Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Bleeding On the Inside ❯ Icicle ( Chapter 12 )

Disclaimer: I own nothing except this story.

Warnings: Angst, rape, yaoi, and 3x4/1x2 content, masturbation. Religion, again, although a bit more offensive a view then last time. Anyone with strong Catholic views should be wary.

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ICICLE

Icicle Icicle where are you going

I have a hiding place when spring marches in

will you keep watch for me

I hear them calling

gonna lay down

gonna lay down

greeting the monster in our Easter dresses

Father says bow your head like the Good Book says

well I think the Good Book is missing some pages

gonna lay down

gonna lay down

and when my hand touches myself

I can finally rest my head

and when they say take from his body

I think I'll take from mine instead

getting Off Getting Off while they're all downstairs

singing prayers sing away he's in my pumpkin p.j's

lay your book on my chest

feel the word

feel the word

feel the word

feel it

I could have

I should have

I could have flown

you know I could have

I should have

I didn't so

Tori Amos

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Bleeding On the Inside - Chapter 12 - Icicle

"I'm going with you," Wufei said, looking for all the world like he wanted to kill something then and there. Trowa found himself surprised at the venom in his voice, but then again, out of all of them Wufei was the one who believed most in the justice system and would therefore feel all the more incensed to find out what was going on.

Both Heero and Duo nodded like they wanted to come as well but Quatre clutched at Duo's sleeve and whispered, "You're not going to leave me alone here are you?"

Duo bit his lip and shook his head, bending down until his face was level with Quatre's.

"Don't worry Q. I'm not leaving you. We'll send Trowa and Wu down to find out what the hell's going on and maybe Heero can pop down to the store and take a look…"

Heero nodded and stood up abruptly, pausing when he heard Quatre's stifled whimper.

"Be careful," the boy said, refusing to look anywhere but at the floor, his arms clasped around his body in a fierce self-embrace. "Don't…just be careful Heero."

"Don't worry," Duo said, forcing a cheerful grin. "Hee-chan won't do anything stupid and rash, will ya Hee-chan?"

But there was a strange glint in Duo's eye, a similar look of fear and worry for his lover that he couldn't quite contain. Heero saw this and nodded, making sure to keep his expression blank. If Duo knew that Heero could sense his fear he would be sure to retreat further into a shell that Heero had been able to crack only recently. Respect was something that Duo prized above all else. He would not accept sympathy, even from his lover, even when it was well deserved. That was just how Duo was. Sometimes Heero thought that he had more pride then Wufei.

"I will be careful," he said, looking Duo straight in the eyes, letting him see the confidence and surety he wished to pass onto the worried boy. "I will be back shortly, I promise."

With that, the three boys departed the house, each focused on their mission for the truth. Quatre and Duo watched them go, watched from the window and stood silently near each other, watched with the fear still bubbling too close to the surface to let them feel any sense of reassurance.

Quatre stood at the window long after the car faded from view, hands clasped in a death grip around his arms. His face was blank and tired dead eyes stared outside at nothing in particular, just staring…trance-like…lifeless.

Duo couldn't stand it any longer. He put a hand on Quatre's arm and led him away from the window and back to his room. The blonde boy made no protest, no sound as he was tucked into his bed once more, and when Duo handed him another capsule to take he swallowed it without a murmur, and when Duo told him to sleep, Quatre closed his eyes and slept, or at least pretended to.

He looked like a doll, lying there with his flaxen hair spread out over the pillow, his lips tightly closed as if keeping secrets he wished to stop from slipping out while he slept, his small body curled in on itself in a near fetal position, hands fisted into tight balls. The posture was almost too much for Duo to bear as he smoothed the stray locks back from Quatre's forehead, whispering some words of comfort before the tears escaped him and he had to leave the room, lest he disturb the boy with his sobs.

Quatre, who was deep within the drug-hazed reaches of sleep, felt a stir of something in his soul, a tendril of sorrow and guilt that his empathetic abilities has picked up from Duo, but his mind, deciding that it had experienced more emotion in these past two days then it could possibly react to, quickly squelched the feeling and locked it away. The burn of pain and shudder of confusion were effectively iced over in a numbness that even the most patient would find difficult to break through. Yes, for the first time in what seemed like ages, Quatre felt fine, simply because of the fact that he could not feel.

All better, his mind soothed, it will be all better now.

And Quatre believed, because it was the only thing he could do.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Duo climbed the stairs leading to the attic, feeling the need to get away, to get as high above this chaos as he possibly could. The musty smell that seemed to reside in all attics surrounded him and he almost choked on the dust that rose to cloud around him when he sank onto the hard wooden floor, listening through the cracks to Quatre's breathing below, listening to his own shaky breathing. One hand caressed the small silver cross at his throat as he allowed the memories to overcome him. It was ironic really, that he should wear a symbol of everlasting life around his neck, when in actuality, all he ever brought people was death.

'I don't even believe in God,' he thought to himself with an amused sort of bitterness. 'And I don't think I ever did, as much as Father Maxwell tried to convince me that there was such a thing. I could have spared him the trouble, told him not to bother trying to save my soul. I think sometimes we both knew I never had one…'

~ flashback ~"Let us all bow our head in prayer…"

Duo watched through the cracks between the wooden planks in the ceiling as Father Maxwell started Sunday Mass. For a moment, he felt a flash of guilt for hiding up in the rafters instead of being down there with all the other orphans, sitting in a crowded lump beside Sister Helen in their best outfits, trying hard to be still and quiet so that the rest of the world would see what good little children they were. But Duo shoved this feeling aside quickly. He hated Sunday Mass and getting dressed up in uncomfortable clothes, having to sit through a boring lecture about a God he didn't believe in, and having to be on his best behavior for the other people who attended the church. He especially hated the period after the sermon where he and the other orphans would trotted out onto the platform like cattle and displayed in the hopes that someone might want to adopt them.

'No one wants me,' Duo thought to himself. 'So it's useless to even try. The only time someone wants to adopt me is because they think I'm pretty enough to warrant a good fuck.'

It was true that the few times Duo had been adopted, either one or both of his new "parents" had tried to rape him, but Duo had learned some things since Solo's sacrifice and a quick knife to the ribs changed the would-be attackers' minds pretty quickly about keeping him around. Of course, everything was covered up and the reasons for sending Duo back to the church were often fabricated. Duo never told anyone about these incidents simply because he didn't believe that anyone else would care.

Words floated up through the rafters, and Duo listened to the flowing words of the simple Latin prayers, sung in sweet harmony. The soft chords of the organ echoed beneath him and Duo stretched out on the floor, wanting to feel the vibrations of the sound traveling through him. This was the only part of Sunday Mass that he liked, the voices of the people raised in song. Somehow, the beauty of the hymns seemed to convey a comfort and power that the hard words Father Maxwell read from the big black bible in front of him could not. These songs were the closest Duo could get to grace and he knew it.

Carefully he listened for the sweet soprano of Sister Helen, rising above the other voices like birdsong. If he tried hard enough he could almost make out Father Maxwell's gruff tenor wavering slightly in his old age. And below that, the childish chanting of the orphans in the front row, trying not to muddle the archaic language too badly.

Through the cracks, Duo could see his own brood; the members of Solo's gang, or rather, his gang gathered together in a tight group. It was one of the things Duo had impressed upon them: safety in numbers. You can't do to twenty kids what you can do to two.

Duo watched as the singing stopped and communion began. He watched as the children lined up single file to receive the bit of grape juice and tablet from the priest. He watched as one by one, the children turned to the rest of the congregation and looked into the faces of those who pitied them, nervously trying to convince themselves that the Lord wanted them at least, even if nobody else did. Duo watched Father Maxwell pray for the children, and then he could watch no more, knowing what would come next.

Ave Maria

The organ once again flared to life, but the vibrant chords did not bring the same joy that they did before. Duo fell back against the floor, seeing, in his mind, the children lining up once more, in rows this time, paraded out in front of the crowd for market. The warbling of one more hymn rose up through the rafters, the voices of the children in semi-harmony…it was enough to make tears prick the corner of Duo's eyes.

But boys didn't cry, so Duo calmed the emotions raging within him by reaching inside the waist of his pants and stroking his small, child's member, trying to quell the despair he felt with brief pleasure, trying to push back the fear that waited on the edges of consciousness, while at the same time, spiting the God he didn't believe in with such an obvious sin right in such a sacred place.

Gratia plena

And when the organ swelled and pulsed, Duo did the same. His small body twisting and arching in rhythm.

Dominus tecum

And when the children's voices rose in climax, Duo let his own groan of sweet music fall from his lips, muffled by the arm he slung across his mouth.

Benedicta tu in mulieribus

And when the rush was over, Duo's hand fell limply at his side as he took in the silence. His breathing hitched and caught but at least this time, he could tell himself it was with passion and exhaustion.

Et benedictus fructus ventris

Tuae, Jesu

And when a single tear rolled down his cheek, Duo could tell himself that it was due to his climax and not these other feelings that roiled inside of him. It did not matter anyway. Release was release, no matter how it came.

Sancta Maria

Mater Dei

Duo listened, flat on his back, while the church cleared of people below. He heard the soft whispers of ladies' skirts and faint tapping of men's shoes as the pews emptied once more. His hand was sticky and cool next to his heated skin. He wished for holy water to wash with but decided that the tissues in his pocket would do just as well for now.

Ora pro nobis peccatoribus

Peeking once more down below, Duo caught sight of Father Maxwell kneeling in front of the huge glass-stained window which displayed the virgin Mary holding her crucified son in her arms. Duo watched as Father Maxwell prayed, feeling like a pervert intruding on a private moment.

Nunc et in hora mortis nostrae

He was about to leave when he saw a group of men walk up behind the priest. Duo listened to them exchange angry words with each other. And then he saw one of them knock Father Maxwell to the floor.

Amen.

And then he knew nothing except rage as his footsteps pummeled down the stairs, all the emotions he felt before lost in a hazy wash of red over his eyes.

It would be the last time Duo would ever hear Sunday Mass from Father Maxwell's lips.

~ flashback ~

Duo's hand tightened around his cross as he rocked back and forth, and endless litany of guilt and apology flowing from his lips.

Mea culpa

Mea culpa

Mea maxima culpa

'I'm sorry, so sorry, it was all my fault. I know I'll never be clean, but can't you forgive me? Can't you…?'

Duo cried and his tears soaked the fabric of his shirt like blood. He knew what redemption was. He'd just never felt it.