Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Black and White ❯ Part Three ( Chapter 3 )

Black and White

Part Three

By: The Firefaery

R: Gore

***

(Three Days Later)

"He's contracted pneumonia," Quatre informs the three of us quietly, his expression bleak. "In his weakened condition, the slightest chill is enough to make him ill. He probably already had it when we brought him out of Deathscythe." I know he's trying to say it isn't my fault, his eyes locking with mine for a moment. Wu Fei runs a hand over his face, looking pale under his bronze skin color. For unknown reasons, Duo's fallen state has effected him badly.

"How bad is it?" the Chinese warrior demands, his dark eyes dull with lack of sleep. All of us have been watching our comrade hang in limbo, not worsening but never waking, either.

"If we don't monitor his condition even more closely, he could develop fluid in his lungs or spike a fever high enough to kill him." The blonde looks at all of us. "He can't be left alone, even for a moment. He may become delirious, violent, or go into convulsions, and somebody needs to be there to administer the appropriate treatment or call for someone who can." We all know that this is a very bad sign, only lowering even farther the chances of Duo pulling through.

"God, how much more can he take? He should be dead!" Trowa cries unexpectedly, all of us, even his lover, shocked. "Sorry," he mutters, looking embarrassed and uncomfortable. I've come to realize that Duo is a very large, important part of our group, even though we're not together very often. All of us have had one or two experiences with him that are some of our only good memories to come out of this war.

Hours later, up in that all too familiar room, I listen stoically to his labored breathing. The fever is up, causing him to thrash around slightly. Low, painful moans fill the empty air, sympathetic shivers running through me at each one. I've been forced several times to get up and hold his arms down, so he can't move too much and reopen the damage Sally and Quatre repaired. Suddenly, his eyes snap open, the first time since he was brought in.

"I can't see! I'm suffocating! It's too dark!" I know he isn't truly awake, but I rush to his side, placing a cool hand on his forehead. "Oh God, we're going to die! Wu Fei, the air is running out," he chokes out, his violet eyes glazed and lost in recent memory. A mission where he and Wu Fei were locked in an Oz cell to suffocate slowly.

"Duo, calm down. You're in the safehouse in Texas," I try to explain quietly, but I can see he doesn't hear me.

"Deathscythe!" He lunges up quickly, his left hand frantically reaching for where his gun should be. I put my hand in his instead, the pain of his grip distant. "Black and white, black and white!" Giggling hysterically, he falls back to bed willingly as I push him down. A sense of relief goes through me as I see he hasn't popped his stitches this time. "I'm going crazy - Shinigami is coming for me - " Chills roll down my back as he starts coughing.

"It's all right, Duo. I won't let Shinigami have you," I whisper against his ear, and strangely he seems to relax. Falling into a fitful sleep, he still won't release my hand, and I decide I don't mind. I fall into a light doze myself, not having had much sleep the last few days, between the mission and Duo.

A week passes like that, Duo waking from the fever to shout strange things to anyone in the room. I don't think he even knows we're there. His fever comes and goes, spikes and drops, but it hasn't broken yet. Trowa manages to get me to my bed after I fall asleep leaning against the wall of Duo's room, and though I don't want to leave the sick pilot for too long, I sleep over twelve hours. We watch in shifts, sleeping and training and keeping up to date on events in space between witnessing the braided pilot struggle to live.

The IV's are constantly going, he sweats out all the fluids we pump into him. Quatre adds protein drips to keep him from starving. A few sips of water are all he'll take. I've never been this worried about a person in my life, never cared about the outcome of a battle so much. After another week, the pneumonia is more or less gone, though he still has a dry, wracking cough that Quatre and Sally don't like. More medicine added to his tubes.

"It's a promising sign that he's lasted this long, and his wounds are healing," Sally assures us, trying to sound positive. We all want him to survive, but his thinning, pale form doesn't do a damn thing to comfort us.

We need to leave this base soon; the others have done a few more missions from this location and we could be targeted. I don't know how we'll move him, and one of us will have to pilot two Gundams, Deathscythe and their own. I'm watching him one day, paying more attention to the ceiling than him, when his voice cuts through the room.

"Heero? Is that you?" he croaks, moving his left hand feebly in my direction. I jerk up, looking to him. His eyes are open, but for once they aren't glazed by fever, only pain. I feel his forehead before answering, and it's cool to the touch.

"Hai," I whisper finally in Japanese, not catching the slip. He gives a weak smile, glancing lethargically around the dark room.

"I thought I was going to wake up dead. This isn't a dream, is it?" he asks, almost frantic. "It's too dark to tell. I dream in black and white." I blink at his confession, confused for a moment. Black and white dreams?

"No, this isn't a dream. You were shot, and Quatre and Sally did surgery on you in the living room. You had pneumonia and a high fever for a while, but I think it's gone now," I explain, too relieved to hear his voice to see his eyes open wider at my sudden verboseness.

"I - I think I remember," he admits, trying to lift an arm, but too weak from three and a half weeks in bed with a fever. "I knew I was going to die, I wanted to die in Deathscythe." The explanation is obvious to me, I would choose to go in Wing, if given a choice. I nod to show I understand, then realize he probably can't see it.

"I would choose the same." I scoot the chair closer to the bed. "You've been down for almost a month." He seems even more shocked.

"Well, that explains why I feel like a week-old kitten instead of a Gundam pilot," he jokes, trying to laugh and coughing instead. I reach over to the nightstand and hold up a glass of water. At his silent nod, I support him with my right arm and lift him to sip at the water. Lowering him back down carefully, he says a soft, "Thanks."

"Hn."

"Good ol' Heero. Knew I could count on you for minimal conversation." This time he only smiles. I want to see his grins instead. "Where are the others?"

"Asleep. It's three in the morning."

"Oh. What the hell are you doing up?" His eyes are piercing.

"I watch through the night," I tersely supply, not meeting his gaze. His brief bout of recovered energy seems to exhaust him as he sinks lower into the bed, eyes closing. After no words for a while, I figure he's gone back to sleep.

"Heero- " The tone of his voice is strange, and I shift to look at his face. His eyes are still closed. Seeing he expects a reply, I offer one.

"What?" It's soft, not my usual sharp demand.

"I thought I was going to die," he chokes out, tears slipping down his face. "And I realized that I didn't want to." He's crying harder now, but silently. I don't know what to do, and all I can think of is taking the hand I've held almost every night I'm there beside him. He squeezes mine weakly in thanks, but the tears still continue.

"I was afraid you were going to die, too," I whisper hoarsely, leaning my forehead against the back of the hand I hold. "And I didn't want you to, Duo." I'm afraid to look up at him, afraid to see rejection, confusion, revulsion. I don't know. Another squeeze of the hand makes me do it anyway. And all I see is a strange hope, watery from his embarrassed tears.

"I love you, Heero," he admits, a faint pink coming to his otherwise pale cheeks. I'm shocked speechless, left staring at him, dumbfounded. He seems to panic, shifting dangerously in the bed. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have said anything!" He starts coughing again, convulsing slightly as it wracks his chest. I grab the half-empty glass and make him slowly drink more. With a weary sigh, he lays back, looking away from me. I know now that I can't wait until after the war. I have to tell him now, before something like this happens again. Even now, he could still get sick again before fully recovering.

"Duo," I begin, but he interrupts me.

"No, don't say anything, forget I mentioned it. Just don't worry about it," he says hoarsely, and I know he's crying again. I take our hands and press his knuckles hesitantly to my lips. He goes perfectly still, turning to look at me again. Our eyes lock.

"I love you, too, Duo," I manage to get out, feeling an odd weight lift from me. I've wanted to admit it since I first met him, it seems. The Perfect Soldier isn't so perfect now.

"Really?"

"Hai."

"Wow."

"Go back to sleep, Duo. We'll talk more when you're better," I order, relief filling me now that I know he will get better. He nods hesitantly and closes his eyes again. His light, easier breathing is all I need to hear until Wu Fei comes to relieve me at dawn.

"Any change?" Shenlong's pilot asks, no hope in his voice. I give him a rare smile and his eyes widen.

"He woke up. His fever is broken." Leaving the shocked man alone with Duo, I stride quickly to knock on Quatre and Trowa's door down the hall. Getting no reply, I walk in, belatedly ignoring their position, clinging together in the middle of the bed. "Quatre!" The two of them shoot up in bed, and I know it's a situation Duo would find funny. Duo - I even think his name differently now.

"Heero! What is it? Is Duo all right?" Quatre asks, confused, flinging back the covers and getting hurriedly out of bed. Part of me is relieved to see they're both wearing boxers underneath the sheets.

"He woke up, he's cool to the touch." The news causes Trowa to whoop uncharacteristically and Quatre to crack a grin large enough to break his face. I blink at Trowa, who looks sheepish but happy. "He loves me." The remark causes the two of them to stare at me in shock, and I can't help myself. I laugh.

***

(That Afternoon)

"We had it pretty rough for a while, but I think you should make a full recovery, Duo. Just don't try walking on your right leg yet," Sally cautions, her face and voice bright. "I knew you'd make it!" She ruffles my hair and leaves the two of us alone. Heero looks at me, his face the most open I've ever seen it. I grin at him, still tired and feeling weak, but I know inside, I'm on the mend.

"How could she ever doubt? Duo Maxwell can do anything!" I crow with a little less exuberance than usual. I'll get it all back eventually. Wing's pilot only smiles, the expression unfamiliar on his face, but transforming it from the stoic, distant look he once held to something beautiful.

"Of course," he assures me, sitting on the edge of the bed. Neither of us know for sure how to proceed, but I think we'll do all right. He hesitantly touches my face, his expression one of wonder. "I thought I'd lost you, and I had never told you." His are suspiciously shiny, and he blinks once, clearing them.

"Hey, don't feel bad! I never told you, either, and think how I felt! I was the one dying, damn it!" I joke, a feeling of elation filling me. I have something to tell him, and I don't know if he'll understand how important it is.

"We know now, right?" he questions, looking more human then I hoped possible. I reach up and touch his hand, holding it gently.

"Right." I pause, before finally spilling it. "I dreamt in color last night. After we talked," I burst out, praying he'll understand. He studies me for a moment, then grins. It's the first time I've seen him do that. Leaning down, his breath is hot against my mouth as he speaks.

"So did I." And he kisses me for the first time.