Rating: PG-13, maybe mild R, depends how sensitive you are.
WARNINGS: Alternate Timeline, angst, pain (lots of that), occasional swearing, and of course yaoi.
Pairings: 1x2
Author's Notations: /lyrics/ ::character thoughts:: +++flashback+++
/You're as cold as ice
You're willing to sacrifice our love
Someday you'll pay the price, I know
...I've seen it before, it happens all the time
Closing the doors, you leave the world behind
Digging for gold, you're throwing away
A fortune in feelings
Someday you'll pay/
The shuttle was cold, and the lighting dim; it was stripped down for speed, and a lot of the life support power had been shunted to the cloaking device. The guerrilla soldiers that packed the shuttle's interior bore the cold and dark stoically; the Colonial forces didn't have enough resources to go around, so there was nothing to be gained by complaining. They huddled in their full combat gear, along the bare gray walls or together in groups for warmth and company, the low murmur of voices blending with the thrumming of the shuttle's engines to provide a soothing background hum.
Some men chose to be alone, sleeping or making adjustments to their battle gear, or any other task that could occupy their minds during the tedious journey. One man sat apart from the rest, tucked in a corner of the shuttle just behind the cockpit. He was easily distinguished from the rest not only by the makeshift rank tabs on his uniform jacket, but by the laptop computer in front of him, the only piece of loose electronic machinery allowed on the shuttle. It was on, and the screen was filled with text, but its owner was not paying attention. He only stared out the shuttle window, his vivid blue eyes fixed on the bright pinpricks of stars or the invisible foes that the blackness hid, or maybe on nothing at all.
"If he's not working on the damn thing, then why doesn't he turn it off?" Wufei muttered under his breath to his reticent companion. "He can brood just as easily without draining the ship's power any further."
"I'm fairly sure it runs on internal batteries," Trowa replied noncommittally. Wufei glared at him briefly, and Trowa gave a slight shrug. "It makes him feel useful," he allowed finally.
"Useful!" Wufei snorted, then shook his head. "He's running a goddamn army against a ruthless dictatorship twenty times our size. And we're not dead yet. If that doesn't make him feel useful, I don't know what can!"
Trowa said nothing. There was no need to speak, something that Wufei knew just as well as the other Gundam pilot.
"All right, so it bothers me!" Wufei snapped finally. "I must confess I'm worried..."
"About him?" Trowa said quietly.
Wufei shook his head in fierce denial. "Of course not!" he growled. "I'm worried about...Heero,and what will happen to all of us if he doesn't snap out of this sooner or later. He hasn't said a word in days, not since we heard about... you know."
Trowa quirked an eyebrow at the other boy and Wufei clarified. "Not that Yuy is the most talkative person in the world even at the best of times, but... I swear he's more of a machine than that computer he's got on his lap. I... just hope he doesn't break and do something stupid."
"Whatever he chooses to do, Wufei, will be in the best interest of the Colonies. You know that."
"I wish I could say that I did." The Chinese pilot turned his gaze on the boy in question, and his dark eyes seemed to darken further. "Tell me, Trowa. You've known him longer than I have. Was he this bad, before... before Maxwell?"
"It's hard to say," Trowa sighed. "Duo knew him before I did, even though back then they weren't... but no. He was bad, but not this bad."
Wufei grimaced, and turned back to look at Trowa. "I don't understand it."
The tall, green-eyed pilot folded his arms across chest, his thoughts turning inwards. "I do. If it were Quatre..."
"I almost wish he were here," Wufei mused. "He could get under Heero's skin..."
Trowa shook himself free of the stillness. "He's needed where he is, at Relena's side. The war they're fighting down there is just as important as the one we're fighting up here, and Quatre and Relena and Zechs are the ones fighting it."
"The charge of the blond brigade," Wufei muttered sourly. "He's needed up here, too, Trowa, danger or no. I can't shake Heero out of this black depression he's thrown himself into, and neither can you. Quatre's the only one that can do that right now. And... and maybe his Spaceheart could have given us some information on Maxwell's condition."
"It's an irrelevant question," Trowa said, his voice a trifle flat. "He's not here."
"I know." Wufei lapsed into silence... again. There was altogether too much silence these days. After a long moment, he roused himself to speak. "You realize, if they manage to break him, he knows enough to bring the whole war down around us. All our fighting, all our sacrifice... made nothing."
"He won't," Trowa said softly. "Have faith in him."
"I do." A long pause. Wufei found his own gaze drawn towards the window, towards the empty bleakness of space. The same empty bleakness that nowadays filled Heero Yuy's eyes; the same cold emptiness that he could feel creeping into his own heart. "...You're right. I am afraid for him, Trowa."
"I know. I am too."
-------------------------
He didn't like the way that the older guard looked at him.
Une's Goons -- as with most of the higher-level staff -- were chosen from the original members of the Organization of the Zodiac, back when they had just been Federation Specials. As a rule, there were only two kinds of men that went into the Specials; men who were searching for adventure and glory, and men who were on a power trip. Duo had a very bad feeling that the older of his two guards -- a slightly hulking man with burning eyes and a knife-fight scar -- was one of the latter kind. That smoldering gaze had been fixed on him for the better part of a week, now; and two days ago, when he was alone with his two personal guards for a daily "persuasion" session, the older guard had gone beyond looking. He had broken the rhythm of the beating, bracing Duo up against the wall, and run his free hand down Duo's chest, fingers slipping into the boy's pants. A week ago, if any man had dared to touch him like that, Duo would have broken his arm off or died trying; now, he barely had enough strength to close his eyes and turn his face away. The guard knew it; after all, it had been him who had beaten most of Duo's strength out of him, over the last fourteen days. He grinned at Duo's pitiful show of denial, his face twisted into an ugly leer of lust and hate, and his hand began to move again when the other guard intervened.
The other guard was younger -- not more than ten years older than Duo himself -- and he had stepped in to grab his senior's wandering hand with a sharp word of protest. They argued for a long, tense moment, the words registering only as white noise to Duo's ears, but he could feel the clashing of wills above his head. After a long, agonizing moment, he felt the older man's moist, groping fingers slide away from his skin, but his soft sigh of relief was lost in a cry of pain as the brute's fist came crashing in on his stomach, driven doubly hard by cruelty and frustration. Duo's scream broke off into a choked gasp as he felt another rib snap, and with his next indrawn breath he could feel some liquid gurgling in his lungs.
The iron clamp of a hand which had pinned him against the wall loosened, and Duo slithered down the wall to curl up in the corner between the wall and the floor, watching the two guards engage in another fierce debate. The younger one shook his head sharply, and said something about their orders not covering this, and the older one replied dangerously that their orders were to break the prisoner... by whatever means necessary.
Duo almost wished that the younger guard hadn't intervened. To be... taken... against his will, came pretty close to matching every one of his worst nightmares, but at least the worst would have been over with. Now, he had to wait, and wait in constant fear; wait until the guard was changed, and his new captor might be less morally inclined; wait for the older one to catch him alone; wait for the younger one's nerve to snap; wait for Lady Une to give the order for his rape, in the hopes that that would break his silence where nothing else had.
It wouldn't work. Duo bit down on a growl of determination. He would not betray the others, no matter what. It was just that... He hated waiting. And he hated feeling helpless.
And God, he hated the way the goon looked at him -- hated the vicious lust in his eyes, and hated the revolting feeling of his hands on him. No-one had the right to touch him, unless he offered. And he'd only offered once in his life.
+++
Duo had found Heero pressed against the window of the space station, staring out into space. Out at the brief, deceptively tiny flashes of eye-tearing brilliance that were the only evidence of Heero's handiwork; mobile suits, exploding. Soldiers, dying, on a cold and vicious battlefield that would allow no survivors. All of it done by Heero's command; and so, though all the vast depths of cold and sterile space separated Heero from the battle, the blood still covered his hands.
"Heero...?" he said; softly, ever so gently. No sounds of violence reached across space to drown out his words, or the ragged sound of the other pilot's breathing, but in the dim light Duo could see Heero's body shudder with each distant explosion. Lit only by the harsh starlight, Heero had the face of an angel -- distant, cruel, cold... and too beautiful to ever be approachable by mortal men. And to think that he had the temerity to call himself the God of Death... He had taken the name in bitter mockery of faith, knowing that there was no God, and yet the unearthly sight of the perfect killing creation in front of him inspired awe in his soul. But still, somewhere behind the shell of ice-cold barriers that encased him, there was a human being -- a young boy who felt pain and loss and desire, just like Duo did. So he simply waited, giving his partner an offer of... something. Presence. Comfort. Salvation.
At last, Heero stirred, and Duo could make out his whispered words. Hardly spoken at all, little more than lips forming over soundless breath, but Duo could see them moving in the dim light, and all at once the words came clear.
"Tasukete... onegai..." Heero breathed. The words were foreign to Duo, but their meanings were not, as the Japanese boy lifted his eyes to meet Duo's. "Tasukete, Duo... tasukete. I'm lost, cold. Help me... please..."
Duo took the steps forward, and pulled Heero into an embrace; the other boy was cold, so cold, and he clung desperately to Duo's warmth like a drowning man clutching at a lifeline. "What do you need?" he said quietly into Heero's hair.
"Show me... something worth living for," he stuttered, breathing in Duo's scent as he absorbed his heat. "Give me something worth fighting for. Something worth feeling. I... I need..." He ground to a halt, unable to shape words that fit his terror, his desire. "...need something..."
Duo laid one finger softly on Heero's lips, gazing into the other boy's dark blue eyes; after a long moment, he replaced the finger with his own mouth. "I'll try," he whispered, his words swallowed up by Heero's mouth centimeters from his own, "if you let me touch you."
He did.
It wasn't just sex that Duo was offering, although that had certainly been a revelation -- Heero's formidable training had never included that brand of physical sensation. Afterwards, as they lay in the hazy afterglow, with Heero gently stroking Duo's unbound hair, Duo wormed his way up Heero's body to twine his arms around Heero's neck. "I love you, you know," he murmured. "I have for a while. Maybe it was one of those love-at-first-sight things..."
"The first time you saw me," Heero muttered, "you shot me. Twice."
Duo laughed a trifle nervously. "That's true. But after that..." He trailed off, and ran a finger down the clean lines of Heero's face. "I love you," he finally repeated.
A long moment of silence fell between them, breathless with expectation, until Duo felt the tension began to build in his slender partner. Anxiously, he reached over and took Heero's face in his hands, turning the other boy to face him. "That's all right," he assured him, before leaning in for another kiss. "You don't have to say anything."
Heero responded to the comment by leaning into the kiss; Duo felt the tension ease out of him, and smiled to himself. Heero couldn't say the words, at least not yet; but Duo never doubted that Wing's pilot felt the same soul-tearing emotions that he did. And someday, the time would come that the words which fell so easily from Duo's own lips came from Heero's, as well. Someday...
+
"Do you believe in God, Duo?"
Father Maxwell had asked that once. Duo had been a child when he answered.
Kami o shinjimasu ka?
Nearly ten years later, lying skin to skin, Heero asked him the same question. His blue eyes slitted halfway open, boring into the longhaired boy as though to cut open his head and x-ray his skull. Heero Yuy was not a stupid man; he knew that there were implications to the question that he couldn't understand, that there were feelings associated with the concept that he was not equipped to deal with. He asked anyway.
Do you?
Because he needed to understand not God, but Duo... what Duo thought, and felt, and believed. What fueled Duo's spirit; what led Duo's faith.
"No. If there were truly a loving God, then He should stop the war... so there would be no more people like me. And if He can't stop the war, it doesn't matter if there's a God or not, does it?"
Faith. To believe in something higher than one's own self... to believe that there were, indeed, things worth fighting and killing and dying for. Even if you yourself were filthy, worthless, broken beyond redemption, you could still keep going... if you trusted someone that much, to have faith in them.
Do you believe?
"I've never seen a miracle, but I've seen lots and lots of dead people!"
...I don't believe in God, Heero... but...
"The only God in this world is the God of Death."
...I believe in you...
+
Twenty days. Or was it twenty-one?
Duo had lost count.
He had made a discovery. When the guards beat him, he didn't need to resist. The pain was like the ocean; if he submerged himself in it, instead of struggling to keep his footing, it wasn't nearly so bad. Instead of breaking on him, each fresh wave of pain washed over and around him, without exerting any force on his willpower. It was frustrating the guards, he knew that, and their helpless anger only drove them to greater lengths of cruelty. But that was all right. It didn't hurt until he came back, until he reclaimed his body and felt the brilliant white light stab through his agonized skull once more.
Concussion? Definitely. And if you could have more than one at a time, he did.
...tasukete... onegai...
Lady Une still came to visit occasionally. Looking at her beautiful, hate-twisted features was as bad as looking at the lights, so he usually closed his eyes when she was in the cell with him. He couldn't shut out the voice, but she no longer bothered to speak to him, since he wouldn't answer her any more. She only spoke to the guards, her voice cold and high and angry. The deadness in her voice reminded him of... someone else, on the other side of this war; hearing her refer to him like a piece of carrion sent slivers of pain stabbing through his chest and gut.
Internal bleeding. Wonder if the guards told her about that? Probably not; he hadn't seen the medics in over a week.
...tasukete, Heero, tasukete...
And then Lady Une left, and the guards left, and he was alone. And that was the worst, because he couldn't ignore his own body any more; he just huddled in the corner of his cold damp prison and shuddered as every nerve in his body screamed for relief that was denied to him.
A truly astounding array of bruises, sprains, broken bones, dislocations...
I'm cold and I'm hurting and I'm scared and I...
Sometimes he slept; or at least, sometimes the walls would ripple and jolt as time jumped and stretched around him as he fell into a shallow doze that brought no soothing oblivion. He wondered, in those moments of sickening disorientation, if he were going mad. He wondered if it would make a difference. Everything was so cold. He couldn't stop shivering.
Fever; maybe some kind of pneumonia, judging from the sound of water in his lungs. Assuming, of course, that wasn't blood.
...I helped you when you needed me, Heero, don't leave me...
Waited. Waited for the guards to come back and hurt him again; waited for Lady Une to give them permission to rape him or kill him. Waited for Heero, who never came. Wondering, as he waited in helpless agony, if he had done something wrong, that led Heero to abandon him this way. Wondering if his partner -- in battle, in bed, in love, in life, in every way that mattered -- had himself been captured or killed or stranded somehow. If he even knew where Duo was; if he had found himself a new lover; if Duo himself, perhaps, had just been forgotten.
Something broken in his chest.
...I love you and I need you so much, please --
Alone, alone, Duo reached desperately through the cold and empty void of space that surrounded his soul, for the comfort of his lover. His fingers ached for the soft silk of Heero's skin; his heart yearned for the pure blue of Heero's eyes. Always, his hands brushed nothing but the cold walls of his cell. Always, his eyes opened to nothing but stark white light.
Lonely.
--please help me...
He waited for a miracle.
/I have
Already waited
Too long
And all my
Hope is
Gone./
Duo was jarred out of his stupor by an explosion. He lifted his head from its cradle on his arms, scrubbing his hand against his face as if in a futile effort to clear away some of the fog. Revelations dropped into his consciousness one by one.
::Explosion.::
::Someone breaking in.::
::Heero?::
::This is it!::
Hope surged through Duo's veins, and he pushed himself to a sitting position on hands that were trembling from long-delayed anticipation. He wasn't quite able to make his feet on the first try, but as he concentrated he could hear the sounds of panic beyond the impenetrable cell door. There was a second explosion, and then a third, increasingly muffled; the shrill wailing of a distant alarm nearly covered the sound of rushing footsteps in the corridor outside. Urgent voices sounded, too distant for Duo to make out any words, but the general cacophony seemed to be headed away from the detention area instead of towards it.
For several endless minutes, an increasingly dry-mouthed Duo entertained visions that perhaps this was just an unrelated base raid, and he was going to be overlooked. His pulse hammered in his ears, as Duo clenched his hands into fists and prayed. Then; a soft sound, out in the corridor. A male voice, raised in anger or alarm, and then the heart-shattering sound of a gunshot -- a couple moments of quiet scrabbling, and the door swung open to a vision Duo Maxwell hadn't been sure he would ever live to see. Heero Yuy stood in the doorway, gun in his hand still trained upon the motionless form of the guard. He raised his gaze into the cell, and his burning blue eyes locked with Duo's.
For what seemed an eternity, although realistically it could only have been a couple of seconds, Duo simply drank in the sight of his lover. He saw the relief and concern chase across Heero's face before the soldier hid them once again behind an emotionless mask -- and then Wing's pilot nodded in satisfaction, temporarily holstered his gun, and in the blink of an eye closed the distance between the two. Duo exhaled a long, shaky breath and closed his eyes in sheer relief as his trembling hands sought and made contact with Heero's own, warm and steady and reassuring. "You came for me," he said softly, his voice filled with wonder and love.
"Of course I did," Heero replied in a matter-of-fact tone. His hands closed around Duo's shoulders as he helped the other pilot to stand, and began a body check. His blue eyes flashed with murderous rage as he discovered the full extent of Duo's injuries, but he kept his grip strong and supportive as he pulled Duo into a brief embrace. "Can you walk?" he asked pragmatically as he pulled away.
"Yeah..." Duo leaned on Heero and attempted a step. His legs buckled out from under him as a fresh lance of agony stabbed through his side, and he bit his lip against the pain as he stumbled and clutched at Heero's arms. "Well, sorta," he admitted.
"Take it easy," Heero cautioned, a hint of worry leaking out through his emotionless facade. "I don't want to have to carry you." His gentleness belied the harsh words as he pulled Duo's arm over his shoulder and arranged his own arm around Duo's waist.
"I don't want you to have to carry me either," Duo agreed as, with Heero's assistance, he limped across the cell. A surge of elation swept through him, and Duo couldn't suppress a face-cracking grin as he realized that he was a free man. His trust was vindicated, his faith redeemed, and -- best of all -- pretty soon, he could get something decent to eat for the first time in nearly a month.
As they passed into the corridor and his eye fell on the guard's body, a spasm of fury and remembered pain flashed across Duo's face, and he worked his mouth enough to spit on the dead man as he hobbled past. The cold blue eyes shifted from the guard to the pain evident in Duo's posture, and a tiny smile of satisfaction tugged at his mouth for a moment. He tightened his grip on Duo almost automatically, but a soft gasp from the wounded pilot led him to loosen his hold and pat Duo on the shoulder reassuringly. "Sorry," he muttered.
"That's all right," Duo replied, suppressing a wince, and it really was. Pain he was used to by now; Heero's embrace was worth anything. "I missed you."
Only silence was his answer as Heero suddenly halted and stiffened in a listening position, then in a flash flattened himself and Duo into a shadowy niche in the wall. Duo held his breath as a quartet of Oz soldiers rushed past, pressing his back into the corner. Heero peered out around the corner, and relaxed, but made no move to continue on. He turned his attention back to his braided lover. "The shuttle is stashed in a drydock on the north side of this complex. All the base personnel should be busy elsewhere for right now; can you make it?"
"Can't kill Shinigami, can you? I'll be fine," Duo assured him airily, his old self-confidence beginning to return. "Small thanks to you," he muttered sourly as he envisioned the nightmare prospect of running for safety or, God forbid, fighting.
"Serves you right for getting caught in the first place, baka," Heero snapped.
"What did you just call me?" Duo demanded, trying unsuccessfully to conceal his hurt at Heero's hostile tone.
Cold blue eyes fixed on him, pinning Duo against the wall. "Baka. Idiot. Fool. Moron." Almost of its own accord, one hand rose and stroked the bone-deep bruises on Duo's cheek with a feather-light touch. "Beloved..."
Duo's own eyes widened, and his hand came up to cover Heero's on his face. "Wh... what..." he stuttered.
Heero's eyes slid closed, and his fingers closed around Duo's hand as he bowed his head. "When I lost you," he breathed, "it was like all the heat went out of the world. Everything was so dry and sharp and far away, and I hurt so much inside and it just goes on and on and on. I miss you.I need you. I love you and you went away, Duo. How could you do that to me?"
"I'm sorry," Duo whispered, an automatic response to the pain in front of him, even as his mind was still working through the implications of Heero's speech. "You... you love me?"
"Hai," Heero said quietly, and when he looked up again there was a suspicious brightness in his eyes. "Ai shite'ru, Duo. I love you -- I need you." Without releasing Duo's fingers, his other hand reached up and hovered over Duo's battered face, not quite daring to touch. "So don't die, okay? Don't leave me."
"I won't," Duo promised, and felt matching tears beginning to threaten in his own eyes, although they were countered by the smile that he couldn't keep off his face. He leaned forward slightly into the Wing pilot's touch; he needed the physical contact, regardless of how his injuries protested. " 'I have now found thee; when I lose thee again, I care not.' "
They floated like that, for a timeless moment, before a dull roaring blast and the slight juddering of the walls and floor around them brought them back to reality. "We have to go now," Heero said, and the soldier mask was back in place. He lowered his hand from Duo's face, and redrew his gun. He shifted his grip from Duo's hand farther up his arm, prepared to lend his aid and support, and looked fully into Duo's face. "Will you be all right?" he asked, and there was a universe's worth of meaning in that question.
"Yes." He closed his arms around the vision of comfort and love that was his partner, and knew that everything would be all right now. "Take me home."
He smiled.
-------------------------
/When tyrants tremble in their fear
and hear their death knell ringing,/
"What the hell has he got to smile about?" the Oz guard snarled, jerking his head towards the heavy steel door. "We've had him locked up now for almost a fucking month, and we've been working him over nearly every fucking day. He should be broken; he should be begging for his goddamned life, but we haven't gotten a single worthwhile thing out of him! What the fuck is he smiling at?"
His younger companion only shrugged, feeling the other's frustration and rage without fully comprehending it. The older man seemed to take everything the prisoner did as a personal offense, especially when it was out of the ordinary, like now.
/when friends rejoice both far and near
how can I keep from singing?/
Behind the two men, in the chill confines of the maximum security detention cell, a boy of no more than sixteen hunched into a ball in the corner between the unyielding wall and the floor, rocking slightly back and forth. His bones pressed sharply against flesh covered in a patchwork of bruises and cuts. His skin was flushed by the same fever that filled his eyes with a mad glitter. Those wide-staring eyes were fixed on the blinding overhead lights, the pupils distended almost to the point where the blue-violet irises were hardly visible. A once-proud mass of waist-length braid was matted and tangled beyond repair, tumbling over his gaunt shoulders and pooling against his knees where they were drawn tightly to his chest. A brilliant smile was fixed on his face as he hummed to himself, pausing occasionally to mutter nonsense words in response to some voice that only he could hear. Violent, uncontrollable tremors wracked his frame as he rocked, turning his head slightly as if to track someone's progress, and he smiled.
/In prison cell and dungeon vile
our thoughts to them are winging;/
After a long time, the rhythmic swaying motion slowed, and stopped.
/when friends by shame are undefiled
how can I keep from singing?/
Gently, almost imperceptibly, the tremors eased into stillness.
/No storm can shake my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging./
Slowly, the glitter faded from those violet eyes.
/Since love is lord of heaven and earth
how can I keep from singing?/
~OWARI~
part 1
On to 'Torn'
GW Fanfiction