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

Chapter List
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Chapter 04: SCI
Dust particles hovered lazily in the air, catching the bright high-noon light pouring in through a window at the far end of a long hallway. The ugly olive-green carpet covering the corridor floor was old, ragged and filthy. The two rows of closed apartment doors at its sides were just as shabby-looking: the hideous brown paint scrapped off and cracks forming all over.
A door located at the center of the hallway creaked loudly at it was opened from the inside. A businessman stepped out. He arranged his loose tie, looked guiltily left and right and they hurried for the elevator. The hallway fell silent again, remaining empty for a few more minutes before the same door opened again. A young Latin woman stepped out – Tomás's mother. She was dressed in a pair of worn-out shorts and a sloppy T-shirt. Her long wavy hair was undone, wet after a shower and cascading down her skinny backside. Her bare tanned legs padded quietly on the dusty green carpet as she closed the door behind her and walked further down the hall. She stopped in front of another door and knocked once. When there was no answer she simply let herself in.
The first thing she saw when she entered the small apartment was that the TV was on. All the blinds were closed and it was dark; the colorful flickering of a cartoon playing was the only source of light inside. Tomás sat on the sofa with a bowl of milk and cereal, his eyes glued to the television screen. She turned her head in the direction of the kitchen. It was empty. Finally, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Tomás looked up, staring at her quietly for only a moment, before turning back to the TV. He took a spoonful of cereal and served it to his mouth, eyes never leaving the screen. She stood there a moment, an anguished expression on her face as she studied her son with wretched eyes. The boy ignored her. Eventually, she turned away and headed for the small corridor leading further into the small apartment. She peeked into the bedroom. It was dark and empty. She turned to the bathroom instead. The door was closed. She opened it without knocking.
The bathroom was dark so she switched on the light. A fluorescent lamp flickered to life and shed white harsh light over the bright ceramic tiling. A person was lying on the floor between the bathtub and vanity, dressed in shabby black sweats, no shoes. His long chestnut-brown hair was sprawled behind him in a chaotic cascade of unruly strands; his untrimmed bangs were plastered over his face, wet with sweat and soaked with tears, concealing his features completely. There was a terrible stench in the small washroom; he had obviously soiled himself with urine and vomit.
"Jesus, Duo..." the young woman whispered in horror, covering her mouth with her hand. She hurried to kneel by his side and reached a hand forward to brush his wet bangs aside, unveiling his face. She was surprised to see that his red-rimmed eyes were wide open, staring ahead dully. His lips were chapped and peeling, there was redness under his nose and traces of dry vomit under his chin. One quick look into his glazed-over eyes and she could easily determine that his pupils were dilated; he was tweaked.
"Christ, what are you on?" she hissed angrily and rolled him over so he was lying on his back, facing up. His long hair tangled all around him, large chunks of it twisting into his clothes.
He laughed; a rough gurgle that sounded more like a sob than a giggle. "The good stuff..." he rasped in a gruff voice, smiling goofily; "Fuck, Roz...yanno... this shit really takes you places..."
Rozita sighed and stood back up, reaching into the bathtub and opening the faucet until hot water started coming out. She turned back to Duo and pulled him up by his limp arms, coaxing him to sit. He showed no resistance, just stared ahead numbly, as she took off his filthy black sweatshirt, pulling it over his head. She then placed two hands under his armpits and nudged him up; he got the hint and tried to stand on two shaky legs. She took off his soiled pants and shorts, keeping her eyes up, and guided him into the tub. He sat in its center and curled into himself, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them and long hair falling against his back like a cape. He was staring dazedly ahead the whole time.
She reached for the portable showerhead, adjusted the water and began washing him. Duo closed his eyes and bowed his head down so that his forehead was resting on his drawn up knees. His long wet hair veiled his face like a curtain.
"We useta do it... in the shower... all the time..." he mumbled in a distant, pensive voice; "It was safe here... where no one... no one would know... He didn't... didn't want anyone to know... always sneaking around... no one was allowed to know..."
"Know what?" Rozita asked softly as she lathered his hair with a generous amount of shampoo.
"...that he loved fucking me..." Duo answered dreamily. "Wouldn't lay a finger on her... he only got dirty with me..." he added with a miserable chuckle, which soon turned into a sob; "She was... she was something ideal... sacred... important... pure... Nuthin' like me. I was just there so he could vent... so he could vent all the ugliness out and then go to her feeling clean... always bouncing between the two of us... I couldn't see it back then... I was such a stupid kid... God, but I... I took whatever he was willing to give... Kept telling myself that I was getting the real him... the part he never wanted her to see... he gave me the ugly and I loved him for it... I loved it that it was just for me..."
Rozita listened quietly while shampooing his tangled long hair, a shine of sympathy in her dark brown eyes. When she raised his hair up to lather its long edges, she exposed the old welts on his back and her eyes watered.
"I was a fucking whore... sorry. I was a stupid goofball taking everything with a smile, every bit of his ugliness... just for him... just to be with him... I useta... useta hide lube in my shampoo bottle..." he recalled with wistful chuckle; "...couldn't wash my hair, but man... at least my ass didn't hurt so bad... He was so... rough... aggressive... Fuck, it's been so long since I fucked!" he wept pitiably; "I'm so fucking alone!"
Rozita picked up the showerhead again and rinsed the shampoo from his hair while he cried brokenly into his knees. She finished washing him silently and then wrapped a clean towel around his naked body. He stepped out of the bathtub mutely, his gaze cast down to the floor as he held the towel closed around himself. She guided him to his bedroom and lifted the covers up. He lay down, curling into a fetal position, dressed only in his towel. Rozita covered him tightly while he stared ahead with numb, empty, cobalt eyes.
She turned to his small night table. There was residue of pale-pink powder all over it, along with a small plastic bag and a soiled credit card, also covered with the pink powder. The bag was nearly empty, only a few ounces of pinkish crystal left inside. She hurried to clean away the mess, wiping the leftovers off the table with her hands, and snatched the plastic bag away. She turned to leave the room.
"He... he chose her in the end..." Duo suddenly murmured. He wasn't looking at her, but straight through her. "Shoulda chosen me, but... he... he chose her..." his eyes watered with tears of self-pity and he turned his head, burying it in his pillow; "It was never me," he wept wretchedly, "No one ever picks me... No one ever stays with me!"
Rozita watched him silently for a moment, pain and compassion in her eyes, and finally left the room quietly and closed the door behind her, leaving him to his grief.
*     *     *
A lot was left out and twisted when someone recalled the past in a dream. Nothing was ever accurate, though every emotion was just as intense as it had been before, perhaps even a couple times over. That was why Duo hated dreaming, and he dreaded dreams of the past even more. Right now he was dreaming of Christmas AC 196 – the night they won back the ESUN Capital and the last time he had seen Heero Yuy. Fuck. He didn't want to be here again... yet there he was: his sixteen-year-old self was stomping hastily down a crowded hospital corridor, still dressed in his flight suit, torn and tattered from the fight. His face was streaked with dry blood and grime, his hair disheveled and his braid coming undone. His fists were clenched angrily, his cobalt eyes burning with rage, as he marched into a crowded ICU and walked straight past Relena Darlian on the way to his destination. He yanked a hospital curtain aside in a violent 'whoosh!' and revealed the bed on which Heero was laid injured and bandaged, but awake. The young pilot's head was wrapped in a thick bandage; his hair had been shaved off. There was an oxygen tube under his nose and a dull, tired expression on his gaunt face. His right cheek was badly bruised where he had punched him before they parted ways. He looked up sluggishly, Prussian blue eyes shifting idly in Duo's direction the second he stepped through the curtain. He stared at Duo mutely, an unreadable shine in his blue eyes.
"You God damned son-of-a-bitch! You left me behind!" Duo hissed accusingly, glaring down mercilessly at the person he used to consider his lover. "You left in me that Hellhole and you ran off to her!"
Heero's chapped lips parted; he was about to say something. Duo shook his head and raised a hand up to shut him up.
"Don't bother," he spat angrily; "You wanna say that you were doing what had to be done, right? Well don't. I don't want to hear it again. I get it. It's her. You don't haffta make excuses anymore. It's always her... you always run back to her, battle or no battle... it's always her."
He leaned over Heero, supporting himself on the bed, and looked him straight in the eye, glowering furiously at Heero's apathetic eyes.
"You know, they say that that Catalonia nut-job chic gave this big speech... during the fight. Said that we're real men... but you know what Heero? You're no man. You're a boy. A stupid little boy who won't admit that he likes fucking other boys! So screw you. I don't need this shit. I just finished wasting two years of my life taking your shit lying down. If it's her you want – fine. Knock yourself out. I'm done."
He turned to leave, but he couldn't. He wanted Heero to stop him. He wanted Heero to say something, anything... even the smallest thing would make him stay.
But Heero was silent... not a word.
Duo whirled back around, his cobalt eyes hurt and tearful.
"That's not fair!" he cried – his anger overridden by pain. "You think you're doing the right thing choosing her? Why! Because her genitals happen to be in the inside instead of on the outside?! Because picking her fits nicely into this sweet little fairytale you like telling yourself before you go to bed? Screw that! That don't make nuthin' right! She'll never get you the way I do! She'll never accept the shit I can accept!"
He rushed back to the bed, throwing himself down to his knees before Heero. The injured pilot just stared at him with empty eyes.
"You should choose me – Heero!" He called, panicked. "Pick me! Choose me," he begged, shouting angrily and weeping miserably at the same time, openly distraught. "Shit... just this once... just this God damn once – tell me that we had something... Tell me, Heero... please. Tell me that it meant something... something more than fucking. Tell me you want this... I'll understand if you're afraid to make something more out of it, it's okay, but just... Jesus... just tell me. Tell me so I'll know... so I won't feel so God damn stupid... please."
That never really happened. He never really begged, never cried like that. There was only anger that day; anger and silence, both brutal and intense. Heero never spoke a word and Duo never cried; he only allowed himself to do so in his dream, yet even here Heero wouldn't say a word. Instead, he lowered his gaze down shamefully.
There was nothing left to say, so Duo heaved a miserable sigh and stood up, bowing his head down sorrowfully.
"Fine," he mumbled and turned back around to leave. "I get it."
And he left, closing the curtain behind him.
Relena was still waiting outside the ICU when he stepped out. God he hated her so much! Not because of anything she had done – it wasn't her fault – but because she was the only thing he could never be: the object of Heero's affections. He hated her because Heero loved her. Petty, but true. The ugly truth always laid unashamedly bare in a dream.
He glared at her resentfully, looked her in the eye and said: "He's all yours." He then walked away, muttering a cynical: "Good luck with that..." and that was the last he had seen of Heero and her.
Duo woke up from his dream, his face soaked with tears.
*     *     *
"There are times, when we are faced with unthinkable loss, that those who grieve want answers to questions they cannot understand," Father Dixon spoke in a grim and steady tone, addressing a full house. The small church was packed with an audience seeking guidance and comfort. The old priest stood behind a podium on the altar, trying to appeal to a congregation that came seeking answers after the terrible massacre at The Pit. Many had lost loved ones in the tragedy that had crippled and claimed the lives of a dozen cops, as well as over thirty addicts – lost sons and daughters who had made the notorious drug lair their home. It was less than a week before Christmas, and L2-V08744 was grieving.
"In the midst of tragedy, people ask questions, and today we find ourselves asking the same questions that burdened our hearts during times of hardship, war and loss: Why did this have to happen? Where was God? Why didn't He stop it? Why me? Why the people I love?
"Those are hard questions and answering them will not remove our sadness, nor will it bring those who have died back to life. But the real question shouldn't be why us, but rather why not us? The truth is we are anything but a faithful Christian community. Our behavior makes a mockery of Christianity! We lead the world in every abomination known to man: abortion, alcoholism, drug addiction, gambling, child abuse, violent crime, prostitution, pornography, pedophilia, rape... The very name of L2-08744 is a synonym for all those evils put together! This is a modern Sodom and Gomorrah! Worse yet, we now export our immorality to other regions through our inability to stop the distribution of lethal drugs from this colony! We are going out of our way to ignore every expression of profanity and obscenity! We have abandoned God in every way!
"As a result of this terrible slaughter on our street, our colony is praying like it has not prayed for years. It is pleading with God for comfort, protection, and guidance. God is hearing from people He hasn't heard from in years. And because of our reaction to this new horror that befell upon us we might – we just might – stand a chance against evil."
A few weeping heads nodded in the audience.
"How can we become better rather than bitter as result of the lessons from what happened at The Pit?" Father Dixon continued his sermon; "Let us overcome any tendencies to give into discouragement, frustration or hurt. Let us utilize the power of God's promise: 'Do not be overcome by evil but overcome evil with good'..."
The dark parking lot outside the church was full. The streets were empty; the whole neighborhood was there. Not a soul roamed the slums expect for one: a young man who chose to remain standing outside the small church, smoking as he paced around in circles in front of the entrance. He was dressed in baggy clothes and a dark hooded sweatshirt with the hood drawn up over his head, concealing his face. The church doors were wide open, a column of light tumbling onto the dark asphalt and the sound of Father Dixon's voice vibrating through the still night air.
The sermon ended and people started leaving the church. Gradually, the parking lot emptied and silence engulfed the small structure. Only then did the young man throw his cigarette onto the ground, where it joined its predecessors, and entered the church.
The house of worship was vacant, quiet and dim. The young hooded man stood still for a moment, making sure he was alone, before he made his way to the confessional. He closed the curtain behind him, sat down, and finally took the hood off.
Taking a deep breath, Duo looked timidly up at the crucifix hanging over the grille, crossed his heart and whispered: "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, my last confession was uh... seventeen years ago."
Father Dixon sat behind the lattice. He nodded gravely. "Yes, and as I recall Sister Helen had to drag you kicking and screaming into the booth, so what brings you here now, son?"
Duo heaved a long, miserable, sigh. He bowed his head down sorrowfully, unable to speak.
"Would it be the same reason the rest of the flock came here tonight?" the priest determined solemnly. "You're here because of Jesse."
Inhaling a trembling breath, trying to keep tears at bay, Duo closed his eyes sadly, fighting back the wetness gathering behind his closed eyelids.
"I... I couldn't even bring myself to step outta the car, at the funeral..." he mumbled in a shaky voice; "Couldn't face Clara again... God... I can't look her in the eye after failing her so many times..."
"It wasn't your fault, Duo," Dixon reminded him softly; "she knows that."
Duo shook his head, his eyes still closed. "I promised Joe... I promised I'd look after Jesse... keep him outta trouble..."
"There was nothing you could've done for that boy, or for Joe, for that matter."
"There's always something..." Duo murmured regretfully and hunched forward over his knees, entwining his fingers and leaning his head against them as though in prayer.
"I coulda at least been there... for both. I left Joe in that alley after he was shot and I left Jesse in The Pit... They died alone, Father. They died knowing I shoulda come back for them, but I didn't. There was never time..."
The old priest sighed quietly. "I would quote scripture if I knew it would offer you any comfort, but that's not why you're here, is it?"
Duo shook his head 'no', still leaning into his folded hands. He inhaled a long, shaky breath and straightened up slowly. Tears streaked his cheeks.
"I... I had a slipup, Father," he confessed shamefully, unable to look anywhere but at his feet. "I... God, I... I... I never handed in that sample you gave me..."
There was a short pause before Father Dixon sighed and whispered sadly: "Oh, Duo..."
Duo raised two hands up to cover his face, hiding in disgrace. "I know..." he cried; "I know... God... I know... I'm so sorry..."
"I hope you didn't come here hoping I'd hook you up with some more," Dixon added harshly.
Duo hurried to shake his head; face still hidden. "No... no... God, no... I... I just... I..." he sighed, lowering his hands down and placing them on his lap. He stared at them dully. "I didn't know where else to go."
Father Dixon cleared his throat. "I know that you don't approve of the way I run things, but you should come to group tomorrow. It helps."
"No... no I... I can't. If anyone finds out I've been using again... Jesus... no. I can't risk it. I'm still on probation... the Chief will kick me out in a heartbeat."
"Maybe it'll be for the best," the old man suggested carefully; "Maybe you should take a break from all the ugliness on the streets. What about that girl you told me about, the one on V08755? The one with the salvage yard."
"Hilde?" Duo chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, she's always been nagging me to leave 744, but... but this is home, yanno? I don't fit nowhere else." He sighed, still looking down at his hands as he twiddled his fingers. "...'sides, she's like a million months pregnant or sumethin'... I can't dump my shit on them right now."
The priest nodded in understanding. Duo continued fiddling with his fingers. He could feel the old man's gaze on him. Dixon allowed him a few more moments of silent contemplation before speaking again:
"To be honest, after all that happened, I was surprised to see you back on 744," the priest admitted. "And even though you weren't so happy to see me again, I was relieved that you made it back here in one piece. We have our fair share of differences, and I know that you still resent me for leaving the church after... you know... but I am grateful that you still seek my guidance. In a way, this is my chance to make amends. It's the least I can do for Father Maxwell. That's why I'll allow myself be just as blunt as he was as I tell you this: your life is going nowhere, Duo. Keep this up, and you're bound to repeat every God damned mistake you've already made. You need to change course, leave this place, start anew, no matter how daunting that might be. L2 will only hold you back. This is a place of sin, not retribution."
Duo took a deep breath and clenched his fists tightly. "I came back here because I figured... I dunno. That all my other sins will be justified if I come back here? I thought maybe I... I dunno... that maybe it'll make up for sumthin'..." he mumbled bleakly; "make it like everything in between then and now never happened..." He turned to the grid, finally seeking Dixon's face.
"L2's all I got, Father. I ain't got nuhtin' else. Nothing. All I got that means anything is this stupid rope I carry around for hair and this pendant you gave me from back then. The cross only means sumthin' 'cuz it was his and... God... you don't know how many times I thought 'bout chopping this damn thing off." He flipped his braid out of the hoodie and brought it forward, fiddling with the long strands at its messy edge.
"But I'm too chicken to even trim it," he sighed; "It's like... like... like I'm not allowed to let go... I can't forget, not ever. None of it. Not the church, not the war, not even..." he paused, shaking his head. "I'm just... stuck. Eight fucking years and I'm still fixed on this one thing, this one... one... one person. I don't get it, Father. People they... they move on. They move on to the next lover, find a spouse, get married, divorce... married again... and I... I'm still hung up on him! I'm still thinking 'bout a guy who wouldn't even gimme the time of day when we were together! How pathetic is that?!" He finished with a desperate cry and buried face in hands again. "I'm such a loser, I swear. God..."
Father Dixon was silent; it was a tense, heavy kind of silence. Duo peeked at the lattice between his fingers.
"You ain't gonna preach me 'bout burning in Hell for liking guys, are you?" he asked fearfully and the old man scoffed.
"After all this time, I wish you'd give me a little more credit," he said, smiling sadly. "I respected Father Maxwell for many reasons, but I am not like him."
"No shit," Duo mumbled, uncovering his face. He leaned back into his chair, slouching tiredly, and heaved another long sigh. "God... you don't know how good it feels to finally say it..."
"Confession is good for the soul," the old priest teased and Duo rolled his eyes, his face actually cracking a smile.
"Yeah, well, I ain't plannin' on makin' a habit outta this."
Dixon nodded. "Tell me about this guy," he asked instead; "What was so special about him that you can't let go after all this time?"
Duo stared ahead numbly, thinking. He shrugged. "I dunno... nothing really," he said, bowing his head down. He was fiddling with his fingers again. "But... it was... everything. It was like... he was like... I dunno. Fire. And Ice. Cold one moment and burning hot the next... It was... intense. I was hooked. He... he was someone else when he was with me. I... I saw things... things he didn't bother hiding around me. Ugly things. Horrible things... brutal. Things he could never change... I saw him... and I loved it... I loved him. I... I was addicted to every last bit of it... to the ugliest sides of him."
He chuckled bitterly; "Guess I was always some kinda junkie... huh? But that ugly... it was beautiful. There was something beautiful underneath. Something I was dying to reach. All those things that made him plain, the things that made him like everyone else... they were beautiful. I loved the parts of him no one else could see, the things he was ashamed of, and Heero... he... he hated that I saw him. He hated being seen... always hiding... always... always shutting me out. I was a stubborn asshole, so he left. Left me for someone who couldn't see him at all. Some prissy broad with a mission to make a proper human being outta him... what a load of bull. He probably thought that she could save him, erase all the ugly... bury it someplace no one would ever see, but that ugly was him. It was what I loved. It was what made us perfect for each other... why erase it?
"God, Father... what do I do? I've been thinkin' 'bout him a lot lately. I tried not to for so many years, but... but... it's useless. It always comes back to him. He... he's... feels like he's haunting me... no matter where I go."
"You were left wondering what you might have missed," the old made speculated; "That's why you can't let go."
"Yeah... I guess. Maybe," Duo mumbled, staring numbly at his fingers.
"We are always fascinated by the mysterious and unique," Dixon explained; "There's a natural attraction to things wild and grisly, yet beautiful and pure at the same time. They make us feel that we are in the presence of something almost supernatural, something that pulsates with energy and life far more real than our own. It's as overwhelming as the very concept of God. A person who is at once awful, august, majestic, overpowering and uncanny – a manifestation of our darkest desires... how can anyone be expected to resist a person who fulfills our deepest spiritual longing? We can't help but feel both terrified of and attracted to this person. Some people find this awe and fulfillment in God. The lucky ones find it in someone they love."
Duo looked up, his cobalt eyes shining with tears. "So you're saying it's not my fault?" he asked bashfully; "That it's outta my hands?"
"I'm saying that you don't have to fear that your feelings for this man are abnormal."
"I thought you said that that the only true love out there is God..."
Father Dixon snarled nastily. "I also say 'don't do drugs' while I keep using, so..."
Duo scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Point taken," he muttered with a cynical smirk. "I think that's why I keep coming down here."
The priest smiled kindly. "Feeling a bit better?"
"I guess," Duo shrugged and then exhaled tiredly. "Yeah... a little."
"Are you good for tonight? Can I trust you to keep clean?"
"Yeah, sure... I ran outta the shit anyway."
"Good. Now go home, Duo. Get some sleep. I'm here whenever you need to talk."
"Thank you, Father," Duo said and stood up. He opened the curtain, about to leave confessional, but then stopped and added:
"I get it why Father Maxwell wanted you out," he whispered; "but I knew that you never touched any of the children. All things considered you turned out alright... At least your heart is in the right place."
The old priest smiled thankfully. "As is yours," he said; "He would have been proud of you, Duo. I know he would've forgiven you for all of your sins, whether you came back here or not."
"Yeah, well..." the young man mumbled and began to walk away; "Either that or he woulda seen us both in Hell..."
*     *     *
The only item still remaining on Duo's naked body while he showered was the plain silver cross and necklace around his neck. The small crucifix dangled from its chain, swinging lazily left and right as Duo leaned bent forward, supported by two forearms folded against the cool porcelain wall, and let the water beat down against his hunched back. His hair was undone; a wet dark-brown blanket plastered over his backside, thus concealing the long whip-lash scars across his back.
His eyes were closed, his expression despaired. Hot water cascaded down his muscular body, flooding him with memories.
He had always looked forward to hitting the showers after a battle was over, even more so when Heero was around. And for a few precious days towards the end of the Eve War – way back in AC 195 – he had Heero all to himself on the spaceship Peacemillion.
The battles were frequent. The White Fang, a military terrorist organization dedicated to the liberation of the Colonies from the oppression of the United Earth Sphere Alliance, Romefeller and OZ, had also turned against them – the first to stand up for the Colonies' freedom. Their ship was constantly being attacked by Mobile Dolls and all five Gundam pilots were reaching the end of their rope. Stealing a few quiet minutes for a quick shower had been a rare and priceless luxury. He had passed on some much needed sleep in order to sneak into the showers late at night while the Dolls regrouped before the next fight. The showers were dark and quiet; save for the sound of running water. Duo expected to be alone, but one stall was already occupied when he entered.
There weren't any curtains, only a small partition separating each stall from the one next to it. Once he entered the large hall, Duo had no trouble recognizing the naked backside of the person occupying the shower booth just opposite of the door, engulfed by a thin cloud of hot steam. Apparently, Heero had also decided that a first shower in days would be more welcomed than sleep.
The teenage pilot stood leaning against the wall in front of him, both arms outstretched to support his weight. He was hunched forward, torso bowed down low, and he was retching quietly, vomiting into the drain between his bare feet. Duo winced at the unpleasant sound and approached quietly. He shed the towel wrapped around his waist, letting it fall to the floor on the way, and joined Heero in the small shower stall. It wasn't until he spoke that Heero seemed to notice his presence. Tired as they were, that was understandable.
"That piss-poor-excuse-for-a-Gundam sure has a grip on you," Duo said quietly as he reached a hand past Heero to grab a bar of soap. Heero tensed and straightened up slowly, his slumped shoulders drawing back into a more confident stance. He turned around dazedly, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He looked awful; his face gaunt and eyes bleary with fatigue, a feverish gleam in his usually sharp Prussian blue eyes. His long bangs were plastered over his pale face, dripping. He looked at Duo blankly, waiting quietly. Duo offered a small, strained smile.
"Side effects are a bitch, huh?" he added sympathetically and reached for Heero's limp hand, holding it gently so he could lather it up.
"I mean, I only rode that Hellish thing once, and that was enough to last me a lifetime..." he sighed and reached for Heero's other arm, allowing the first to fall lifelessly at his side. Heero stood passively still, listening, and allowed Duo to wash him.
"That thing sure had me trippin'... I saw Hell when I was in there. I was sure I was losing my mind..." Duo recalled uneasily. He glanced up, seeking Heero's stoic face and added a timid: "What do you see?"
Heero's hand tensed. He drew it away from Duo's grasp and turned around slowly, presenting his backside, which was no small gesture; Heero didn't turn his back on just anyone. Duo got the hint and began soaping it up as well. Unlike his scar-ridden backside, Heero's back was smooth; muscular and strong, even in this weary state.
The water was still running, dripping loudly to the floor.
"You know..." Duo continued after a while, "this might very well be the final act of this fucking war," he paused; "Does it ever show you what comes afterwards?"
Heero said nothing in reply. He leaned his head down tiredly, pressing his forehead against the wall. Water cascaded in warm torrents down his bent back. He shook his head against the wall, face hidden from sight.
"Howard said he heard you speak to it," Duo revealed quietly, almost hesitant; he was threading on thin ice. "In the hangar," he added carefully. "Funny that you talk to that devilish thing, but you won't say a word to me..."
"ZERO gives me clarity... not premonitions," Heero mumbled against the wall, his head still hunched against it. His voice was low and raspy, worn-out by exhaustion.
"You spent the whole day yesterday on that thing while we were out there fighting," Duo mumbled; "It musta shown you something."
Heero turned back around, finally facing him. His piercing expression remained unreadable as he studied Duo quietly for a tense moment. Duo stood his ground, looking evenly into Heero's eyes. They were roughly the same height – Heero just a tad taller – both just as stubborn, and such a staring contest could last for days if one of them didn't decide to break it. This time, Duo decided, he won't be the first to cave. Heero must have picked up on his determination and hence was the first to break eye contact. He turned around slowly and reached a hand to switch the water off.
"There's gotta be more than just Hell out there, right?" Duo asked helplessly, his eyes pleading Heero to throw him a bone, give him some kind of answer; something solid, for once. Something he could hold onto as they plunge themselves into oblivion.
Heero turned back around and fixed his intense blue eyes on Duo. When he finally moved, it was far too fast to even grasp. In a flash he had Duo pinned against the partition to their side; wet naked bodies colliding audibly. Duo gasped, surprised to find himself caught between Heero's hard body and the wall. His gasping breath was stolen by a fierce kiss as the Wing-ZERO pilot leaned forward and ravaged Duo's mouth hungrily. The kiss was wet, hot and sloppy; fueled by desperation and untamable aggression. No restraints; Heero never held back around him. It was dangerous, and it was painful, but Duo loved it; that was how he knew that he was getting the real thing, the real Heero: callous, blunt and utterly destructive.
He raised both arms up, wrapping them around Heero's slick body, and returned the kiss, his advances just as frenzied. Steely arms tightened around his waist until it hurt. One arm snuck up to grab the thick part of his braid at the back of the neck, pushing his head closer and deeper into the fierce kiss. When Heero's ravenous lips began traveling downwards, Duo stopped him, pushing him off with two firm arms. Heero didn't budge and continued his advances, slowly crouching down, his hands trailing along Duo's nude body, so Duo shoved harder, knocking him away forcefully.
Heero finally got the hint and stopped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his feral blue eyes looking up at Duo as he rose slowly. Duo was still leaning against the partition behind him, an angry scowl on his face, his lips bruised. They remained standing face to face, unmoving, water dripping quietly from their slick, wet bodies. The droplets joined the puddle of water at their feet, slowly flowing down the drain in a series of quiet gurgles.
"You saw something... didn't you?" Duo whispered with panting, shallow, breath. "ZERO showed you something... gave you... clarity."
Heero remained silent, simply looking at him with unreadable eyes.
"It's her," Duo determined forlornly, his expression wretched. "You saw her... in your future."
Heero held his gaze quietly for a moment more before breaking eye contact. He moved to step out of the small shower stall. Duo turned around and watched as Heero walked over to the bench where he had placed his things and grabbed a towel. He dried himself hastily; his movements stiff and automated, and then wrapped the towel around his naked waist. He gathered his belongings and headed for the door.
The automatic doors swooshed open with a silent hiss. Heero stopped at the doorway, pausing for a moment. All Duo could see from where he was standing was his muscular backside.
"I see my enemy..." Heero replied in a calm, steady tone; "never a future," he mumbled quietly, bowing his head down. "We have no future, Duo," he added somberly and then walked out into the hallway. The automatic door closed behind him and Duo was left alone in the showers.
Back then he didn't know whether Heero was being his usual fatalistic self, telling him that they probably won't make it out alive, or was he saying that there was no future for them as a couple, but years later the answer was obvious. Heaving a hopeless sigh, Duo turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He glared at his older-self in the mirror. Heero had decided long ago that there will be no future for the two of them, so why was he still hoping that he'd change his mind?
*     *     *
Local L2-TV wouldn't stop talking about what happened down at The Pit. One newscast after the other... again and again... the same story from every possible angle. Three days have passed but the wound was still fresh, still bleeding, and the media was refusing to put a stop to it. Even the usually cheerful morning shows no longer dealt with eggnog recipes or how to make your own Christmas decorations, rather they too were grinding the story to death, interviewing bereaved parents, law enforcement widows, social workers and various therapists with advice on how to get youngsters out of trouble before it was too late and whatnot. It was a disgusting media festival one couldn't avoid watching.
Duo sat on the floor between his couch and the coffee table, smoking and drinking, and watched a surgically-enhanced blonde babe with a permanent Botox smile trying to look serious while discussing the tragedy with her morning panel of yammering assholes. There was a bottle of Jameson whiskey on the coffee table, nearly half-empty, along with an array of empty beer cans, an open pack of Winston Blue and pizza leftovers still in the box. Duo held a can in his hand, a smoke in the other. He took a sip, then a drag on his cigarette, his red-rimmed eyes glued to the television screen.
He hasn't slept in two days, ever since he came off the Magic. He was exhausted, angry, drunk and upset. He should have gone to work, but he hadn't. He couldn't. Not yet. All he could be bothered doing was to watch TV, constantly reminding him of his mistake, of his inability to save Joe's kid. Self-flagellation and self-pity were his sole company. He glared at the television screen hatefully, his hard expression full of contempt.
More footage of The Pit Massacre was being played on the morning news, one replay after another... throwing his faults in his face. He gulped down more beer. The news then switched to foreign affairs and images of the New York City murders were on his screen again, taunting him further with mistakes of the past.
The news was recapturing the events surrounding the deaths of the Redeemer's seventh victim. Once again he was forced to face images of a person that has haunted his dreams lately. It seemed that no matter where the media was shooting, agent Heero Yuy was always there, always in the background, always accompanied by a pretty redheaded agent. Right now they were shown working a crime scene in Lower Manhattan, speaking to witnesses in the background while a reporter stood in the foreground of the frame, speaking to the camera. Duo ignored him and focused only on Heero. The young agent was holding a small notepad and pen, speaking to a distraught young woman whose angry face was soaked with tears. He was writing down whatever she was saying.
Duo smirked darkly. Seven victims... seven people Heero had also failed. Yeah. That's right. Heero also made mistakes... too many to keep track of.
"You screw up too..." Duo rasped in a low, gruff voice worn by alcohol and fatigue. "You screw everything up! You're as screwed up as they come!" he growled nastily, slamming his beer on the coffee table. "You make mistakes... You screwed me over... screwed them over... us... everybody! You made a mistake! You must have! You were out of commission for fourteen months – you musta made a mistake!" He roared, jumping up to his feet, his long braid flapping behind him.
"You fucked up too!" he shouted passionately at the television, his chest burning... heart pounding wildly. "You must have!" he insisted, his cobalt eyes shining manically and watering with tears. Suddenly, all he wanted was to prove Heero wrong – at anything and everything. Heero had to be wrong: about them, about Relena, about his work... about everything from then to now. Heero had to be wrong. He had made a grave mistake and breaking up was just one out of many mistakes. It had to be!
He hurried towards his bedroom and yanked his laptop from the dresser by the bed. Flopping down on the creaky mattress, he flipped the screen opened and booted it up, ready to tackle the Preventer database once again. He will find out what happened on Christmas AC 202. He will find a flaw... a mistake... proof that he shouldn't have put Heero on a pedestal for so many God damned years. Today, it shall finally end.
His fingers flew hastily and skillfully over the keyboard. He used every hacking skill he could recall from back in the day, but after over six hours of sifting through files and breaching heavy security protocols, he came up empty. Nothing mentionable seemed to have happened at around Christmas AC 202, not according to anything in Preventer's North American National Security Branch, which he knew Heero had worked for at the time. Even if something had been classified as top secret, there should have at least been a trace, a mention... something – even censored, but still... Yet there was none. That couldn't be right... could it?
Heaving a weary sigh, Duo fell back against the bed, landing on his back, the laptop still in his lap. He stared dully at the ceiling. He noted that his bedroom was now dark. Evening has fallen and he hadn't even noticed. He felt drained and parched; hours of hacking finally catching up with him. The anger had dissipated after hours of hard, useless, work, leaving him numb inside.
What happened back in AC 202? What caused Heero to leave Preventer for over a year if there was no major security event? Christmas was also the anniversary of the end of the war, celebrated across Earth and Space since Christmas AC 195 (with exception of the AC 196 Incident). It was a hard time for many, always bringing back unwanted memories. This upcoming holiday, just a few days away, would mark the eighth anniversary. 202 had been the sixth, but what was so special about that certain anniversary? Could it be that Heero had some sort of meltdown back then? Why then? Why not any other Christmas? Something must have happened. It would require a lot to take Heero off duty for so long, and then sit him behind a desk instead of back on Operations. What was he missing? He had to know!
His laptop beeped. Duo frowned and sat up slowly, reopening the screen. There was a private message waiting there, even though he had no instant messaging software or account. He stared at it warily. The sender was N/A and the message read: You're back.
Duo's heart started racing, pounding with forbiddance. Someone was on to him again. Damn it. He should log off while he still could, but the next message made it impossible: Is this what you're looking for?
There was a link below. He hesitated for less than a second before clicking on it. A black and white document popped up. Duo took a deep breath, and read it:
-

PROGRESS (SOAP) NOTES:
December 26, AC 203, 13:30
DR. D. WRIGHT
Preventer North America HQ
Washington DC
United States of America, ESUN
CC: Agent Heero Yuy, 23-year-old male. Temporarily inactive since 12.27.202. Established patient with a history of abuse (abnormal childhood), PTSD and repeated suicide attempts. Medicated with stable symptoms of PTSD, survivor's guilt, depression and anxiety. Bereaved parent. Heavy smoker – quit smoking three weeks ago. Occasional drinker. No substance abuse. History of anabolic steroids abuse (involuntary) – clean for 8 years. Undergoing PT for left leg injury. Bi-monthly visits.
Final Fitness-for-Duty examination scheduled for 01.05.204
Note: Seen on urgent basis at patient's request.
Significant Events over Past 48 Hours:
- Christmas & Peace Celebrations
- 1 year since loss of only daughter
- 1 year since CLASSIFIED
- 8 years since CLASSIFIED
(S) Subjective:
* Vegetative symptoms:
- Insomnia – severe
- Loss of appetite – severe
- Anxiety – severe
- Lack of concentration/energy – severe
- Headaches – severe
* Patient’s complaints:
- Difficulty performing everyday tasks but coping has been more or less acceptable
- Significant increase in alcohol consumption
- Resumed smoking
- Extreme situational sadness
- Extreme anxiety when stressed
- Increased distress related to the Holidays, CLASSIFIED and CLASSIFIED
* Requests:
- Hold off return to active duty
- Avoid hospital admission
(O) Objective:
* Vital Signs: BP (sitting) 115/70, P 86 and regular, Ht 5’11”, Wt 168 lbs
* Medication: Desyreltite Ludiphimil; Tytrocyline; Medomite Nytrine
Mental Status Exam:
* Appearance: good personal hygiene, appropriate dress and well groomed. Appears stated age.
* Behavior: rigid posture and movement, psychomotor agitation
* Speech: normal rate and tone, coherent
* Attention & Concentration: impaired - unable to focus on serial 7s
* Thought Process: logical
* Thought Content: suicidal ideation, anxiety, flashbacks, nightmares; no homicidal ideation, no delusions or paranoia
* Mood: dysthymic
* Associations: intact
* Judgment: good
* Recent & Remote Memory: good
* Insight: good understanding of the situation
(A) Assessment:
* Problem 1: PTSD & Survivor's guilt
- Comment: Major relapse
- Plan: Increase dose of antipsychotic; write script
* Problem 2: Depression
- Comment: Major relapse
- Plan: Increase dose of SSRI; write script
* Problem 3: Anxiety
- Comment: Major relapse
- Plan: Same dose of SSRI
(P) Plan:
* Follow-up in 3 days
* Hold off on hospital admission unless symptoms worsen
* Hold off on Fitness-for-Duty exam until symptoms stabilize
Duo gaped at the file in disbelief, his heart pounding painfully. As technical and clinical as the information was, he still felt awful; like he had peeked straight into Heero's agonized soul without permission. He had violated something sacred... and it hurt.
The file said that Heero had lost a child... a daughter. A daughter! And then he flipped out. Jesus Christ... Duo didn't know how he should feel about that. For now, he felt numb; terrible. There was a cry lodged in his throat, suffocating him. Heero had a daughter... and he had lost her. Fuck.
So something did happen on Christmas 202. He had found the reference he's been looking for. He wished he hadn't, yet a nagging thirst to know more remained.
He tried to dig deeper into the database, using every hacking skill he had acquired many years ago, but they were long outdated. He couldn't uncover the information no matter what he tried. Discouraged, he leaned back onto the bed and heaved a tired sigh. He stared numbly at the laptop, at a loss. It was useless.
As though reading his grim thoughts, the computer suddenly gained a life of its own. Digits and code lines rushed up the screen at a staggering speed. Windows opened and closed far too quickly for him to grasp what was in them. A turmoil of software code flashed before his eyes, faster and faster until suddenly... it stopped. A single window remained open over a black screen. A video was loading. Duo leaned forward, holding his breath, and braced himself for what he was about to see. This someone on the other side was throwing him a bone. Who and why... he didn't really care at the moment. He wanted answers... no matter what.
A title popped on the blank screen: 'The following footage is classified SCI and is to be cleared for viewing by authorized personnel only' [[i]]. The title vanished after a few seconds. The video buffer-counter began rising slowly from 28% to 75%. An image appeared on the screen; an unidentified blurry and pixelated mess of what seemed like a person. The buffer reached 95% and the video image cleared, though still frozen. It came into focus and Duo's breath caught in his throat; he choked.
He was looking at a still footage of Heero: battered, beaten, bleeding and badly bruised. The young man was sitting on a chair in some featureless room, stripped down to his socks and boxers. The illumination was dim, but it was more than enough to expose gruesome details. The entire right side of Heero's face was covered with hideous bruises; a disgusting staining of yellow, black, purple and blue. His right eye was swollen shut; sliced and clotted with dry blood. His hair was also caked with blood and plastered over the left side of his head, where a large gash was visible, cutting all the way down to his left temple and cheek. Blood sheeted down the left side of his face. His lips were split and bleeding. He sat still, looking at the camera through a single blue eye.
Looking down at his naked torso, Duo noted that it was glistening with sweat; bleeding, filthy and bruised. There was a huge sickly discoloration under his ribs, all the way down to his bare abdomen. His chest was littered with cuts; covered with black grime and blood. He was dressed only in a pair of blood-soaked boxer shorts. His bare legs were seriously injured; a large nail was jammed into his left kneecap, sticking out of an infected, blood-clotted wound. The sight was ghastly. Duo felt sick.
Sadly, the terrible injuries weren't the most appalling part of the brutal footage. What made Duo's heart sink down painfully were the two small children sitting on Heero's lap, one on each leg. They sat huddled against him, their small heads resting on each of his naked shoulders, faces hidden from the camera. He held them against him, his muscular yet bloodied arms wrapped around each small body, embracing them and supporting them so they won't fall. The one on Heero's left was a boy, his dark skin suggesting an African decent; the one on the right was a girl, her long blonde hair suggesting Caucasian. They couldn't have been more than two or three years old.
Duo gaped at the grisly image, unable to breathe.
The buffer reached 100% and the video started playing. Judging by the shaky footage, it must have been taken by a smartphone-camera. Sound and image quality weren't so great; there was a hollow echo when Heero finally spoke:
"My name is Heero Yuy," he croaked with a raspy, trembling, voice; "Badge number 72531101," his voice wavered; it was hard for him to speak. He sounded on the verge of tears. "I am speaking on behalf of...on behalf of the WF Liberation Movement." He paused to swallow, struggling to form the words. He took a deep breath and resumed his speech: "It's been fourteen hours and their demands have yet to be answered. There... there are only thre—"
A shot was fired. The little boy in Heero's arms jerked for a split second, before sagging lifelessly against him. Blood oozed from the back of the boy's small dark head. He had just been shot – executed.
Heero froze, utterly horrified. His one good eye and mouth gaped open in shock. His bruised face drained completely of color, twisting into a tortured, wretched expression. The little blonde girl started weeping loudly, shaking against him like a leaf in a storm. Her small face was buried in Heero's shoulder. He raised his hand up slowly from where it was wrapped around her trembling back and rested it over the back of her head, keeping it down and pressed against him so she won't look up. He gazed numbly at the camera, pausing for a moment, and then found his voice again, just barely:
"There... there's only... t-two of us... left..." he corrected with a shaky, cracking voice. He was trembling visibly, but still kept his one arm around the little boy's dead body and the other holding the weeping girl against him.
"Two out of thirteen," he stated bleakly. He paused again, inhaling a quivery breath, before he managed to continue: "I-if their demands won't be fully answered in the next hour—" A burly man entered the frame, his face concealed by a ski-mask. Heero stopped, gasping, choking on tears. The masked man pulled the dead little boy out of Heero's arm and dragged his small body across the floor, taking him away. Heero showed no resistance. Once his arm fell lifelessly at his side, no longer holding the little boy, Heero raised it up again and wrapped both arms around the little girl, steadying her on his injured lap, hugging her against his wounded chest. He held her tightly in a protective embrace, looked up again and leveled his one good eye with the camera.
"Please..." he pleaded weakly, a stream of helpless tears sliding down his one open eye; "...please... she's... she's my... Lena... are you there? She... she's our... you... you can't let her die here... I can't... I can't... there's nothing more I can give them...." he wept; his voice breaking with helpless hiccups as he fought to keep talking: "You... you have o-one hour left before... before..." he shook his head, struggling to keep talking coherently. "I'm next," he said, inhaling a gulp of air so he could speak steadily as he looked miserably at the camera.
"Once I'm... gone... you'll... you'll have another half hour to... to ensure the release of... the release of all White Fang prisoners currently held on... on ESUN soil, and to... t-to secure safe passage for... for all WFLM activists in the DC area. Ninety minutes before they... they... before she... she will die... alone." Tears poured freely from his one open eye. "Please..." he let out a small, strangled sob, weeping pitifully; "I'm sorry..." he cried brokenly, sobbing louder; "I'm so sorry!"
The picture went black.
Duo sat rooted frozen to his seat, gaping dully at the blank screen.
He couldn't breathe.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't live with himself for witnessing what he just had.
Duo jumped off the bed and slammed the laptop screen shut. His heart palpitated strongly in his chest. He shouldn't have seen that... he shouldn't have seen it! Who was showing him all of this? Why!
It was a well-known fact that the ESUN's declared policy was to never negotiate with terrorists, but obviously they had, because Heero survived. And the girl didn't? Was she really Heero's and Relena's daughter?! If news of Relena Darlian's child was ever in the media, he should have put one and one together and figured it out!
Heero had lost his child that day. That must be why he was off duty for so long. Heero was the sole survivor of that incident... he had outlived his own child.
Duo fell down to his knees and gaped dully at the bed. His chest hurt and pulsed badly... about to explode. Damn... dammit!
"Dammit!" he exclaimed loudly. He couldn't breathe... He couldn't... couldn't... shit... He bowed his head and covered his face in his hands.
"Fuck... Heero... dammit... Oh God... what da fuck..." he cried, shaking his head in denial.
How could he have missed something this big, this terrible? Could it be that the incident was all over the news but he had missed it on account of being too high to notice? How could he? People would have talked... like they were talking about The Pit. A dozen people butchered by extremists and no one knew? Not even a mention on Preventer's database? How could that be? It made no sense that the only insinuation of the tragedy would be in Heero's psychiatrist's file! Was there some sort of cover-up? Why? Because the ESUN negotiated? Relena must have stepped in... she must have. She was the one who made a mistake, not Heero.
"Jesus..." Duo breathed, shaking uncontrollably. He fell helplessly against the bed, caving under unbearable tragedy. Tears stung his eyes and he hurried to wipe them away before they spilled.
He reached for the laptop with trembling hands and slowly lifted the screen back up. The IM was still open. His fingers shook on the keyboard as he typed back a reply:
Who are you? Why are you showing me this?
A response was soon to come: An eye for an eye. I quenched your thirst for knowledge, now you quench mine.
He waited for a question to follow, but none came. His small bedroom suddenly felt awfully silent. He stared blankly at the screen, waiting. His mind numbed. He couldn't get the images he had just seen out of his head. It hurt so much to see Heero cry... he will never be able to get that sound of out of his head.
His cellphone started ringing. Duo jerked, startled, and whirled towards his bedside table, where his cellphone was laid. He hesitated for a moment, just staring at his phone, and then finally reached for it. The caller ID was an unrecognized number, but Duo was familiar with the area code digits: Earth, USA, NYC.
He inhaled a deep breath and answered the call. "Maxwell," he said firmly, trying to sound cool even though he was shuddering inside. There was no reply. The caller hung up.
*     *     *

[i] SCI: Sensitive Compartmented Information (AKA Top Secret)
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