dry; so thirsty...
He tried to move, but his body was too numb. All he managed was a slight twitch of his fingers. They were stiff and aching; a few of them were caught in something tight. He could feel something soft under his fingertips... the touch of wool. A sluggish smile spread over his cracked lips. The blanket's back, he realized with great relief.
He wanted to hold it, to make sure no one would take it away again, but his fingers wouldn't cooperate. The best he could do was pinch the fabric, nothing more, but it was still something. He held onto it the best he could, slowly drifting back to sleep.
Someone stepped closer; a sound of footsteps approaching from the shadows. Frightened that someone was coming to take his blanket away, he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids were terribly heavy; he could barely lift them half-way. He stared dully at the darkness.
A hazy figure in white emerged from the blackness overhead. It leaned over him, examining something beyond his line of sight. He gaped dazedly at the figure, watching it reach its hands towards the IV bag hanging from above. A distant light caught in the clear liquid inside, illuminating the bag just enough so he could see its faint outlines in the dark.
"Oh God!" a female voice suddenly gasped and he blinked, stunned. His eyes darted towards the figure's face. She was a young woman... a nurse? She looked upset.
"You're not supposed to be up yet," she whispered anxiously, checking the IV drip again. "I'll go get the doctor," she mumbled and disappeared back into the shadows. He turned his head aside limply, watching her leave. A door swung shut behind her, concealing what little light had poured into his darkness. Silence fell, aside from the steady beeping and the low hiss of air. He exhaled a weary breath, pinched the blanket a bit tighter to make sure it was still there, and closed his eyes, drifting back to sleep. He was so thirsty...
*     *     *
Duo walked down the aisle leading towards the grand golden-white sanctuary at Saint Peter's Church, looking up in awe. White statues of Christ and various Saints guarded the sanctuary from both sides. A painting of the Crucifixion hung over the altar, flanked by statues of St. Peter to the left and St. Paul to the right.
The church was empty; the pews stood completely bare. A glorious chandelier hung above the nave, illuminating the great hall with a bright atmosphere of holy grandeur. Stained-glass windows of brilliant flowing color displayed medallions and religious figures against a delicate luminous background of gold and white. Duo marched slowly towards the altar, his eyes fixed on the painting of Jesus hanging from the cross, watching the imposing picture with great trepidation.
"The last words of a dying man can tell a lot about his life," a deep male voice vibrated through the empty church. It carried a thick Scottish accent. "These words reflect a true understanding of God and mankind..."
Duo stopped, searching for the speaker.
"A man's last words may be fearful, resentful or senile, however rarely confident," the Scottish voice continued and Duo recognized the scornful tone. He turned around to face the chancel again. An old man was standing by the pulpit, a priest. His black outfit was torn and dusty, like he had just crawled out of smoking rubble. Duo gaped at the man, aghast as though he was seeing a ghost, and perhaps he was, because he was looking at Father Maxwell.
"But to confess need, weakness or injury opens up our heart for God to heal," Father Maxwell continued to sermonize. He was speaking to an invisible congregation. His eyes didn't acknowledge Duo's presence; he was looking straight past him as though he wasn't there.
"Resentment and anger say 'I'll get even', or 'God doesn't care', but a hopeful and trusting person confesses his need and weakness to God. If not in life, then in his final moments..."
"The old man sure couldn't get enough of preaching about the Crucifixion, now could he?" another male voice commented dryly. Duo turned towards it and saw Father Dixon sitting slouched casually on one of the empty pews, looking up at the sanctuary. "Scared the shit outta you kids, didn't he?" He turned to Duo, smiling cockily.
"...and so Pontius Pilate who was thus instructed by the Jews, sentenced Jesus to be scourged and crucified," old Sister Ignatius informed the class with her dry monotonous voice and rolling Irish accent; "They tied our Lord to a post and whipped him on his back, tearing at his skin, and a crown of thorns was put on his head..."
Always the joker, he had mock-imitated the ridiculously stern manner in which she carried herself, and the class laughed. Sister Ignatius turned from the blackboard, scowling.
"Who finds this funny!" she demanded strictly. Her Irish accent reached a high-pitched tone when angry that made the class snigger.
"Who? Who is so amused at the suffering of Christ who sacrificed his life for your sins?!" And her eyes immediately fell on him. He grinned, giving her one of his infamous Devil-may-care smiles; a smile that drove the Sisters nuts.
"But Sister, if Jesus sacrificed his life for my sins, isn't it a big waste unless I sin a lot?" he asked, beaming proudly at his own witty remark, and the students laughed again.
Sister Ignatius, however, was far from pleased. "I can see that I have not imparted to you the true nature of Christ's suffering," she scolded darkly. "Since I have obviously failed to illustrate for you the nature of the sacrifice suffered by our Lord, I have no choice but to demonstrate it so you may better understand what you mock so arrogantly," she announced, snarling meanly, and the class moaned in protest, some students glaring at him accusingly.
"I will need a volunteer," the Sister declared in her disgusting self-righteous way. "How about you, Duo?" she asked, smiling coldly. "You're a strong boy, you God awful child. How about you help us examine the scourge and crucifixion of Christ in a more tangible manner..."
He was only six or so and by the time Sister Ignatius was done with him he was more than eager to repent:
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he cried in front of the whole class. His peers sat in horrified silence, their little faces pale with terror as they watched him shed blood and tears under Sister Ignatius' flagellum whip; thongs of leather ripping the clothes off his back, cutting into the flesh until the skin of his back sagged off his body and hung down in ribbons. She had beaten his little body to a pulp. His blood-soaked shirt fused to the dripping wounds on his back, ripping his flesh further when he tried to move away from the whip. Torrents of pain exploded in his brain until his very soul cried out:
"I'm sorry! It's my fault! I'm sorry! I did that to Jesus! I killed him! It's my fault he got nailed to the cross... I did that to him! I did it... I did it... I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I won't sin again... I'm sorry!"
"What better way to make sure you damn brats repent your sins, right?" Father Dixon muttered and Duo blinked, dazed. He gaped at the old priest, too mortified to speak or move. Father Maxwell had banished Sister Ignatius from the church, but the damage has already been done. He will forever bear the scars she had inflicted on his body and soul with the lash of her whip; from then on, guilt has been a constant companion.
Dixon smiled in sympathy. "We have a lot to feel guilty about, don't we, Duo?"
He shivered and looked away, his eyes falling on Father Maxwell again.
He remembered stepping into the church one day after Sunday Mass. The main hall was empty and he didn't quite recall what he was doing there all alone, but he caught Father Dixon, then a young man, and one of the Sisters together. Dixon had her pinned against the wall, leaning over her, his hand up her gown, exposing a white thigh. They were giggling like a couple of school children when suddenly Sister Catherine gasped and stopped whatever they were doing.
"Robert," she whispered, stifling a laugh, "there's a child watching..."
And Father Dixon turned to him, smiling slyly. "Let him watch," he said and turned to the Sister again, leaning in closer. "He might learn something..." he added playfully and winked at him while kissing Sister Catherine's neck.
They were all sinners... all of them. The church was a place of sin just like any other Hellhole on L2. Father Maxwell was just too stubborn to see it. He only saw the good in people, and he had died for his blind faith, bringing the whole church down with him. Good people and bad... they all burnt together that day; all except Dixon and him – the compulsory survivors, the only two who weren't there during the massacre.
"...Our Lord's final words," Father Maxwell was still preaching to an empty nave; "his seven final statements from the cross, offer eternal confidence. There is the promise of forgiveness, the promise of Heaven, the promise of family, the promise of God's watchfulness, the promise of resources and resolve, and the promise of God's sovereign care..."
Father Dixon scoffed insolently. Duo ignored him.
"Keeping that in mind, we can gain a new and greater appreciation for Jesus' fifth statement from the cross," the old priest claimed; "It was a simple statement. He didn't cry out with a loud voice. In fact, it was probably said softly: 'I thirst'."
Duo felt a painful pang in his chest, but he didn't know why.
"There are times in our lives, maybe long periods of time, when we may suffer in very deep physical ways," Father Maxwell continued. "When our bodies scream and cry out with the hope to be renewed. At times like these, we can have hope, because in our physical pain we are not alone, for God himself has suffered. We must understand that and hang on to this precious truth in times of dire need and despair. We may be shocked to hear that our Savior cried out just as you and I would. Yet, the suffering of Jesus was real. He had no special exemptions, not because He was the son of God. In fact, those exemptions for suffering were taken on by Jesus, so we wouldn't have to suffer them. His experience of physical pain was as deep and real as any that we would experience. He felt thirst just as you and I would... only his thirst was not just of the physical kind..."
Duo swallowed, suddenly feeling parched.
"Hell is a place of eternal thirst," Father Maxwell warned; "There is no thirst in heaven, but those who are condemned to suffer in Hell for eternity will forever thirst, not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually. All of mankind has a thirst for something: for fulfillment, for satisfaction, a thirst for forgiveness, a thirst for God... a thirst for love. The real question is: how long are you going to thirst? You can continue as you are and end up thirsting for all eternity, or you can trust Jesus as your Savior and never thirst again!"
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Duo heard his child-self cry out in agony; the small and tortured voice echoed within the large hall. "It's my fault! I did it! I killed him! I'm sorry!"
He dropped to his knees in front of the altar, crying. He looked up at the painting of the Crucifixion and felt his whole being shudder with fear and unimaginable guilt.
"Oh God..." he wept mournfully, "I'm so sorry..."
His eyes fell down to look upon the Communion Table. Heero was laid there like a slain lamb; nude and bloody, head and limbs sprawled lifelessly on the altar... only it wasn't an altar, but the reclined dentist-like chair. Heero's flesh was sliced and bleeding, square iron nails driven into his wrists and into the arch of each foot. He lay there in extremis, his compressed heart struggling to pump thick, heavy, sluggish blood to the tissues... but failing. His heart was too far gone... and it was all his fault.
"Oh God... Heero... I'm so sorry!" he called out brokenly, sobbing. "Please don't die... I'm sorry! I did this to you... I'm so sorry... I'm sorry!"
His eyes sought the painting of his Lord again and when he looked up at the sanctuary, he saw writing in blood spread all the way across the holy shrine. The words were spelled in Heero's blood:
WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID HE MIGHT ASK YOU TO DO?
And he realized that God's challenge was not to step away as Relena had done, but to stay; to give everything he had been holding back on... and then some. What he was being asked to do was to face the guilt and stay by Heero's side. It was the only way to atone for his sins. It was the only way to save his condemned soul.
Duo woke up with a jerk.
He was sitting on a row of waiting chairs just outside Heero's hospital room, leaning back in sleep and holding his black leather jacket spread across his torso like a blanket. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest. He cleared his throat and straightened up, running a hand through his messy short hair a couple of times.
A nurse suddenly came out of Heero's room, running. He stood up.
"Is something wrong?" he asked anxiously. His voice was trembling, still suffering from the heart-wrenching effects of his nightmare.
The nurse stopped and turned to him. "His sedation wore off earlier than it should have," she explained fretfully; "I'm calling the anesthesiologist," she added and hurried towards the nurses' station, picking up a phone.
Duo watched her for a moment longer, before turning to look at Heero's room. The door was closed; a small window at its center offered only a view of darkness. He hesitated and then stepped closer. Dread pounded in his chest much as it had while walking down St. Peter's aisle in his dream.
He stopped in front of the closed door, his hands on the handle, but didn't dare to enter. Images flashed through his head: Heero lying slaughtered on the altar... sacrificed for his sins, suffering for his abandonment.
"Jesus..." he mumbled under his breath, closing his eyes; "Get a grip..." he whispered in self-reproached, opened his eyes again, and pushed down the handle.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light pouring in from the hallway, and a soft green glow of a monitor above the bed; it was registering Heero's vitals. There was low beeping sound, indicating a steady pulse. Duo took a deep breath, and entered the room.
The door closed behind him. It clicked softly as it was shut under its own momentum. Hearing it, Heero opened his eyes again. He squinted against the darkness and tried to make something out of the faint outlines he saw everywhere. He pinched the soft wool under his fingertips, just to make sure it was still there.
Another figure emerged from the shadows, shrouded in darkness as it approached slowly. Relief washed over him when he recognized its familiar outlines. It was Duo. He was back.
He smiled faintly, recalling the kiss. He struggled to lift a hand up so he could touch Duo's face, but he couldn't; it was too heavy. He slumped, sinking against a soft surface, fatigued. He closed his aching eyes and licked his chapped lips, moaning.
"C-can... can you... get me... some... water?" he croaked weakly, his voice barely audible.
"Sure," Duo whispered and turned into the shadows. Heero smiled to himself, comforted by the thought that Duo was playing along this time, pretending that he was willing to quench his terrible thirst instead of just reminding him that he was nothing but a dream.
Something wet touched his lips and he gasped, eyes snapping open in shock. Two damp fingers were smearing cold water against his cracked lips; real water... pure heaven. A hand slipped behind his head, lifting it gently. Something cool was served to his lips and liquid was carefully poured into his gaping mouth. He coughed, sputtering water, and his eyes darted up towards the young man leaning over him. He could see Duo's features so clearly... he was completely out of the shadows now. His face was different... older; somber and mature. The braid was gone. Duo's hair was cut to shoulder-length, messy and uneven as though it had been cropped hastily by a butcher's knife.
This wasn't Shadow-Duo, Heero realized with horror. This Duo was real.
HE'D SPIT RIGHT IN YOUR FACE ONCE HE SEES YOU, the Voice reminded him cruelly and he panicked, searching the darkness for its source. The monitor above the bed beeped erratically, registering a dangerously accelerating heart rate.
HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU.
Heero wheezed loudly, his breath erratic, eyes shifting anxiously around the dark room. He couldn't see anything. The Voice was coming from inside his own head!
DUO WOULD NEVER WANT A WHORE! It laughed, taunting, and he clamped his ears shut, trying to block it out. His whole body shook uncontrollably. The Voice was still laughing.
HE NEVER WANTED YOU. NO ONE EVER DOES, SEIKI...
Heero gasped loudly, choking; he was being strangled by the Voice.
YOU ARE NOT IMPORTANT. YOU NEVER WERE AND NEVER WILL BE – TO ANYONE.
The monitor was beeping frantically.
"Oh God... Heero – what's wrong?" Duo called out helplessly.
An alarm blared loudly. A doctor and nurse burst into the room, flipping on the lights.
"What the Hell happened?!" the doctor barked and pushed Duo aside. The nurse was already adjusting Heero's oxygen supply and securing the NC tube under his nose.
"I dunno!" Duo exclaimed, backing away from the bed; "I just gave him some water..." he mumbled quietly, confused. His own heart was palpitating strongly in his chest. He faltered, dizzy, and had to lean against the wall for support. He stood in the back of the room and watched guiltily as the two tried to undo whatever he had done to Heero.
*     *     *
Heaving a tired sigh, Duo collapsed against the bathroom vanity in his hotel room, supporting himself with two outstretched arms. He hung his head low, his eyes closed in fatigue. Housekeeping must have already paid a visit to his room that morning, because the sink and vanity were clean. His hacked braid was gone, but they left his cellphone and silver cross necklace resting by the soap dispenser.
He raised his head up slightly, looking miserably at his refection in the mirror. A stranger was staring back; he hardly recognized himself with this short and messy hairdo. He looked terrible, utterly horror-struck. Clotted blood blemished the corner of his mouth; he stared at it the longest.
The feeling of filth and blood clinging to his skin became too much, suffocating him. Suddenly he became aware that his clothes were also stained with it. The black sweater he wore under his leather jacket was soaked with blood, as were his faded black jeans. Heero's blood... it was everywhere.
He wriggled out of his jacket hastily, throwing it to the floor, and then raised his blood-drenched sweater above his head, revealing his well-toned torso. The blood had soaked straight through the knitted fabric; streaks of red smeared across his abdomen and chest. He threw the sweater to the floor, scrambled out of his jeans and entered the shower stall. He turned the water on the hottest setting he could bear, and simply stood there under the powerful stream, exhausted.
Torrents of hot water beat down against his scarred back. The old welts throbbed as though fresh again. He turned the faucet to a hotter setting, trying to scald the pain away and forget all about the faith that was brutally bestowed upon him with the lash of a whip.
He scrubbed the blood off his skin harshly, rubbing a bar of soap hard against his red and raw skin. He picked the clotted blood out from under his fingernails almost obsessively, desperate to wash away every last trace of Heero's blood off his hands. It didn't ease the guilt one bit, but at least he could erase any physical evidence of it.
The water flooding the white shower basin at his feet turned red. He watched the bloody water circle down the drain, staring at it dully.
The doctors said Heero had suffered a panic attack, not a cardiovascular event as they had first feared when entering the room. Apparently, he was quite prone to those nowadays. Anxiety Disorder, they said; his medical records indicated that he had experienced a severe attack not long before his abduction. They then claimed that the anesthesia wore off because they gave him a lower dosage, due to his compromised cardiac function, and that in the midst of the drug-induced confusion, Heero simply lost it. They had to sedate him again, using a larger dose with hopes that it will keep him under for a few days without also endangering his weakened heart.
A weakened heart... Duo couldn't bear listening anymore. How can anyone refer to Heero's heart as weak? How can the heart of the strongest, most resilient and resolved person he has ever known – that once zealous boy who used to fuck his brains out in the shower between battles – be weak? After all Heero has been through, after all his heart has endured, shouldn't they commend it for being strong? How dare they call it weak! It will never be weak, no matter what medical terms they threw at it.
No; Heero's heart will never be weak, never falter. And such a strong and loving heart was worthy of all the love in the whole fucking world. So if it's Relena he wanted to love, then so be it. He will respect that choice; a choice Heero had made in blood and tears. Disregarding it would be cruel.
He just wished that he could step into the same room as Heero without causing him further heartache and distress. Heero had panicked because he recognized him, of that he was sure. His presence had brought on an onslaught of anxiety that threatened Heero's heart. He wouldn't have reacted that way if Relena was there when he first opened his eyes. He will wake up again in a few days and she still won't be there. That bitch! She left and he would have to be the one to break Heero's heart with news of her departure. God damn her... why was she doing this? He was ready to step aside again, no hard feelings this time, but she left. She left Heero to him. Why the Hell would she do that when she knew she was the one Heero called? If she truly loved him, then why cause him more suffering?
"Oh God..." Duo moaned, closing his eyes in despair. He hated himself so much for wishing her back, but Heero needed her... and he would do anything for him right now. Anything. Maybe if he left she'll have no choice but to come back. She won't leave Heero all alone. She won't.
Duo closed the water and stepped out of the shower. He stood in front of the foggy mirror, naked, and stared at his reflection numbly until the steam cleared, forming into fat droplets of condensation. He glared at his mirror image with a pair of fierce and resolute blue eyes.
His soul be damned... he will do this for Heero's sake.
Glancing down at the vanity, he looked his cross, lying next to his cellphone; discarded. He studied it for a moment, his expression torn. He slipped the thin silver necklace off the smooth ceramic surface. Holding the cross in his hand, he closed his fist around it tightly and looked up at his reflection again. Looking himself in the eye, he fastened the necklace around his neck. He let go and the pendant dangled over his chest, the weight of the cross pulling down against his neck. He stared at its reflection, feeling numb inside yet somehow... whole again.
Duo turned to his cellphone next. He snatched it off the vanity and unlocked the screen with a swipe of his finger. It was showing 13 missing calls and 6 voicemail messages waiting. He dialed the voicemail box, feeling anxious for some reason. He couldn't help but hope to hear a message from Heero and gain the perfect excuse to take back the promise he had just made in front of God, and himself.
A monotonous female voice began to dictate the messages and Duo felt his stomach flip nervously.
"You have. Six. Messages. Message. One. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Five. PM:"
"Duo, it's Shaw. I've been trying to get a hold of you. It's urgent. Please call me when you get this message. There's been another call."
"Message. Two. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Twelve. Past. Seven. PM:"
"Duo, uh... hi. It's me, uhm, Roz." There was a short hesitant pause. "I just wanted to call 'n thank you for lettin' Tomás stay over this Christmas. I get real busy this time a year and... well, I appreciate it. He really liked all those soda pops you left for him in the fridge... so thanks. I didn't see you workin' at the soup kitchen this year... you're outta town? Are you sure it's okay Tomás is stayin' over this whole time? I know you left him a key 'n everything, but it feels like too much, so... just makin' sure you're cool with it. Merry Christmas, Duo. And thank you for everything."
"Message. Three. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Seventeen. Past. Eight. PM:"
"Duo, it's Shaw again. Senator Darlian said you're not answering her calls either. We've been trying to get a hold of you all evening. I hope you're not out there doing anything stupid. Please give me a call as soon as you hear this."
"Message. Four. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Nine. Thirty. PM:"
"We missed you at Mass this Christmas." It was Father Dixon; "Word has it that you left L2 a few days back. You didn't tell me you were planning a trip... I hope nothing's wrong. Hey, is this about that guy you were telling me about? If it is then good going, kid. I didn't think you have it in you to do more than just whine about it, and I can't think of a better reason to leave this Hellhole than for love. Still, it don't look like you've been tying up any loose ends around here, so... what gives? You better not be using again – you hear me? If I hear that the only reason you lost touch was because you were lying stoned out of your mind someplace, I'm gonna hang you, okay?" He paused for a moment. "Well, wherever you are, I hope you're having a less shitty Christmas than you had last year. Call me when you can. I'm not just your dealer, you know. God bless."
"Message. Five. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Thirteen. Past. Eleven. PM:"
"Hey Duo, it's Hilde. Look uh, I know it's been ages since we talked, but it's Christmas 'n all and... well, I know how tough this time of year can get, so... I'm just checking up on you, I guess. I heard about the Pit... are you all right? Did you lose anyone you know? I hope you're not doing anything stupid because of what happened. I told you that if I have to fly over nine-months pregnant to get your junkie ass out of trouble one more time, I swear to God you'll never see my face again afterwards." She sighed. "...I mean it this time, Duo. I'm going to be a mother soon... I can't keep doing this every time you fall. I love you to death, but I swear to God I'll kill you if you're back in the habit. Call me when you get the chance so I'll know I'm just frettin' over nothing... hormones 'n all, yanno? And please don't be high when you do. Jason doesn't like me speaking to you as it is."
"Message. Six. Received on. December. Twenty. Five. At. Twenty. To. Midnight:"
"Hello Duo, it's... it's Clara. I didn't see you at Jesse's funeral and there's been no word from you since. I hope you're not avoiding me. You used to come over every Christmas... even after Joe..." She heaved a miserable sigh. "I hope you don't feel the need to stay away now that Jesse's gone too. I pray that you're well. Please know that I harbor no hard feelings. What happened at the Pit was nobody's fault. Jesse did this to himself... there was nothing you could've done. You should count yourself lucky that you didn't sink as low as he had. In the very least, Joe was able to talk enough sense into you and make sure you'd be able to keep your head above water on your own. Jesse wasn't that lucky... and it's not your fault. Anyway, I'd like to hear back from you. Let me know how you're doing. Joe would have liked it if we kept in touch, I think... especially now. So call back, alright? I'll be waiting."
"End of messages," the monotonous female voice announced briskly; "To replay press..."
Duo hung up, disappointed. Those messages were just a reminder of the life he had put on hold, and not much of a life at that. They were nothing more than a few courtesy calls from the people he left behind on L2. Loose ends, as Dixon called them; it would take less than a day to tie them all up and leave that shitty life behind. He wasn't fooled by the heartfelt messages. People were only calling because it was Christmas. On any other day of the year, his voicemail box would have been empty. He didn't really have anyone... well, maybe except Dixon. Why, even the guys from work didn't bother calling, and why should they? He always kept his distance, being physically there with them while hanging out, but never really being there. Still, he couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment; maybe because deep down he wanted to hear some genuine care, not just friendly obligation, or maybe just because he had somehow hoped that he would also get a message from Heero. He shouldn't have expected one, but he did. Stupid asshole.
Heero really freaked out when he saw him. He obviously didn't expect to see him there, so why would there be a message? Heero didn't think of him in his final hour, and why should he? He was used to having Relena by his side. It was her Heero had called in the end. It was her he wanted and now he was stuck with him, the poor bastard. Fate was cruel that way, wasn't it? Even after so much hurting, neither one of them got what they want. They came so close and somehow everything got messed up anyway. Heero didn't want him there and, knowing that, Duo didn't really want to go back into that hospital room either. The last thing he wanted was to cause the man he loved more heartache. Heero was heartbroken as it were.
He sighed, looking down at his phone. He entered the call-log so that the missing calls icon would vanish from the main screen. His eyes skimmed over the log briskly:
Shaw... (3)
Relena... (2)
Dixon... (2)
Hilde... (1)
Clara... (2)
He gaped at the last line: Heero... (3)
Duo raised his head to stare at his reflection, stupefied.
*     *     *
Late at night, a sleek and modern luxury apartment stood dark, silent and empty. A large panoramic window offered a stunning view of Washington DC at night; the city lights reflected on the polished hardwood floor, painting it with drops of vivid colors.
The sound of keys sliding into the lock disturbed the heavy silence. The front door opened and a pair of stylish high heel shoes tapped quietly on the refined floorboards, stepping inside. A small travel-bag was dropped, landing next to them with a loud 'thud!' A French-manicured hand pushed the elegant door close. It was shut with a quiet 'click'.
Exhaling a long heavy breath, Relena leaned against the door, closing her eyes. She inhaled deeply; trying to control her breathing, for her chest was trembling with sobs that were aching to come out. Eventually she gave in, and a shaky whimper breached past her trembling lips. She couldn't hold back anymore and burst into tears. She stood there, leaning against the door, facing a large and empty apartment, and cried so hard that she was screaming out in pain.
*     *     *
A nurse walked into Heero's dark hospital room, leaving the door open as she stepped in quietly. The fluorescent lights from the hallway provided just enough illumination to see what she was doing. She approached the bed, checked that he was sleeping, and then turned to change the nearly empty IV bag with a fresh one.
On the bed, Heero lay on his back, covered by a blue wool blanket. He was deep asleep; his head lolled to the side and his messy long bangs falling over his closed eyes. An NC tube was placed in his nostrils. His scabbing lips were slightly agape in slumber, a bit of drool gathering at the corner of his mouth, some sliding down his stubble-covered chin. His limp arms rested over the soft blue blanket; they were bandaged tightly, and a few of his fingers were set in splints. He was holding a bit of fabric pinched between broken fingers.
The nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm and took a measure. She wrote it down on his chart. She looked at his monitor, noting his heart rate as well. She jotted it down too and placed the chart back in its holder hanging on the bed. She left the room, closing the door quietly.
*     *     *
JFK was the only international airport in the New York City area that also served as a spaceport. A whole section of the massive airport was designed for space travel, complete with its own especially-designated runways, space shuttle hangars and terminal.
Duo stepped off the JFK AirTrain, holding his tattered old duffle bag. He plodded into the spaceport terminal, a dour expression on his hard features. He made his way through a horde of faceless people, heading for the airlines' check-in desks. He stopped by a desk under the name of United Interstellar and handed a pleasant-looking female clerk his ticket and Colony passport. She accepted them with a smile.
"Going home, sir?" she asked politely as she examined his passport.
"Yeah," he grunted, staring numbly at her hands clicking away at her computer station.
"Must've been hard being away on Christmas," she commented ignorantly and handed him back his passport and boarding pass, smiling pleasantly. He gawked at her dully for a moment, before taking back his documents. "Yeah," he mumbled dismissively and tucked the passport into his black leather jacket.
"Do you have anyone waiting for you up there?" she continued making useless conversation even as he prepared to leave.
"Nope," he replied dryly, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Just some loose ends..." he added cynically and the young woman's face suddenly seemed uneasy. She offered him another gracious smile.
"Have a pleasant flight, sir."
"Right," Duo returned the gesture halfheartedly and proceeded towards the departures gatehouse.
*     *     *

[i] Forcible penetration with a foreign object is identical to rape. It is punishable by New York State Penal Law as Aggravated Sexual Abuse in the First Degree.
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