Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Wherever You Will Go ❯ Solemn ( Chapter 3 )

Starting Note: This 'half' of the chapter has now been separated from the other, as I regard it as a separate chapter; and this one seems too long compared to my others. Sorry if I've stuffed you guys around!

Duo sat alone in his cockpit, angered, frustrated and seething; the dim lights inside bright in contrast to the darkness outside, and to the darkness of his mood. How could Heero be so selfish? His mind queried hastily; unrationally. I was only saving us…him. Does he not see how he is? Thoughts such as these ran rampant through his head, flooding it with bright conflicting images of the Japanese pilot and himself; images of them fighting; of them…laughing? That'll never happen! Heero never…he's never…but he has. Strangely enough, Duo found himself looking back. Back upon the times when almost instinctively, out of the corner of his eye; out of total fluke he'd caught Heero almost stifle a laugh, a whole-hearted grin. Hell, even a smirk would be a change…

Almost out of nowhere, a startling beep broke him out of his thoughts, bringing his reeling mind to attention. A small face appeared on his screen. Familiar scenery and machine parts were laid out around the other boy's cockpit, which he recognised to be that of Sandrock.

"Quatre?"

"Hey Duo," The Arabian's face appeared happy at first, but a look of concern quickly seemed to replace that; worry etched deep in the stark blue of his eyes. Am I that obvious? Thought Duo vaguely, his mind distracted for the moment; the predictability of his friend so common it was easy to recognise. For the first time it seemed, he noticed the flow of hot, angry tears down his face; his face which was surely shocked red with anger. And for the first time, he noticed his itchy eyes, which were sure to be red from the unusual streaks and streams of water. Damn, he thought yet again, bet I know what comes next…

"Duo, are you alright? What happened? You look…terrible…" If it weren't for his fowl mood, Duo felt almost like he could have laughed at the predictability of his friend, but just now he felt like he couldn't; like he'd never laugh again. His frequently mirthful mask forgotten, his eyes shifted down at first; away from his friend's and from the screen, then quickly up again; his bloodshot eyes too quickly recognisable to his friend; too obvious for him to hide.

"Just a fight, Q-man. Nothing much…nothing to worry about. Just a spat with 'Mr. Perfect soldier', I'm fine.' Duo felt himself almost smile again, the sarcasm not lost on him, and it was because of this that he found himself most uncertain. Was this just an attempt to reassure not only Quatre, but himself? He just wasn't sure anymore…

"Are you sure Duo?" The undercurrents in Quatre's voice denoted worry and uncertainty, and the American pilot found he had no way to back them up. Deciding upon a brave face, and an obviously wavering smile, Duo again; as always, formed a charade of a mask, hiding the true way he felt, if not to hide obviously from the blonde pilot opposite him, but also for himself.

"Yeah, don't worry about it,' Change of subject…change of subject…'So, what've you got for me today Quatre?" The grin grew stronger, and would have probably almost been believable if he had not have, just then upon his very own words, unconsciously wiped a trickle of a tear from the corner of his eye. Damn!

"If you're sure then, Duo. We're here if you need us," he paused, looking the braided pilot over a final time before nodding, the gesture a subtle vote of confidence for the teary-eyed. Duo didn't reply, only waited for his friend to go on. Sandrock's pilot smiled briefly, his eyes warming and his golden-blond shock of hair shining against the reflection of the light, before his face turned serious once again, and somehow; by some impossible kind of way the lights darkened. "Well, as you no doubt know, Heero and yourself were sent on a mission to destroy the OZ base in your area?" Another pause. Another nod.

"Yeah…so?" Faint annoyance escaped the tight control of Duo's usually colourful voice, and the pilot of Deathscythe hid what would have been a tight wince. He was practically begging the mask to stay in place now, his face taught, eyes now unreadable. He fingered his braid in distraction.

"It didn't work, Duo, something must have happened. Is there any way someone could have weakened the blast; moved the bomb? Something just didn't go right. Here, take a look for yourself." He saw Quatre's arms fly across the control panel to his front, after which an image proceeded to load itself onto his view screen. A simple, now dirty, white building lay half complete, half demolished in front of him, and from the still of the night he recognised little specs; human bodies; people, rushing busily around the enemy compound. Closing his eyes, Duo let out a frustrated sigh, leaning his head back against the head rest; taking his braid into his hands. It was a strange contrast…seeing an OZ base like that. Half destroyed, yet half powerful. Berating himself for his carelessness, Duo opened his eyes again, taking in the strange scene before him. Something like this had never happened before…his blasts had always been successful; he'd never had to worry about such things happening…why now…he had always been so precise, especially for this mission. Damn, weeks of research down the drain! What did I do wrong?

"Duo? Duo!"

Duo's eyes flew open. For a second time in a short span, the Arabian pilot's voice broke him out of a self induced and reprimanding reverie. Quatre, finally sure that he had the violet-eyed pilot's attention, he continued. "Do you remember anything? Did you set it right?"

"Sure I did Q-man. You know me! Just let me think, okay? I'll get back to you if I remember anything." Deathscythe's pilot was thoughtful; concentration written plainly on his features. And even though he was previously and obviously distracted, he tugged at his braid randomly, bafflement in his wide amethyst eyes; the dark shadows from the cockpit playing across the pilot's face against the dull lighting in the tiny compartment. His black clothes don't help this, thought Quatre worriedly. No wonder he calls himself Shinigami. If it weren't for the tears he wishes to hide, he'd look like death indeed.

Frowning, and with a final nod, Quatre spoke again, replying to his friends comment. "Sure Duo, remember to call me, okay? Talk to you later." Then he signed off, and the image disappeared, leaving Duo to his thoughts, be they dark or light, cold or warm; the image of the half-destroyed compound firmly implanted to his mind.

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