Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Cutting Out The Past ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Mononoke 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama / Shounen | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 03.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 345 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Psychological / Drama / Shounen | Type: Shounen-ai | Uploaded On: 03.27.2006 | Pages: 2 | Words: 3.9K | Visits: 345 | Status: Work In Progress
I blame French Onion Sunchips and Shannon, aka "The Toast".
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He'd been sitting there, staring for the better part of four hours. His hands sat in his lap, long fingers curled around the sharp silver in them. Melancholy eyes stared soulfully at him from under the long bangs that hid his face. There were old tear stains down his face, but his eyes were no longer red from crying. They were calm. The kind of calm that only comes with a heavy decision. One which will change the very fabric of one's life.
A finger twitched against the now warm silver... It would be so easy... So easy.
He thought back on his life, on everything that led to this moment; all he could see though was the look of utter condemnation, the hatred in his eyes. The one who mattered most, cared the least. Isn't that how it always works? The jaded never appreciate what they've got, even when it's gone.
And he'd lost so much. His home, his life, his friends.
His love.
No.
He had lost the man he had been "in love" with for all those years. But not the love that he had for that same man. The one who had looked at him, and without a single word spoken, told him to get out of his life forever.
And he wasn't sure it got much more "forever", short of death.
No, he would live on, keeping with tradition, he would lose this, and he would live and grow. He would die slowly, bleeding internally of a continuously broken heart.
His eyes stared at him, mocking him.
"Duo! How could you! You know that he's not like that! I told you, time and again that you should just let it go. No Duo, I'm not angry at you. No Duo... I'll never leave you. Duo, Duo I have to go now. Call me if you need something."
And just like that, he was alone.
Duo Maxwell, orphan, killer, and overall idiot. He was destined to never hold on to what he loved, what he cherished. It was his fate.
Duo didn't even believe in fate.
"The only thing I believe in is death."
The story of his life. Pained indigo eyes pleaded with himself. What choice did he have? Who could he turn to? Hilde was married, and pregnant too. Quatre was busy with Winner Enterprises, and had already told him, in his polite fashion, to fuck off. Trowa was - well, Trowa. They'd never really gotten a good chance to know each other. Besides, he was with Quatre, and what Quatre said, Trowa agreed with. They were always on the same wavelength. Always together, and so very much a part of each other.
Duo laughed, his reflection laughing hollowly at him.
WuFei was busy in the Preventers, and as much as they had fought, they were still friendly. But he was Heero's partner, and he would side with Heero on this. No matter what he thought about the subject, as Duo knew from experience, you don't go against Soldier Boy. They had been roommates after the war; Duo because he was infatuated with Heero, and Heero because he didn't have anything else to do. He had spent three years, three long, lonely, painful years trying to see if Heero even liked anyone, either sex, at all. There had been some hushed encounters that Duo had caught wind of, but never had he found out who with.
I should have known, after all that time, that he would never look at me as more than a friend. More than an annoying roomie who couldn't keep up to par anyways.
Man was he pathetic. He sat in front of the mirror, eyes searching for a spark, the flame of life that he was sure was in there somewhere. He couldn't bear to think about how he had lost it on the way.
On the way to what? On the way to being a killer? An annoyance? A hindrance to the mission and to me. That's what Heero had said.
Duo carefully lifted on pale hand from his lap, fingers gently tracing the purple and yellow bruise marring his face. He knew... He knew that Heero was strong, but Heero knew how to pull his punches too. They had sparred, had played sports and such. Always Heero had treated him gently, not like glass, but softly so as not to hurt him.
And yet, the impact of his fist was clear to all who would look.
And no one would look. No one would say anything to him about it.
Strength to bend steel, and thankfully (or not, he wasn't quite sure which yet) Heero had checked his swing at the last second, leaving a bruise instead of a broken orbital socket.
It was the little things really.
His fingers traced the bruise, then ghosted over eyes, nose, mouth. What about him set everyone on edge?
Why did everyone he meet always form opinions about him, even before he opened his mouth?
Why did they assume that he was brash, loud-mouthed and annoying. Talkative, rude. Uneducated. He searched his face for these things. Where were the laugh lines, to prove his hilarity, his innate happiness? Where was the vapid stare, the sure sign of idiocy? The look about his eyes that said "rude"? Where were these things? All he saw in the mirror was a young boy, his face older than his years. Eyes that had no shine of life, no glimmer of hope burning brightly anymore. The brightness in his eyes came from the unshed tears. He saw sorrow, and grief. He saw a fake, someone who never really existed in the first place.
His hands gripped the silver harder, the warm metal biting into them. There was no blood, no marks though. They were sharp, but not so sharp.
The scissors were his final act of redemption.
How else could he prove that he was no longer who they thought he was? How else could he prove that he no longer cared, no longer loved or laughed or felt. Heero had told him to get out of his life, to leave and not to come back.
Well, Duo Maxwell the idiot, the joker, and the self-proclaimed Shinigami, he would die tonight, and he would never return.
His hands let go of the scissors, curling once more around the symbol of him, of his entire being. His memories, the one thing that was his. The one possession he had kept throughout his life, even on the streets. When he brushed it, he could feel Sister Helen. When he braided it, he could hear the children of Maxwell Church and Orphanage, laughing, tumbling. When he felt it he felt the weight of their deaths, smelled the cloying smell of burning meat and wood. Every time he felt it's weight on his back, he felt Solo and the gang, felt the companionship they had shared, before they left him too.
He would catch glimpses of it, flying behind him and he could see the pilot of Wing, setting his bones, or flying without his parachute.
He would see countless deaths, his hair lit by the fires of explosions, drenched in blood and gore.
His hands caressed the length of hair, feeling the thickness, the heavy weight of almost three feet of hair. He looked at himself. Really looked. What was he? A lost little boy? A soldier? A friend?
He was all of these, and he was none. He was no longer a boy, but not yet a man. He no longer fought on the battlefield, yet he fought everyday to be noticed. Was he a friend? Who would remember him when he wasn't with them anymore? Hilde? Wufei? Quatre? Hell, he wasn't even sure he was his own friend.
I think I'd hate me too. They all do. They see me, and in me they see someone they can hate, someone that they project themselves upon, and they hate it.
Another hollow laugh. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Heero would be home anytime. He was supposed to have gotten his things and left. But he just sat in the bathroom, fingering the scissors.
Just a few strokes, so simple. Either way you do it, you won't be left alive long enough for it to matter. You know that the minute Heero walks into this flat, you're a dead man.
I'm a dead man walking anyways.
You're stalling.
His eyes traveled back to the silver scissors in his hands as he opened and closed the shears on the air, experimenting. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, his fingers shaking, his breath shallow. He could hear Heero coming to the door. Heero would know he was here, would find him sitting here.
He was dead, one way or another.
He looked at the silver shears, time slowing as he heard the key in the lock. He opened them wide, slowly, oh so slowly lifting his hand to his braid. He lifted the braid off his neck, felt it's weight. He could hear Heero, in the hallway, asking him why he was still here.
He was so... he wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy.
Duo shut his eyes, not wanting to see what he was about to do, knowing he was a coward for waiting so long. What had he hoped, that Heero would walk in, and knock the scissors away, proffessing his undying love for him, and a hair fetish?
He smiled sadly.
Life would never be the same, and as he lifted the scissors to his braid, right by the base, he heard the door open, and Heero's voice say his name. The shears started to close, tears streaking down his face.
He was a coward... A dead coward. He had faced down thousands of Ozzies, had killed them all, and with a smile on his face.
And now here he was crying his eyes out in front of someone who would just ridicule him, and he was so scared.
He heard his name on those lips, heard something in his name. His eyes opened, the scissors still closing.
Dead indigo met vibrant blue.
The resistance was great, the hair was so thick it took four hacks to separate the length. His heart cried out, beating harshly. His head swam with the knowledge, he saw the precious length of hair tumble heavily to his lap. Saw the sheared end, and felt the soft air on his neck. He was free of his memories, free of his life.
Free to die in solemn silence.
He looked back up to horrified blue eyes, his own eyes starting to dry.
It was over, and nothing could turn it back. He had decided. It was now or never. He stood, hair thumping to the ground, his heart smashing with it. He turned to Heero, eyes dry, heart pounding.
"I'll never be him again. I can't. You said to get out, so he did."
He numbly brushed past the stunned Heero, the comforting weight of his braid no longer there. He almost broke down, almost fell to the floor and cried out with the loss. He made it out into the hallway before his eyes burned and his lungs seized. A choked sob, a gasping breath. He fell to his knees, and touched his head to the ground, holding his stomach in a mocking gesture of comfort. He could feel the ends of his hair brushing his ears and neck, felt the pain of the loss so acutely. It was as if he had lost a limb. He was trying to walk without legs, trying to swim without arms.
He didn't hear the slow footsteps behind him, didn't see the shadow falling over him. His eyes were closed, squeezed closed against the pain and the sorrow. He did feel the arms that wrapped around him, the warmth of Heero as he pulled Duo up, standing him on his feet. Duo didn't turn around though, he couldn't. Couldn't face the emotionless face. The face that would never truly understand what he had just witnessed. But two strong arms encircled him, holding him in an embrace meant to comfort.
It stung like salty tears in a fresh wound.
"Let go of me Heero."
His voice barely a whisper, catching with a small sob. He was trembling, and he was desperately trying not to. It was bad enough for Heero to have seen him like this, but for Heero to feel him tremble, to hear his sobs. Unthinkable.
"Duo... What.... Why Duo?"
"Because I'll b-break your face Yuy. Let me go." He tugged futily at the strong arms holding him up.
"No Duo. Why did you just--" If Duo wasn't sure that Heero was incapable of actual human feelings, he would have thought that it was almost a sob, almost a feeling that had caught the words in Heero's throat. That was the last straw. He laughed. He laughed and it was a hollow, joyless sound, filled with pain and fear and death.
"Because Yuy," he couldn't bring himself to call Heero Heero. It hurt. A lot. " because it's all I had left."
"But Duo, that doesn't make -- "
"Yuy! Where are you, and why aren't you back --" Wufei pulled up short, both at once curious and worried by the sight before him. Heero had his arms around someone, a distraught someone. He could see the tremors running through the person - a boy it looked like. Heero had the look of a frightened child, one who just watched someone be killed.
"Heero, what's going on here?" Wufei edged closer, trying not to startle the boy. "Who's this?"
The boy, maybe in his teens, had old jeans and a faded black shirt. There were scars up and down the arms that were holding his stomache, and their hair... It had seen better days. Then he was stunned into oblivion when the boy turned a heartbroken face upwards, black eyes taking in the broken countenance of ...
"Duo?"
Red streaks and puffy eyes drew attention to the fact that he had been crying, something that he had never seen Duo do. "Boys don't cry 'Fei" That's what he always said, biting back tears as this wound, or that scrape was treated. And his hair. What had happened to his braid? The one that he had protected with tooth and nail, the one he wouldn't let anyone - not even Quatre - touch. His hair was everything to him. No matter how many times he was told that it was a safty hazard, no matter how many times it got tangled and dirty, he always defended it and took care of it.
"No." It was a whisper. "No, I'm not Duo."
Wufei looked to Heero, and saw something he never thought he would ever see.
Worry. Shame. Guilt.
"Duo, what did you - "
"I'M NOT DUO! DUO'S DEAD!" The shout rang down the hall. Heero looked at the broken young man in his arms and hauled him inside, motioning for Wufei to do the same. As soon as the three were inside, Duo broke out of Heero's arms, and sat on the couch. He seemed to fold in on himself, even as he sat upright, staring off into the distance.
"Heero, what's going on?"
Heero sighed. "I came home, and he was just sitting there in the bathroom. He had scissors...He looked right at me as he - he." Heero cleared his throat. "As he cut off his hair."
Wufei just gaped. Openly gaped at the two of them. What had happened? He'd heard from Quatre that the two had had a major fight, and that Duo might be moving out, but this? This was a little too far.
"What started all of this?" Not even a sign of life from Duo. Heero looked at him and motioned to come back to the bedroom.
"About four days ago Duo got drunk. Really, really really drunk. He.... He kissed me, and well, tried to do much more, but I stopped him. He didn't know what he was doing. I hit him before I even realized it, and I was shouting at him. I told him to go away, to leave me alone. I told him to go sleep it off, and that we'd talk later. I guess neither one of us really tried to talk to the other. I don't... I don't understand what he did! He said to me," Heero looked as though it actually hurt him physically to say the words. "He said : 'I'll never be him again. I can't. You said to get out, so he did.' I don't understand what went wrong Wufei!"
Heero had the look of someone who was truly out of their element. He never dealt with these kind of situations, that was always Quatre, or Sally. Hilde. Not Heero, not Wufei, or Trowa. They just weren't the type to sympathize and help to deal. But he would have to try.
"Let me talk to him. Call Quatre, and Sally too. We may need to sedate him.... He may have just... had a break in reality." It pained him to say it, but they both knew it was a very real possibility. It was for all of them.
"Alright."
Wufei walked back to the living room, mildly surprised to find Duo still seated. Usually the braided menace - He stopped himself, thinking about the words. He no longer had his trademark braid, and he wasn't much of a menace. Not now, anyways.
"Hey there Duo. I'm just going to sit down, okay? I'm going to talk to you. I want to know what's wrong."
Those eyes.... They stared right through Wufei, they looked so... Dead. Shattered. Where there was usually a light of mischief or of devious fun and life, there was none now. There wasn't a flicker of the old Duo in there.
"I told you. Duo's dead."
"So who are you?"
His head cocked to the side, uneven locks swirling around his neck.
"I hadn't really thought about it. I don't think I came here to do that.... Maybe I did. Maybe that's why I waited here so long. So long Wufei. And I still couldn't see him."
"See who?" Wufei was getting chills, watching this blank person, this obviously insane person talk to him, sounding just like his old companion.
"See the Duo everyone else sees. I couldn't find him in there anywhere. All I could see was the same old Duo, the one that I've always been."
Wufei was startled at this.
"Why do you think we see anyone different from the person you see? You're one and the same." He regretted the words as soon as he said them."Since when have you been the cold-hearted, weird misogynistic bastard from the wars? Does Quatre always look so sweet and kind? No. The person I saw was a far cry from the person you saw. I was never happy, was never funny. I was always polite, I knew my place. All you guys could see were the mistakes, the things that you saw in yourselves. Heero saw a reckless idiot. Quatre saw a ruthless killer. You saw someone careless, someone who didn't seem to understand the importance of the mission. Lord knows what Trowa saw, he couldn't tell you if you asked Quatre to do it. And I saw me. Underneath all of the layers of projection, the filters and masks and disguises, I saw the real me. And when he died, I had to move on. Had to let him go."
Wufei looked to the side as Duo said this, watching the dark spot he knew to be Heero.
Do you hear this Yuy?! What did we do that was so wrong? How did this happen?
"When did... he... die? What happened?" He felt like a doctor.
"I don't remember. He's been dead so long. But I finally realized he wasn't going to come back. I could hope, and I could dream, but nothing was going to bring him back to life. I thought --"
There was a frantic knock at the door, and Heero answered it. Quatre rushed in and spotted Duo. His eyes widened, and his hand rose to cover the frightened gasp.
"Allah - Duo!"
Duo looked at him, eyes not really seeing him anymore.
"I'm not Duo. Duo's dead."
Quatre inhaled sharply, feet taking him over to stand in front of the man he once called his friend.
"Duo, you are Duo. You can't be anyone else. You're Duo... Oh what happened to your hair? Oh Allah..." Duo looked a Quatre, actually looked, not through him, but at him. His eyes softened ever so slightly.
"I cut it Quatre. It's all I had left of him, and it was the only way to let go. If I could let go of my past, then I could move on to the future. So, Duo's dead, and I'm here. Alive, as far as the textbook definition goes."
They all looked at him, looked at the softness in his eyes, the way he held himself. He was not as confident as before, more timid, but no less forceful. His eyes had the passion of old, but buried under the pain of the new. He was in there, but he didn't want to come out.
"Why did you cut it Duo? You could have just --"
"No." The answer was forceful, a statement of fact. The whole truth.
"I couldn't have Quatre, I had to." He looked away, and almost as if he was trying to convince himself, "I had to."
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So... I'm thinking about continuing this... but it already went further than planned. It was supposed to stop when he cut his hair, but the fic just kept rolling, kept going. I dunno, maybe it would be better without the extra at the end, but... eh.
Review please? I'd like to know if you liked it, and if I should keep going.
(P.S-- I should be getting chapter 5 of "Life"out soon, for those following that one.)
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He'd been sitting there, staring for the better part of four hours. His hands sat in his lap, long fingers curled around the sharp silver in them. Melancholy eyes stared soulfully at him from under the long bangs that hid his face. There were old tear stains down his face, but his eyes were no longer red from crying. They were calm. The kind of calm that only comes with a heavy decision. One which will change the very fabric of one's life.
A finger twitched against the now warm silver... It would be so easy... So easy.
He thought back on his life, on everything that led to this moment; all he could see though was the look of utter condemnation, the hatred in his eyes. The one who mattered most, cared the least. Isn't that how it always works? The jaded never appreciate what they've got, even when it's gone.
And he'd lost so much. His home, his life, his friends.
His love.
No.
He had lost the man he had been "in love" with for all those years. But not the love that he had for that same man. The one who had looked at him, and without a single word spoken, told him to get out of his life forever.
And he wasn't sure it got much more "forever", short of death.
No, he would live on, keeping with tradition, he would lose this, and he would live and grow. He would die slowly, bleeding internally of a continuously broken heart.
His eyes stared at him, mocking him.
"Duo! How could you! You know that he's not like that! I told you, time and again that you should just let it go. No Duo, I'm not angry at you. No Duo... I'll never leave you. Duo, Duo I have to go now. Call me if you need something."
And just like that, he was alone.
Duo Maxwell, orphan, killer, and overall idiot. He was destined to never hold on to what he loved, what he cherished. It was his fate.
Duo didn't even believe in fate.
"The only thing I believe in is death."
The story of his life. Pained indigo eyes pleaded with himself. What choice did he have? Who could he turn to? Hilde was married, and pregnant too. Quatre was busy with Winner Enterprises, and had already told him, in his polite fashion, to fuck off. Trowa was - well, Trowa. They'd never really gotten a good chance to know each other. Besides, he was with Quatre, and what Quatre said, Trowa agreed with. They were always on the same wavelength. Always together, and so very much a part of each other.
Duo laughed, his reflection laughing hollowly at him.
WuFei was busy in the Preventers, and as much as they had fought, they were still friendly. But he was Heero's partner, and he would side with Heero on this. No matter what he thought about the subject, as Duo knew from experience, you don't go against Soldier Boy. They had been roommates after the war; Duo because he was infatuated with Heero, and Heero because he didn't have anything else to do. He had spent three years, three long, lonely, painful years trying to see if Heero even liked anyone, either sex, at all. There had been some hushed encounters that Duo had caught wind of, but never had he found out who with.
I should have known, after all that time, that he would never look at me as more than a friend. More than an annoying roomie who couldn't keep up to par anyways.
Man was he pathetic. He sat in front of the mirror, eyes searching for a spark, the flame of life that he was sure was in there somewhere. He couldn't bear to think about how he had lost it on the way.
On the way to what? On the way to being a killer? An annoyance? A hindrance to the mission and to me. That's what Heero had said.
Duo carefully lifted on pale hand from his lap, fingers gently tracing the purple and yellow bruise marring his face. He knew... He knew that Heero was strong, but Heero knew how to pull his punches too. They had sparred, had played sports and such. Always Heero had treated him gently, not like glass, but softly so as not to hurt him.
And yet, the impact of his fist was clear to all who would look.
And no one would look. No one would say anything to him about it.
Strength to bend steel, and thankfully (or not, he wasn't quite sure which yet) Heero had checked his swing at the last second, leaving a bruise instead of a broken orbital socket.
It was the little things really.
His fingers traced the bruise, then ghosted over eyes, nose, mouth. What about him set everyone on edge?
Why did everyone he meet always form opinions about him, even before he opened his mouth?
Why did they assume that he was brash, loud-mouthed and annoying. Talkative, rude. Uneducated. He searched his face for these things. Where were the laugh lines, to prove his hilarity, his innate happiness? Where was the vapid stare, the sure sign of idiocy? The look about his eyes that said "rude"? Where were these things? All he saw in the mirror was a young boy, his face older than his years. Eyes that had no shine of life, no glimmer of hope burning brightly anymore. The brightness in his eyes came from the unshed tears. He saw sorrow, and grief. He saw a fake, someone who never really existed in the first place.
His hands gripped the silver harder, the warm metal biting into them. There was no blood, no marks though. They were sharp, but not so sharp.
The scissors were his final act of redemption.
How else could he prove that he was no longer who they thought he was? How else could he prove that he no longer cared, no longer loved or laughed or felt. Heero had told him to get out of his life, to leave and not to come back.
Well, Duo Maxwell the idiot, the joker, and the self-proclaimed Shinigami, he would die tonight, and he would never return.
His hands let go of the scissors, curling once more around the symbol of him, of his entire being. His memories, the one thing that was his. The one possession he had kept throughout his life, even on the streets. When he brushed it, he could feel Sister Helen. When he braided it, he could hear the children of Maxwell Church and Orphanage, laughing, tumbling. When he felt it he felt the weight of their deaths, smelled the cloying smell of burning meat and wood. Every time he felt it's weight on his back, he felt Solo and the gang, felt the companionship they had shared, before they left him too.
He would catch glimpses of it, flying behind him and he could see the pilot of Wing, setting his bones, or flying without his parachute.
He would see countless deaths, his hair lit by the fires of explosions, drenched in blood and gore.
His hands caressed the length of hair, feeling the thickness, the heavy weight of almost three feet of hair. He looked at himself. Really looked. What was he? A lost little boy? A soldier? A friend?
He was all of these, and he was none. He was no longer a boy, but not yet a man. He no longer fought on the battlefield, yet he fought everyday to be noticed. Was he a friend? Who would remember him when he wasn't with them anymore? Hilde? Wufei? Quatre? Hell, he wasn't even sure he was his own friend.
I think I'd hate me too. They all do. They see me, and in me they see someone they can hate, someone that they project themselves upon, and they hate it.
Another hollow laugh. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Heero would be home anytime. He was supposed to have gotten his things and left. But he just sat in the bathroom, fingering the scissors.
Just a few strokes, so simple. Either way you do it, you won't be left alive long enough for it to matter. You know that the minute Heero walks into this flat, you're a dead man.
I'm a dead man walking anyways.
You're stalling.
His eyes traveled back to the silver scissors in his hands as he opened and closed the shears on the air, experimenting. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, his fingers shaking, his breath shallow. He could hear Heero coming to the door. Heero would know he was here, would find him sitting here.
He was dead, one way or another.
He looked at the silver shears, time slowing as he heard the key in the lock. He opened them wide, slowly, oh so slowly lifting his hand to his braid. He lifted the braid off his neck, felt it's weight. He could hear Heero, in the hallway, asking him why he was still here.
He was so... he wasn't angry, but he wasn't happy.
Duo shut his eyes, not wanting to see what he was about to do, knowing he was a coward for waiting so long. What had he hoped, that Heero would walk in, and knock the scissors away, proffessing his undying love for him, and a hair fetish?
He smiled sadly.
Life would never be the same, and as he lifted the scissors to his braid, right by the base, he heard the door open, and Heero's voice say his name. The shears started to close, tears streaking down his face.
He was a coward... A dead coward. He had faced down thousands of Ozzies, had killed them all, and with a smile on his face.
And now here he was crying his eyes out in front of someone who would just ridicule him, and he was so scared.
He heard his name on those lips, heard something in his name. His eyes opened, the scissors still closing.
Dead indigo met vibrant blue.
The resistance was great, the hair was so thick it took four hacks to separate the length. His heart cried out, beating harshly. His head swam with the knowledge, he saw the precious length of hair tumble heavily to his lap. Saw the sheared end, and felt the soft air on his neck. He was free of his memories, free of his life.
Free to die in solemn silence.
He looked back up to horrified blue eyes, his own eyes starting to dry.
It was over, and nothing could turn it back. He had decided. It was now or never. He stood, hair thumping to the ground, his heart smashing with it. He turned to Heero, eyes dry, heart pounding.
"I'll never be him again. I can't. You said to get out, so he did."
He numbly brushed past the stunned Heero, the comforting weight of his braid no longer there. He almost broke down, almost fell to the floor and cried out with the loss. He made it out into the hallway before his eyes burned and his lungs seized. A choked sob, a gasping breath. He fell to his knees, and touched his head to the ground, holding his stomach in a mocking gesture of comfort. He could feel the ends of his hair brushing his ears and neck, felt the pain of the loss so acutely. It was as if he had lost a limb. He was trying to walk without legs, trying to swim without arms.
He didn't hear the slow footsteps behind him, didn't see the shadow falling over him. His eyes were closed, squeezed closed against the pain and the sorrow. He did feel the arms that wrapped around him, the warmth of Heero as he pulled Duo up, standing him on his feet. Duo didn't turn around though, he couldn't. Couldn't face the emotionless face. The face that would never truly understand what he had just witnessed. But two strong arms encircled him, holding him in an embrace meant to comfort.
It stung like salty tears in a fresh wound.
"Let go of me Heero."
His voice barely a whisper, catching with a small sob. He was trembling, and he was desperately trying not to. It was bad enough for Heero to have seen him like this, but for Heero to feel him tremble, to hear his sobs. Unthinkable.
"Duo... What.... Why Duo?"
"Because I'll b-break your face Yuy. Let me go." He tugged futily at the strong arms holding him up.
"No Duo. Why did you just--" If Duo wasn't sure that Heero was incapable of actual human feelings, he would have thought that it was almost a sob, almost a feeling that had caught the words in Heero's throat. That was the last straw. He laughed. He laughed and it was a hollow, joyless sound, filled with pain and fear and death.
"Because Yuy," he couldn't bring himself to call Heero Heero. It hurt. A lot. " because it's all I had left."
"But Duo, that doesn't make -- "
"Yuy! Where are you, and why aren't you back --" Wufei pulled up short, both at once curious and worried by the sight before him. Heero had his arms around someone, a distraught someone. He could see the tremors running through the person - a boy it looked like. Heero had the look of a frightened child, one who just watched someone be killed.
"Heero, what's going on here?" Wufei edged closer, trying not to startle the boy. "Who's this?"
The boy, maybe in his teens, had old jeans and a faded black shirt. There were scars up and down the arms that were holding his stomache, and their hair... It had seen better days. Then he was stunned into oblivion when the boy turned a heartbroken face upwards, black eyes taking in the broken countenance of ...
"Duo?"
Red streaks and puffy eyes drew attention to the fact that he had been crying, something that he had never seen Duo do. "Boys don't cry 'Fei" That's what he always said, biting back tears as this wound, or that scrape was treated. And his hair. What had happened to his braid? The one that he had protected with tooth and nail, the one he wouldn't let anyone - not even Quatre - touch. His hair was everything to him. No matter how many times he was told that it was a safty hazard, no matter how many times it got tangled and dirty, he always defended it and took care of it.
"No." It was a whisper. "No, I'm not Duo."
Wufei looked to Heero, and saw something he never thought he would ever see.
Worry. Shame. Guilt.
"Duo, what did you - "
"I'M NOT DUO! DUO'S DEAD!" The shout rang down the hall. Heero looked at the broken young man in his arms and hauled him inside, motioning for Wufei to do the same. As soon as the three were inside, Duo broke out of Heero's arms, and sat on the couch. He seemed to fold in on himself, even as he sat upright, staring off into the distance.
"Heero, what's going on?"
Heero sighed. "I came home, and he was just sitting there in the bathroom. He had scissors...He looked right at me as he - he." Heero cleared his throat. "As he cut off his hair."
Wufei just gaped. Openly gaped at the two of them. What had happened? He'd heard from Quatre that the two had had a major fight, and that Duo might be moving out, but this? This was a little too far.
"What started all of this?" Not even a sign of life from Duo. Heero looked at him and motioned to come back to the bedroom.
"About four days ago Duo got drunk. Really, really really drunk. He.... He kissed me, and well, tried to do much more, but I stopped him. He didn't know what he was doing. I hit him before I even realized it, and I was shouting at him. I told him to go away, to leave me alone. I told him to go sleep it off, and that we'd talk later. I guess neither one of us really tried to talk to the other. I don't... I don't understand what he did! He said to me," Heero looked as though it actually hurt him physically to say the words. "He said : 'I'll never be him again. I can't. You said to get out, so he did.' I don't understand what went wrong Wufei!"
Heero had the look of someone who was truly out of their element. He never dealt with these kind of situations, that was always Quatre, or Sally. Hilde. Not Heero, not Wufei, or Trowa. They just weren't the type to sympathize and help to deal. But he would have to try.
"Let me talk to him. Call Quatre, and Sally too. We may need to sedate him.... He may have just... had a break in reality." It pained him to say it, but they both knew it was a very real possibility. It was for all of them.
"Alright."
Wufei walked back to the living room, mildly surprised to find Duo still seated. Usually the braided menace - He stopped himself, thinking about the words. He no longer had his trademark braid, and he wasn't much of a menace. Not now, anyways.
"Hey there Duo. I'm just going to sit down, okay? I'm going to talk to you. I want to know what's wrong."
Those eyes.... They stared right through Wufei, they looked so... Dead. Shattered. Where there was usually a light of mischief or of devious fun and life, there was none now. There wasn't a flicker of the old Duo in there.
"I told you. Duo's dead."
"So who are you?"
His head cocked to the side, uneven locks swirling around his neck.
"I hadn't really thought about it. I don't think I came here to do that.... Maybe I did. Maybe that's why I waited here so long. So long Wufei. And I still couldn't see him."
"See who?" Wufei was getting chills, watching this blank person, this obviously insane person talk to him, sounding just like his old companion.
"See the Duo everyone else sees. I couldn't find him in there anywhere. All I could see was the same old Duo, the one that I've always been."
Wufei was startled at this.
"Why do you think we see anyone different from the person you see? You're one and the same." He regretted the words as soon as he said them."Since when have you been the cold-hearted, weird misogynistic bastard from the wars? Does Quatre always look so sweet and kind? No. The person I saw was a far cry from the person you saw. I was never happy, was never funny. I was always polite, I knew my place. All you guys could see were the mistakes, the things that you saw in yourselves. Heero saw a reckless idiot. Quatre saw a ruthless killer. You saw someone careless, someone who didn't seem to understand the importance of the mission. Lord knows what Trowa saw, he couldn't tell you if you asked Quatre to do it. And I saw me. Underneath all of the layers of projection, the filters and masks and disguises, I saw the real me. And when he died, I had to move on. Had to let him go."
Wufei looked to the side as Duo said this, watching the dark spot he knew to be Heero.
Do you hear this Yuy?! What did we do that was so wrong? How did this happen?
"When did... he... die? What happened?" He felt like a doctor.
"I don't remember. He's been dead so long. But I finally realized he wasn't going to come back. I could hope, and I could dream, but nothing was going to bring him back to life. I thought --"
There was a frantic knock at the door, and Heero answered it. Quatre rushed in and spotted Duo. His eyes widened, and his hand rose to cover the frightened gasp.
"Allah - Duo!"
Duo looked at him, eyes not really seeing him anymore.
"I'm not Duo. Duo's dead."
Quatre inhaled sharply, feet taking him over to stand in front of the man he once called his friend.
"Duo, you are Duo. You can't be anyone else. You're Duo... Oh what happened to your hair? Oh Allah..." Duo looked a Quatre, actually looked, not through him, but at him. His eyes softened ever so slightly.
"I cut it Quatre. It's all I had left of him, and it was the only way to let go. If I could let go of my past, then I could move on to the future. So, Duo's dead, and I'm here. Alive, as far as the textbook definition goes."
They all looked at him, looked at the softness in his eyes, the way he held himself. He was not as confident as before, more timid, but no less forceful. His eyes had the passion of old, but buried under the pain of the new. He was in there, but he didn't want to come out.
"Why did you cut it Duo? You could have just --"
"No." The answer was forceful, a statement of fact. The whole truth.
"I couldn't have Quatre, I had to." He looked away, and almost as if he was trying to convince himself, "I had to."
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So... I'm thinking about continuing this... but it already went further than planned. It was supposed to stop when he cut his hair, but the fic just kept rolling, kept going. I dunno, maybe it would be better without the extra at the end, but... eh.
Review please? I'd like to know if you liked it, and if I should keep going.
(P.S-- I should be getting chapter 5 of "Life"out soon, for those following that one.)