Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Black and White ❯ Part One ( Chapter 1 )

Black and White

Part One

By: The Firefaery

R: Gore

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing.

Due to length, this has been split into a trilogy. ^_~

*Some minor corrections that were needed*

After the war. That's the goal Heero has in mind, the time of peace they are assured will come at the end of all the madness. It's the time he'll tell Duo how he feels. For now he must be the Perfect Soldier, no emotions allowed to distract him. But when Deathscythe's pilot is hovering on the brink of meeting his other half, Shinigami, can the Perfect Soldier admit to himself and the fallen pilot that he's not perfect anymore?

****

I've started dreaming in black and white. If I think about that fact too much, I know it means I'm going crazy. Or have already gone. But I don't think about the color of my dreams, or other unimportant things, very often. Things like the number of people I've killed, the red, red blood that stains my hands for the rest of my life, or the constant call of my other persona, Shinigami. It's getting harder and harder to return to the normal façade of Duo Maxwell each time I get back from a battle. The God of Death is taking over my mind, bleeding into my dreams and even my everyday thoughts. It's a little unsettling to realize that I can't really turn it off anymore. I'm always in "Battle Mode" these days, and I can't say that I like it.

Flicking the end of my infamous braid in thought, I almost don't hear the approaching footsteps behind me. Dropping the hair, I pull my gun out of my waistband, not even realizing I'd brought it with me, and turn, ready to fire. Instead of an Oz lackey or a White Fang operative, I find Quatre Winner's blue eyes blinking at me in astonishment. Suddenly, I recall where I am at the moment.

As miracles would have it, the five Gundam pilots are for once all in the same place, holed up in a Winner Estate. Of all the places we could have picked, we're stuck here, the Piney Woods of East Texas, USA, and waiting for orders to come down so we can move out. I have no idea why the Winner family has an estate out in the last backwoods of the oil state, and, God help us, it's summer. Summer in this state means barbecue, sauna, heart of the sun heat, and let me remind everyone that my favorite color to wear is black. I am so miserable in this heat that I usually stay up in my wonderful, air-conditioned room for most of the day. I'm outside now to get a breather, think a little. Having Quatre walk up on me had startled me.

"Whoops, sorry, Q-man," I quip, grinning and slipping my gun back into my belt carelessly, no sign of my recent thoughts betraying me. The tension leaves his shoulders after a moment and he gives me that little-boy smile of his.

"That's all right, Duo, I didn't mean to startle you. I just came out to tell you that I've got lemonade in the house and sundaes in the works if you want something to cool off," he admits, his eyes twinkling slightly, knowing I won't and can't resist the offer of food ~and~ a way to cool off. The black tank top I'm wearing is sticking to my chest with sweat and the hair around my face and neck is damp, too. A shower sounds really good, but definitely drinks and ice cream first.

"Man, you read my mind! I've never been this hot in my life!" I cry in half-mocking dismay, not actually willing to show how disgruntled and grouchy the stupid heat makes me. I am a Gundam pilot, after all.

Smiling more broadly now, Quatre speaks again. "It's not really that bad, you know. L-4 is usually this hot or hotter, and so is my homeland. You just have to get used to it, and quit wearing black," he jibes slightly, reminding me callously that Quatre was actually at home in this weather, being Arabic and from a desert culture. Throwing the smug Sandrock pilot a glare, I turn to head into the house and the beautiful, wonderful, makes-ya-wanna-cry-with-relief invention that is A/C.

"Says you, oh mighty Quatre," I grumble back, hearing him chuckle softly as I reach the large covered front porch, open the screen door and walk inside. The cool air hitting me in the face nearly makes my knees go weak, and I feel my mood lighten somewhat. The door slams behind me as I jog to the kitchen, coming upon the strange and amusing scene of Wu Fei and Trowa put to work constructing sundaes for the five of us. All the Winner servants had vacated this place in the spring, the estate staying empty during the torturous summers of Texas heat. Except, of course, we were here during said torturous summer.

"Hey you guys, Quatre put you to work?" I ask, grinning. The tall, brown-haired pilot nods as I briefly picture the uptight Wu Fei and silent Trowa in the frilly aprons and fuzzy slippers of my picture of a mom or housewife, and snicker at the ridiculousness of it. Wu Fei glares at me, probably guessing some of what I'm thinking. I just give him a shit-eating grin and grab one of the completed sundaes and a talk, slick glass of lemonade. "Thanks, Wu-man!" I call evilly, knowing that particular nickname will always get a rise out of him.

"The name is Wu Fei! Get it right, Maxwell, you baka!" he hollers from the kitchen, the image of him in a apron coming back to me. I just can't resist, my foot on the stairs and therefore almost to safety.

"You'd make a great wife, Wuffie!" I yell loudly, and I can almost hear the aneurysm he's having. I hightail it to the security and coolness of my room on the second floor, closing and locking the door after setting down my drink and snack, and snickering at my escape. I know he'll get me back eventually, though, but that's in the future, something I don't think about much these days. I'm pretty sure I don't have much of one coming to me, if I survive the war alive and at least partially intact, mentally and physically. Piloting Deathscythe isn't really a job meant to last. We all knew, to some extent, that some or all of us wouldn't be around whenever this war ended.

"Hell, it all sucks anyway," I mutter, stripping off my sweat-soaked top and, after placing the ever-present gun on the table next to my sundae, take off my belt and jeans too. Sitting in only my gray cotton boxers, I hold my braid up so the air from the A/C vent can hit my back, drying the sweat and giving me a chill for a moment.

The ice cream in front of me is melting, and mind only half aware, I start eating, feeling the cool, thick feeling of it sliding down my throat. Taking a sip of lemonade, I realize that maybe ice cream and lemons don't go together. Shrugging, I continue eating, planning on finishing the drink after I'm done.

You know, it really bites that I'm fifteen, an orphan, broke as hell, and I know I'm going to die pretty damn soon. It probably won't be on our next mission, and maybe not the one after that, but eventually, something bigger, badder, or maybe with just more backup, is going to take out Deathscythe, and therefore, Pilot 02. Meaning me, of course. Sometimes, I think maybe I deserve it, that when the time comes, all I'll feel is relief. I'm a killer, a trained death-machine. I don't call myself Shinigami and take on the mask of Death just for kicks. Although, it is kind of fun to see the expression on people's faces when they realize the bogeyman haunting and terrorizing the Oz forces is actually a teenaged boy who's not even old enough to shave.

I lick the spoon for the last of the ice cream, then take the glass with me to my bed, all the blankets on the floor since the first night we got here. After draining it, I flop onto the cooled sheets, hands behind me head. The glitter of my cross laying across my bare chest distracts for a moment, then I sigh and look up to watch the ceiling fan. Damn memories, I hate `em. Father Maxwell and Sister Helen flash through my mind for a moment before I push them away, not wanting the remember that short time of peace in my life right now. There is no room for peace in the world, however the illusion of it hangs over the silent pine trees and the heat haze surrounding the estate.

Blinking at my thoughts, I close my eyes and try to sleep. I'm almost afraid to, not wanting to see the black and white landscape my dreams have become. I think it's to hide all the red it would otherwise be, soaked in the blood trail of my life. I am Death, its touch following me since I was a kid on L-2. Growling in frustration, I realize this isn't working. I seem to be bent on taking a lengthy trip down memory lane today. Grumbling, I get out of bed and start pacing, a habit I've had for as long as I can remember. This way, I feel ready for quick action, to do my whole fight or flight gig at any moment. I may run and hide, but I never tell a lie. Damn, but it's true. If I run and hide, I can always recoup and strike again the next time, with more precise results. Death, usually.

Running a hand through my bangs, I frown. "Damn, but I'm depressing myself, even!" Shaking my head, I continue pacing, thoughts thick and crazy in my mind.

Drifting back to L-2 Colony, I remember my adoptive brother, Solo. Dead of the sickness that killed so many on the deprived, floundering colony, I think about what kind of man he would have been. Strong, brave, a true leader, unlike me. I seemed to live up to his name more than mine, being better doing work alone, or with me in control of one half of a mission, basically given free reign. Quatre and Heero were the real leaders of this group, if we had any at all. Close to death myself, the Maxwell Church had taken me and many other L-2 orphans in and cared for us. I was one of a scant few to survive, and I shudder at the closeness of my escape from the true Death. That short time, with adults who really cared for me, had given me my last name, after the death of everyone when the Alliance soldiers burned down the church, all the people locked inside. That memory, of returning to the charred ruins and smoke of my only haven, was a very painful one, and shoved down the lump in my throat.

Everything after that was just a wild, crazy ride to becoming a Gundam pilot, under the tutelage of Dr. G. Training, memorizing, training, working hard and long, learning the ins and outs of my new partner, the cold metal replacement for a face I barely remembered anymore. Oh, and more training. Solo was dead, Father Maxwell and Sister Helen, too, and all because of the anger Earth felt towards the colonies, and the war it was causing. I saw it as my chance to do something, and I wouldn't pass it up. I would bring Death with me, as those soldiers had brought death and fire onto the only people to care for me. Thus was born Shinigami, the darker side of me. At first, it was a mask I wore during fighting, but somehow, Duo Maxwell became the mask, and Shinigami the real person. The ease with which I'd pulled my gun on Quatre, a friend and comrade, and been reserved and calm, ready to shoot, showed how close to the surface my other half was.

Everything I'd ever loved or cared about was gone, dead, the only reminders a cross around my neck, a braid down my back, and the black warrior machine hidden in a bunker under the estate. They were the only physical connections to my troubled past, and held vast sentimental value, but I knew if it came to losing one of them, or completing my mission, I would give up my past in a heartbeat. That was how much of a soldier I'd become, how dark the underside of my skin was becoming. Soon, I'd be Perfect Soldier 02, as emotionless and focused as Heero Yui claimed to be.

Something twitches as I think about the dark-haired pilot 01, but I shrug it off, not willing to acknowledge anything about it.

All the pilots have had troubled lives, injured pasts, mental and physical scars from the war and the time before it. Some were worse than others, I knew. Heero's was probably the worst, trained since he was a child to kill. Following that came Trowa Barton, growing up with mercenaries and battle scarred and hardened men, making him a silent, withdrawn, and watchful young man, pilot of Heavyarms. I had to admit I was next, with life starting out as an orphan on the streets, then having my best friend die in front of me, and soon after any adults who cared about me. Being a pilot was almost a relief. Wu Fei Chang was fourth, his child-wife dying in battle, her legacy living on in Shenlong, or Nataku as Wu Fei called his Gundam. Quatre Rebarba Winner was last, having had parents, sisters, servants, and money all his young life. Only his empathic ability and his naturally caring heart had led him to become the pilot of Sandrock. We're all pretty screwed up in one way or the other, I suppose.

My pacing stops and I sit on the edge of my bed, feeling drained and tired all of a sudden. I drift around in my mind, remembering the most recent events. Trowa was recovering from his loss of memory, almost completely his old self again. Quatre was finally over the whole Wing Zero episode he'd had, and he and Trowa had gotten a lot closer these days. I mean a lot closer. They shared the same bedroom now, and I always glimpsed these shared looks they would have. It was love, and I knew it. I was happy for them, I really was. Everyone had a right to some small amount of comfort during these bloody, crazed times. That thought brought me up short. If that were true, then where was my comfort? What a joke. Shinigami needs no one.

Fed up with myself, I crawl back up to the head of the bed and this time really gave sleep a try. It works, too, and I'm out like a light, cool air blowing all around me. I don't even remember my dreams, other than registering that, again, they were all in black and white.

I shoot up in bed with a shout, reaching for my gun as the pounding on my door continues. Growling in annoyance, I hope it isn't one of my friends, so I can legitimately shoot whoever is on the other side.

"What?!" I bark, gun held tightly in both hands. The pounding stops and a muffled voice comes through.

"Duo! We've gotten our orders, we need you downstairs, now," is Heero's reply, authority rich in his voice. Gag, I think, hating being ordered around. I realize I'm still in my boxers and shrug. They'd woken me up, they could deal with my more than half-naked state. I wrench open the door and glare at the other pilot, gun still in my hand. An unfamiliar emotion crosses his face as he takes in my lack of clothes, but with Heero, you never can tell what he's thinking.

"Fine, damn it! I was sleeping!" I grumble, pushing past him to trudge down the stairs, muttering the whole way. I hate being woken up, too. I was sleeping really well, for once. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, still glowering at everything and anything in my path, I stomp into the living room where the other three are already sitting. They turn to look at me as soon as they hear my low profanities, and all three have a sort of stunned look on their faces. Quatre starts developing a blush, and I glare at him, too. "He woke me up, and I don't care," I snap, sprawling on the other side of the sofa Wu Fei was occupying. He shifts slightly as I lay my right hand down on the middle cushion, still clutching my gun.

Heero chooses that moment to walk in, forestalling any comments on my choice of dress. Without glancing at me, he starts. "The mission parameters request that Duo and I do a hit and run job on a base farther North, up by the old D.C. capitol. Using our Gundams, of course," he adds, getting to the point quickly. Everyone nods slightly, eyes turning to me.

"Hn." I answer, still sullen at the rude awakening and my reaction. It seems like all I do these days was point guns at people, or Gundam weapons. Quatre's usually calm, easy face wrinkles with concern, studying me more closely. I want to make some sort of lewd comment about him checking me out, but decide against it, not feeling like an argument, even a joking one, right now. Knowing I had to ease my friend's worry, I stick my tongue out at him and make a face, assuming my Duo mask again. Shinigami has come home to stay, I think with regret. I'm a killer all the time now, not just inside Deathscythe.

"The rest of you will be staying here for this mission, we've still got a few more weeks at this base. We'll be back before you leave again," Heero concludes, nodding at the other three who accepted it all without question. The Perfect Soldier turns to me, his face as usual blank, his eyes, though beautiful, were cold. "We leave tomorrow at dawn, be ready." Leaving it at that, he turns and walks away, no doubt going to hunch over his computer for the rest of the night.

"Great, just what I wanted," I moan, flinging an arm over my eyes dramatically. The silence in the room had been killing me. "Coming back to this preview of hell was definitely at the top of my list for `Fun Things Duo Wants to Do'! Not!" Wu Fei actually gives me a sympathetic look, and I grin back. "Quatre, was your family crazy when they built this place here, in Texas? The state with the worst summers in the U.S. of A.?" The blonde shrugs helplessly.

"We don't use this estate very often, and it's usually during the winter," he explains, his eyes carefully fixed on mine, openly avoiding looking below my neck. I fight down the urge to smile seductively, seeing that Trowa's arm is loosely wrapped around Quatre's waist. "Of course, the locals down here have a saying that applies during every season but summer. If you don't like the weather, wait ten minutes. The only type of weather that lasts here is the heat." Shrugging again, he adds, "Winner Corp. also has shares in most of the oil pockets in Texas, so my father felt obligated to at least show the pretense of understanding the lifestyle down here."

"Well, I can tell you this," I begin, getting to my feet again. "If it weren't for the four of you, I wouldn't even bother wearing these," I admit, motioning to the only thing keeping me decent; my gray cotton boxers. Quatre turns bright pink as I laugh loudly, stalking back to my room to brood some more before we leave in the morning.

"Aren't you going to eat with us?" Trowa calls, bringing me to a stop. I consider holding up the mask for another two hours, and decide against it. Tomorrow I won't need to hide Shinigami at all, and I need to be fresh from strain to do my job.

"Nah, I'm not hungry," I answer back, knowing that it will worry them, but not really caring at this point. I'm tired again, and depressed, and my god damn gun is still in my hand. I hadn't put it down since I'd left my room. "This really blows." I slam my bedroom door and collapse on the bed again, after placing my gun on the nightstand where I'd picked it up. Taking a pillow and putting it over my head, I try to get a few more hours sleep before Heero pounds on my door in the morning. Black and white dreams haunt my sleep the rest of the night.

Morning comes, and for once I'm already up when Heero knocks. My hair in a tight braid, my usual black clothes and black gun ready for travel, I open the door and step out without a word. None of the others are awake yet, and I don't mind not having to say goodbye to them. It was never pleasant when you knew that goodbye could be your last. Heero gives me a brief nod as we head out, our only luggage a small duffel bag each. Medical supplies, change of clothes, Heero's laptop. We travel light.

"The coordinates have been transferred to your Gundam," he states, making his way to his own Gundam. Raking a hand through my loose bangs, I walk out into the early morning humidity, the only time here when the air is wet. By ten in the morning, all the moisture will have been burned off, leaving it just hot.

Climbing up into Deathscythe is like putting my hands on a pan on the stove. He's black, and even though it's early, the metal is already stinging to the touch. I pop the hatch and settle into a sauna, the cockpit stuffy and heavy with heat. I power up and turn on the air filters, relaxing slightly as it cools down somewhat. At least I can breathe.

"Ready whenever you are, Heero," I acknowledge over the com, more than ready to get off the ground and out of this state. His face appears on the screen and he nods as usual. Taking that as my good-to-go signal, I hit the blasters and haul ass out of there, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as Shinigami steps onto the field of battle once again. "God, but it's good to be up again!" I yell excitedly, knowing Heero will hear me. I'm a man of action, I can't stay in one place too long. Trying to make a home somewhere seems ridiculous to me, having one base to return to, an easy target.

As our Gundams race across the sky, I can feel my familiar old grin coming on, the one that isn't Duo, but Shinigami, peering out at all the fearing mortals. A dark laugh fills the small space I sit in as I imagine the reaction of the base we're hitting when they see the two most feared of the pilots bearing down on them. Wing and Deathscythe are perfect compliments to each other. I don't dare imagine the same thing of their pilots, though. Heero is too much a mystery to me, and the emotions I feel when he's around are too confusing.

For distraction, I begin reading the mission statement as we fly. It's actually a night hit, and we'll land about five miles out from the base to wait out the day. Part of the plan is for me to plant some charges on the opposite side of the base we'll be attacking, a diversion that will take some of the man power away from our zone of attack, a mobile suit bunker. Not as many deaths that way, although there are always some. I memorize the base layout, checking that I've got enough charges in my duffel, the detonator slipped into my pocket.

"We're here." He startles me for a second. We'd been flying silent for two hours. Bringing Deathscythe down to the clearing in a patch of woods outside the base, I hop out and hit the ground in a crouch, gun ready. Wing comes down right after me, Heero out of his cockpit a moment later. His gun is also up and ready, and I ponder the fact that I'm just as paranoid as Perfect Soldier boy these days. After checking the clearing, we both lower our weapons and turn to each other.

"You want me to set the charges now, or wait a while?" I ask, all business. I know my eyes are cold, empty violet pools, my face too still and quiet. My other half has taken over again, the only time when it's appropriate. Heero pauses to think.

"Yes, do it. The better prepared we are for the strike tonight, the easier it will go," he explains as I turn to leave, duffel already slung over my back. "Duo- " Something in his voice stops me, and I turn back to look at him. That strange emotion from when he woke me up yesterday is back, his brows furrowed with it.

"What?" Softly, I ask. He shrugs uncomfortably for a second, my eyebrows rising in surprise. Heero Yui, showing emotion and being uncomfortable? Not possible. When he doesn't speak, I start walking again.

"Just - be careful." Shocked, I blink at him for a minute. He won't look at me, his dark blue eyes turned off to stare into the surrounding trees.

"Uh, sure thing, Heero." Giving him a look that I'm sure he saw, I walk into the trees to complete the first part of the mission. An hour later, I'm on one of the last charges, tongue between my teeth as I hang upside down from a convenient bar, fingers sure and steady as I clip the charge to the underside of a small fuel tower on the edge of the base. Sighing in relief, I drop to the ground, only to feel a cold metal barrel pressed to the back of my head. "Shit."

"What are you doing? You don't belong on this base," the obviously genius Oz soldier demands, turning me to face him. At 5'7", I'm not very tall, though it is to be expected at my age. This guy, however, is shorter than I am, and he has a mustache and everything. Twenties at least, and done growing. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Thinking I can maybe talk my way out, I give him a grin.

"Ah, ya caught me, man! I was coming here to see about signing up, but I realized that I'm just not cut out for it. I could never match an Oz officer, such as yourself," I shamelessly flatter the sucker. I watch as his chest swells with pride at being called an officer by a civilian, when he's clearly on the lowest end of the ranks.

"Well, really, young man," he begins, his voice and manner pompous. "I'm sure we could find a suitable position for you. Why don't you come with me to HQ, inside the base? We can talk to some people I'm sure would be glad to have you." I listen for undertones, knowing there are always two meanings to some words. I don't hear any intentions of using me as anything other than a recruit added to his record of helping the cause, so I shrug.

"I really need to get back home, sir. I sort of didn't tell my mom I was coming here," I admit sheepishly, feigning a blush. "I was just going to check it out, first, ya know?" Playing the role of the kid with his hand in the cookie jar, I shuffle my feet. Giving me a sympathetic look, the moron pats my shoulder.

"I know how parents can be, son," he assures me, and I nearly choke on laughter. This guy was crazy! "Why don't you bring her up here next time, and you can have her talk to the captain. I'm sure he'll explain how much you'll be helping the Earth if you join up," he added, grinning at me and clapping me on the back like an older brother or something. What a sap.

"I'll do that, sir. Thank you," I start, but suddenly we're interrupted by another soldier coming around the corner of the tower next to us and giving a shout.

"Samson, what are you doing!? That's one of the Gundam pilots!" The guy next to me, Samson, looks shocked. The soldier who interrupted us pulls his gun and starts shooting, and I'm forced to pull out my own piece. Knowing if I don't take care of these two, our mission will be blown, I turn to the naïve, kindhearted Samson who was stupid enough to sign up with Oz.

"Sorry, man," I say coldly, blowing the back of his head off quickly. Blood and thicker things splatter me, but I don't pause as the other guy keeps firing. I duck and roll around the tower, gun clutched in my hand. I know I've been shot, and I think it's pretty bad, but the pain is distant as I wait for the tell-tale clicking as he runs out of bullets. Whipping around the corner, I fire almost pointblank into his startled face. As his body falls to the ground with a hollow thud, I listen for sounds of soldiers coming to investigate the gunfire. Satisfied that we were far enough away from the base to escape notice, I manage to drag both bodies about a hundred yards into the woods, knowing they won't be missed for a while. I can't risk more attention to set the rest of the charges, and the important ones were done first anyway.

"Shit!" I growl, my breathing heavy as I feel blood running down my leg. I've got a gut wound, and I'm pretty sure it's hit some organs or arteries. There's a lot of blood already, soaking my shirt and jacket, spreading to my jeans. "Well, fuck!" I don't feel an exit wound in my back, either, so the bullet is lodged somewhere inside me. Holding my right arm over the wound, I grab my duffel and make my way back to the other side of the base, heading out into the woods to circle around and meet up with Heero and the Gundams.

As I stumble through the trees, my head light with blood loss, I realize I'm not going to tell Heero I've been hit. He'll make me stay out of the fight. I know this wound is a bad one, between the organs already hit, blood loss, and the bullet still inside to tear up more tissue. I'm probably not going to make it back to the safehouse. I want go out with my Gundam, my Deathscythe. I chuckle thickly as I realize I'd only just been thinking about how the war will kill at least some of us, yesterday.

When the clearing comes into sight, I straighten up and walk normally, not hunching over the hole in my gut. I trust my jacket to hide the blood as I reach the Gundams. Heero is sitting on Wing's foot, waiting and motionless. He looks at me as I approach.

"How'd it go?" His question surprises me. I grunt, swinging up onto Deathscythe and climbing to the cockpit. As I pop it open and step inside, I call over my shoulder.

"Nothing Shinigami couldn't handle!" My voice is light, without betraying the pain I'm feeling. "Had to take out two Oz morons, but nobody'll find `em before we hit it tonight," I add, reassuring him and myself. "I'm taking a nap, signal when it's time." With that, I slam the hatch down and haul myself into my pilot's chair, wincing as I jar my side.

The right leg of my jeans is almost completely soaked with blood now, and as I peel my shirt up to get a look at the wound, I nearly make myself sick on seeing the shining surface of part of my intestine showing through the hole. This is really, really bad. His one shot had almost disemboweled me. I know for sure I'm going to die, now.

I lie back in my seat, reaching for my duffel and some bandages, knowing they won't do much good, other than slow the flow of blood. I don't have a lot of time left, organs are shifting inside me that shouldn't be, and I'd lost too much blood. Even if I went to a hospital now, there was a pretty slim chance the docs there could do anything other than make me comfortable. I painstakingly wrap a few lengths of bandage around my stomach, pale and sweating by the time I'm done. I want to take something for the pain, but I can't, needing a clear head for battle in a few hours.

"God, I don't want to die," I whisper suddenly, fingers clutching my braid tightly. A memorial to all the people who'd died, all the people who I've killed. Who would remember all of them if I died? Who will remember me when I die? Nobody.

The hours until the attack pass slowly as my life drain out of a hole in my side and I grow weaker. I can only hope I'll stay conscious long enough to be of use to Heero. Just thinking his name makes me flinch. I'm half in love with the bastard, at least. How stupid is that? In love with the Perfect Soldier? His emotionless Highness? What an idiot I am.

I gaze around the dim cockpit, knowing this is probably the last place I'll see. I don't really mind. I've done a lot of good things from here, and also most of my sins. I only wish I could live to see the end of the war. Theoretically, there will be an end, at least to this one. I wish I could admit to Heero how I feel, but of course that would be pointless. He'd either ignore me or kill me. On second thought, if he'd kill me, maybe I should tell him, just so my death will be quick.

I blink slowly and realize I'm burning up. I've got a fever, and it feels like I'm back in that state of hell down south. Sweat is slick on my body, and I'm shaking like a leaf. I think I'm going into shock as well. I manage to glance down and realize my seat is coated with blood, the bandage not really working. Yep, this was really fucking bad.

Suddenly, the com beeps an incoming message, and I receive it, not turning on my view screen to send. Heero's face appears, and he looks confused that he can't see me, too.

"Duo, is your com malfunctioning?" he asks, brows furrowed in that familiar look. I take a deep breath, willing all pain and weakness from my voice.

"Yeah, I can see you, but I don't think it's sending," I reply, tapping my screen for sound effects. Just to pretend I'm trying to fix it. "I'll have a look at it when we get back to the safehouse. Everything else is at optimum," I state, my voice brisk, no strain evident. He nods in acceptance, knowing I wouldn't lie about my Gundam's condition right before an attack.

"Good. We're moving out, detonate the charges you set." The screen goes blank and I slowly manage to pull the detonator from my pocket, pressing the switch. A dull boom is heard in the distance, even through Deathscythe's metal hull, and I feel a death's-head grin coming on. Being Shinigami isn't so bad, and I know I'm on my way to meet him, anyway.

I power up the rest of the war machine beneath me, lifting off the ground and taking off, right behind wing. Weapons at the ready, the two of us descend on the low-manned bunker of mobile suits like bats out of Hell. They never knew what hit them. It was an easy mission, really, most of the suits were only half built, or older models. I feel sick irony that such an easy kill has instead killed me. As the flames and smoke billow up from the destroyed base and suits, we turn our machines back towards Texas, Mission Complete.

I cough heavily and try not to panic as blood speckles the control panel in front of me. I don't know if I'll even make it back to the safehouse. Two hours in flight might just do me in, and the fever and pain are starting to make my flying erratic. I hope Heero doesn't notice before we make it back to base. I want to die inside Deathscythe, not propped up on the ground somewhere, or in a hospital cot. I clip a tree top, not realizing I'd flown that low. Wing is ahead of me, and doesn't see it. Another cough and more blood. Very bad sign.

Two hours of pain, coughing, trying to keep Deathscythe flying straight. I'm beyond exhaustion when we reach the Piney Woods. I'm covered in blood, Deathscythe's cockpit is sprayed with it, and I feel like I'm being burned alive. I land next to Wing carefully, my last act as a pilot, perfect. I close my eyes for what I'm sure is the last time and let myself drift. All the pilot's faces come to mind, and I send up a prayer that Quatre and Trowa can have a life together after this blood bath. I hope Wu Fei finds peace with his memories and puts Nataku to rest. But most of all, I hope Heero learns to be human again. I'm pretty sure he was born a human, after all.

I pretend not to notice the tears slipping down my face. This isn't how I wanted to die, if I had a choice. A blaze of glory, a kamikaze dive into an enemy ship when I've run out of fire power, locked in battle with another suit and self-destructing, maybe. But slowly bleeding to death with my guts in all the wrong places, definitely not at the top of my list. I feel it all slipping away, the hollow sounds of someone pounding on the hatch too far away for me to care. I think I hear a gunshot, but all I can see is light as the hatch pops open. A choked gasp, not my own, echoes in my ears just before I slide into oblivion.