The Elements
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male › Heero/Duo
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
37
Views:
3,827
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male › Heero/Duo
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
37
Views:
3,827
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 31
Disclaimer: Neither Gundam Wing nor its characters are mine. They are the property of their respective owners. Rhys (when he shows up) is not mine. He is the property of Laurel K. Hamilton. The Sidhe, the way I use them, are Laurel K. Hamilton\'s interpretation of the faeries from mythology. If I use Hands of Power, which I might, they are the creation of Laurel K. Hamilton, too.
Pairings: 2x1 (eventually), 6+1, 5+1, implied 3+4, R+H, H+9+H, others to be named Rating: NC-17, Warnings: AU, OOC, probably lemon, semi Duo- bastardization (don\'t worry, he gets over it), angst, NICE RELENA Chapter 18, 3x1 lemon, but don\'t worry, it\'s just sex. Lots of death, too, so maybe I should put DEATH FIC. Sorry I didn’t put it sooner, but I just kind of got away with me.
//blah// denotes thought
> denotes flashback or Memory
Archived in full at: mediaminer.org, gundam-wing-universe.net, and adult-fanfiction.org, and fandomination.net, and http://www.angelfire.com/gundam/japaniizunosei/index.html
R version archived at: fanfiction.net
This chapter dedicated to my ever wonderful Figment.
The Elements
Chapter 31
December 24th
Several months passed, the Riders grew more and more in power as time went by. All of Quatre’s sisters died and his mother. His brother was hanging onto his sanity with a string and duct tape, and his father had just been diagnosed with cancer. It wasn’t even bad cancer–just a skin cancer, which could be easily removed–but with the current state of the world–tens fo millions died every day from hunger, disease, and war–there weren’t enough resources to cure him. All doctors, all extra food, all *everything* went to the war fund, to the military.
Quatre snapped after Milliardo told him about his father. He couldn’t help but think, if–if only!–the cancer had been found in July, in August, in November, even, when the war had just been heating up, maybe his father would’ve been saved. Instead, he would just be another casualty of war, just another statistic.
Quatre always hated statistics; he’d always been bad at it in school, when there had still been school. Of course, there wasn’t any school anymore. The war (World War III, they called it, between every country in the world. Canada, surprisingly, was currently winning–they had no allies. Nobody did.) Took precedence over everything, not to mention the fact that so many people had died, there weren’t enough teachers to teach. Quatre decided he’d become a statistic, even though he hated them.
Quatre hated everything these days. He hated Death. He hated War. He hated Famine. He hated Plague. He hated trees. He hated grass. He hated this stupid boarding school he was forced to stay at. He hated how close the others were, barricaded in the building. He hated the stench of death that permeated everything he touched, tasted, saw, was. He hated that they were running low on food supplies. He hated that soon one of them–probably Milly, him being the oldest, strongest, healthy person in the Hall–would have to go out and get more supplies, even if it was only into the forest surrounding the campus. He hated how the only thing *ever* on T.V. was the War. He hated that there even *was* T.V. anymore, that everybody else hadn’t already given up, like the rest in the Hall. He hated how, every day, Trowa sank lower and lower into depression, as the remaining magic in his body drained away, and he finally fully felt the loss of his tree. Quatre hated how Duo would come out of his memories and be so happy, only to weep himself to sleep as more current and immediate concerns came flooding b Qu Quatre hated how Rhys would lock himself and Duo in Duo’s room afterwards and console him, when it should have been one of Duo’s friends doing that. When it shouldn’t even have had to *be done*. Quatre hated how he was never going to hear his sisters’ laughter again, how he was never going to make love beneath the moonlight, having to watch out for irate older brothers/R.A.s, and how he was never going to grow up to be a loving husband to his one and only. He was never going to become a politician so he could fight for the right to call himself husband.
He was never going to do any of that because, Quatre decided, there were worse things than being a statistic.
And that was why Quatre tied the rope to the ceiling of his and Trowa’s room. That was why he stood on the chair and wrapped the noose around his neck. That was why and jumped as he kicked the chair away.
There were worse things than being a statistic. And one, one of those things was being a slave.
***
Duo stumbled as he came out of his–as he called them–Memory. Or rather, he *would* have, had Rhys not been there, holding his elbow as he jerked awake. Rhys, who was quickly becoming Duo’s best friend and closest confidant, shared many of the same experiences Duo himself was now having. Being the soulmate of an Element himself–Rafe, he of the Air–Rhys helped Duo overcome many of his trials and tribionsions–many self-inflicted–as he endured the curse Death put on him the night the Riders came back. Rhys even told Duo–after much cursing and stomping around–what Death had meant when he’d said “Remember everything.”
It meant exactly what it sounded like. Duo was to remember *everything* that had ever happened to him in all of his lives, even the ones without Heero. Rhys said that, among faeries, the Spell of Absolute Remembrance was not a curse, but a gift. It allowed a faery to remember everything about himself all at once, so he could learn from his past mistakes and grow from them in his current life.
This was not so for humans. The human body could not handle the rush of information, and thus it withheld most of it, letting the Memories trickle out over time, instead of all at once. They came at random times, usually three or four in a row, and then would stop for a few hours to let Duo’s body play “catch up.” It was driving Duo slowly–but surely–insane.
At first, his Memories were mainly of Heero: his sweet smile, his deep belly-laugh when he was truly amused, his blue eyes, unchanging through the ages. Duo saw any and everything he though he could about Heero. Then, he would see more. It was bittersweet agony for Duo–who not only saw the Memories, but relived them heart, body, and soul–to see, touch, feel, smell Heero–*his* Heero, no matter the body–and know that this time around, he would never have the real thing. To know that, unless Heero fought and won, they might never be together again. To know that Heero might not even want him, after the way Duo had treated him for thoew sew short days.
One time, in one of his Memories, Heero told Duo about Duo’s creation. It was one of Duo’s favorites.
>
Duo smiled as he thought of that Memory. It really was one of his favorites. So flawed. So right. So perfect. So Heero.
Selune
Pairings: 2x1 (eventually), 6+1, 5+1, implied 3+4, R+H, H+9+H, others to be named Rating: NC-17, Warnings: AU, OOC, probably lemon, semi Duo- bastardization (don\'t worry, he gets over it), angst, NICE RELENA Chapter 18, 3x1 lemon, but don\'t worry, it\'s just sex. Lots of death, too, so maybe I should put DEATH FIC. Sorry I didn’t put it sooner, but I just kind of got away with me.
//blah// denotes thought
> denotes flashback or Memory
Archived in full at: mediaminer.org, gundam-wing-universe.net, and adult-fanfiction.org, and fandomination.net, and http://www.angelfire.com/gundam/japaniizunosei/index.html
R version archived at: fanfiction.net
This chapter dedicated to my ever wonderful Figment.
The Elements
Chapter 31
December 24th
Several months passed, the Riders grew more and more in power as time went by. All of Quatre’s sisters died and his mother. His brother was hanging onto his sanity with a string and duct tape, and his father had just been diagnosed with cancer. It wasn’t even bad cancer–just a skin cancer, which could be easily removed–but with the current state of the world–tens fo millions died every day from hunger, disease, and war–there weren’t enough resources to cure him. All doctors, all extra food, all *everything* went to the war fund, to the military.
Quatre snapped after Milliardo told him about his father. He couldn’t help but think, if–if only!–the cancer had been found in July, in August, in November, even, when the war had just been heating up, maybe his father would’ve been saved. Instead, he would just be another casualty of war, just another statistic.
Quatre always hated statistics; he’d always been bad at it in school, when there had still been school. Of course, there wasn’t any school anymore. The war (World War III, they called it, between every country in the world. Canada, surprisingly, was currently winning–they had no allies. Nobody did.) Took precedence over everything, not to mention the fact that so many people had died, there weren’t enough teachers to teach. Quatre decided he’d become a statistic, even though he hated them.
Quatre hated everything these days. He hated Death. He hated War. He hated Famine. He hated Plague. He hated trees. He hated grass. He hated this stupid boarding school he was forced to stay at. He hated how close the others were, barricaded in the building. He hated the stench of death that permeated everything he touched, tasted, saw, was. He hated that they were running low on food supplies. He hated that soon one of them–probably Milly, him being the oldest, strongest, healthy person in the Hall–would have to go out and get more supplies, even if it was only into the forest surrounding the campus. He hated how the only thing *ever* on T.V. was the War. He hated that there even *was* T.V. anymore, that everybody else hadn’t already given up, like the rest in the Hall. He hated how, every day, Trowa sank lower and lower into depression, as the remaining magic in his body drained away, and he finally fully felt the loss of his tree. Quatre hated how Duo would come out of his memories and be so happy, only to weep himself to sleep as more current and immediate concerns came flooding b Qu Quatre hated how Rhys would lock himself and Duo in Duo’s room afterwards and console him, when it should have been one of Duo’s friends doing that. When it shouldn’t even have had to *be done*. Quatre hated how he was never going to hear his sisters’ laughter again, how he was never going to make love beneath the moonlight, having to watch out for irate older brothers/R.A.s, and how he was never going to grow up to be a loving husband to his one and only. He was never going to become a politician so he could fight for the right to call himself husband.
He was never going to do any of that because, Quatre decided, there were worse things than being a statistic.
And that was why Quatre tied the rope to the ceiling of his and Trowa’s room. That was why he stood on the chair and wrapped the noose around his neck. That was why and jumped as he kicked the chair away.
There were worse things than being a statistic. And one, one of those things was being a slave.
***
Duo stumbled as he came out of his–as he called them–Memory. Or rather, he *would* have, had Rhys not been there, holding his elbow as he jerked awake. Rhys, who was quickly becoming Duo’s best friend and closest confidant, shared many of the same experiences Duo himself was now having. Being the soulmate of an Element himself–Rafe, he of the Air–Rhys helped Duo overcome many of his trials and tribionsions–many self-inflicted–as he endured the curse Death put on him the night the Riders came back. Rhys even told Duo–after much cursing and stomping around–what Death had meant when he’d said “Remember everything.”
It meant exactly what it sounded like. Duo was to remember *everything* that had ever happened to him in all of his lives, even the ones without Heero. Rhys said that, among faeries, the Spell of Absolute Remembrance was not a curse, but a gift. It allowed a faery to remember everything about himself all at once, so he could learn from his past mistakes and grow from them in his current life.
This was not so for humans. The human body could not handle the rush of information, and thus it withheld most of it, letting the Memories trickle out over time, instead of all at once. They came at random times, usually three or four in a row, and then would stop for a few hours to let Duo’s body play “catch up.” It was driving Duo slowly–but surely–insane.
At first, his Memories were mainly of Heero: his sweet smile, his deep belly-laugh when he was truly amused, his blue eyes, unchanging through the ages. Duo saw any and everything he though he could about Heero. Then, he would see more. It was bittersweet agony for Duo–who not only saw the Memories, but relived them heart, body, and soul–to see, touch, feel, smell Heero–*his* Heero, no matter the body–and know that this time around, he would never have the real thing. To know that, unless Heero fought and won, they might never be together again. To know that Heero might not even want him, after the way Duo had treated him for thoew sew short days.
One time, in one of his Memories, Heero told Duo about Duo’s creation. It was one of Duo’s favorites.
>
Duo smiled as he thought of that Memory. It really was one of his favorites. So flawed. So right. So perfect. So Heero.
Selune