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Warnings: I honestly can't think of anything, this might be rather dark, but other than that there's nothing to fear. This is a one shot ^-^ (Enjoy dear judges, for you have only a single part to work through) It's an AU storyline where the war has ended and there are some bizarre consequences for being a soldier. Mostly it's Duo speaking though also included is a brief summary as to what leads up to the last conversation toward the end. The story is told from a 3rd person perspective I suppose is what I was trying to get across.
Copyrights: The characters and situations of Gundam Wing are the copyrighted property of Sotsu Agency and Sunrise and not the humble scribe which transcribed these humble words onto the screen.
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A soft smile lurked on the pale lips of the slim boy as he walked slowly down the white and painfully clean halls of the sanitarium. The white material of his jumpsuit whispered and added to the sounds of footsteps that echoed down the hall. The men that walked at either side of him wondered why exactly it was that he didn't struggle. Perhaps the poor soul didn't realize that he was slowly and inexorably drawing nearer and nearer to his own death. Perhaps it wasn't that, perhaps he was unwilling to accept such an eventuality, that made sense in the staff's minds. They had seen many a soldier led off like this, in the wake of violently gained peace.
Walking between them was one of the most dangerous criminals in the recent history of the human race, both space going and to those that were terra bound. Duo Maxwell, also known as Shinigami, the boy who called himself the God of Death. They didn't understand the violet-eyed youth any more than they had the quiet and solemn Heero Yuy. That boy had been led to his death only an hour previously, injected with something that was undergoing testing as a humane alternative to electro-shock under orders that had come down the line earlier from some higher-up authority. They simply did as they were ordered, trying to banish the shadowed and oddly serene looks of the boy's eyes' from their minds. Somewhere in the dark recesses of their own consciousness a deeply human part of themselves screamed and raged at the injustice of bringing such young souls to an end. They had everything before them, and had they not only been fighting for what had been right to them? So many times in the past that was what the human race had strived for and yet even in the end, these poor souls were to be punished. Justice, the word that people tenaciously clung to in order to justify their actions, was quite a fickle mistress indeed.
A squawking and crackling order came over the two-way and the guards stopped one picking up the radio from his side and listening quietly. The others were still, waiting to see what was going on. They had a schedule to keep, and this was holding things up. The guard with the radio frowned, his amber eyes darkening slightly with confusion. Duo watched with very little apparent interest. He knew where he was inexorably headed and he wasn't going to try to stop it this time. After all of the sins that he had committed, after all of the pain and suffering that he had caused, it was time for the icy fingers of death to catch him as well and crush him within their biting grasp. Such was the fate he had been given the moment that he took his first human life.
"Thou shalt not kill;" he said softly, a half-amused smile lurking about his lips. The guard with the radio had been listening for a long time, and then he finally clicked the small button enabling him to talk.
"That's fine, we'll re-route Maxwell and bring him over to the place where Yuy's going to be gassed. I can't believe that he lived through that injection, his vitals had dropped to nothing at all!"
There was another whisper of conversation over the radio and then the slightly ruffled guard replaced it at his side, once again taking up the position he had previously occupied at Duo's right. With a gentle tug he pulled on Duo's arm.
"Get moving."
The former Deathscythe pilot followed with clear and quick steps. Somehow it didn't surprise him in the slightest that the perfect soldier had resisted death. The walk seemed to be compacted into a slowly moving eternity. There was nothing different in any new corridor that they turned into. Wherever he looked a white wall matched to precisely laid white tiling greeted his eyes. The slow and steady hum of the fluorescent lighting above him grated against his ears. He'd been listening to the same dull whine of electricity running through glass bulbs for several days now, after they had all been taken into custody.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
At first he had been very loud, trying almost any way that he could to get the hell out of that place. Yet his morals held him back, he had always been fighting for peace and order and a state of being where people never had to be afraid again. When such a place had been formed he and the other pilots had been overjoyed, and then the laws were passed, regarding the reconditioning of the soldiers of the war, to remove the 'warlike tendencies' from their minds. He had understood the enormity of those orders even before the newscaster on television had finished the broadcast giving the details. They wanted a place where almost no one had the ability to fight; ergo there would be peace and tranquillity. It was all the wrong way to do it, but the law was the law, and even though he'd gotten rather far slipping slightly above it, he'd made it even further going with it.
So he and the other pilots had reported in for reconditioning, to remove all the traces of the war from their minds. Somewhere deep inside himself, a small and slender child relished and welcomed that release from the sacrileges that had been committed to his young mind. Somewhere deep inside he wanted to return to square one, living day to day and relishing in the small and simple joys in life. The soldier inside of him was something ugly and morbid, a harbinger of death, bitterness and fire. He didn't want to see himself as that; he didn't want to deal with the nightmares, the looks on the faces of the countless people that he had killed. He didn't want any of it anymore, somewhere, deep inside of his mind.
After almost a week of constant reprogramming he and the other pilots hadn't come out of it, save little Quatre. Somehow it seemed fitting that the little Arab would be the easiest to cleanse of the blood that stained him. He seemed to be a shining ray of sunlight, walking around the physical world in the form of a man, with nothing but life and love shining through his clear eyes. Clouds passed through his crystalline orbs every now and then, just as clouds would move through any clear sky, phantoms of family, anger, sadness and joy all floating serenely through deep seas of blue. The others had more demons running through their minds than they had given themselves credit for.
Through all of that time the 'experts' had been monitoring, charting down their brainwaves and impulses, noting their reactions to emotional and physical stimuli, watching, always watching. Through that watching they gradually forgot that they were observing people, young, innocent people, who were hardened by necessity and fear on the outside. They began to believe that they were watching human animals wrought into hard, un-feeling things by the maniacally controlling fingers of war. After that week was when the 'experts' had claimed Duo, Heero, Trowa, and Wufei all to be threats to themselves and society as a whole. They had all fought back in their own way, but slowly, each of the four realized that war had given them purpose and a twisted direction in life. They had been raised to live in war, to fight and survive in war, to achieve their ultimate goal of winning. Without the war they lost the insubstantial definition of their lives and their futures. There was nothing that they could fight for.
When Quatre had heard about it he would have nothing of that sort, his publicly released statement had been something to the effect of, "If they go, then so do I, because without them, I wouldn't be."
They had all fought him for that decision. It was a foolish act to throw ones live away like that. They had tried with wholehearted conviction to explain to him that he was needed in the world. His corporation had welcomed him back in the closing stages of the war. They had needed the heir to take over the family business, with or without his adherence to the families' pacifistic ideals. He had been informed of his co-pilot's situation shortly after he had truly fallen into his role as a businessman and was beginning to become comfortable with the political arena around him. Yet he had left it all when he had heard that his friends and comrades were going to be killed like laboratory animals that had outlived their usefulness. They had beseeched him, Trowa trying the hardest of them all, yet the little Arab would have none of it. He had inherited the crazy, if-you-die-then-I-die-too idea and wouldn't drop it even if it would save the rest of humanity.
It had been the most heart wrenching thing in the world to see him go first after such a gallant gesture. It had been a cool and balmy day, the wind whispering quietly through the trees outside and the birds singing as they perched in their branches, oblivious to the loss of life inside the complex near to them. The little boy had walked in with his shoulders squared and not a hint of hesitance in his step. As he entered the barren room with a single window for observation he had taken a seat in the chair provided for him. Ever the gentlemen he had waited quietly, his eyes fixed into some far off distance as he waited for the fate that he had brought upon himself. He was to be killed by injection. They were testing out 'painless and efficient' ways of 'letting patients go'. It was a process to be used on convicted killers, rapists and other people of that high caliber and class. The fact that he had been effectively assigned to be a lab rat as he died didn't seem to bother the Arabian in the slightest outwardly.
The others knew the truth; one could see it in his eyes. They had all known the small boy for long enough, after sharing his pain and his triumphs, the mutual rush they had all felt when working together. When they looked into Quatre's eyes they saw a young man who had a life ahead of him and was quite aware of what he was loosing. They saw a young man who cared so much about his friends that he was willing to let his own life slip past, extinguishing the faint glowing spark that was his life in the infinitive ocean of shining lives. They saw a boy who was sad and angry for all of them, for what they had lost, for what they were loosing, for what could have never been thanks only to the carrion demons of war. Humans were responsible for all that they had lost, and it was the same people that were now taking his life from him.
Trowa had been there, watching at the window as the silent blonde sat in the chair, with his hands folded into his lap and a small, placid smile on his face. That expression had unnerved the guards, as well it should have. It was the expression of one who was so resolute in their purpose that they couldn't loose. Everything might be taken away from these soldiers, the pilots of the Gundams, and yet even the extinguishing of their corporeal forms could not dim the fierce pride and life that shone in each of the boys' eyes. Something had told the technicians that day that they would see that same glow in every young person's eyes as they realized their dreams. As they stepped boldly into the chancy stage of life and played their part with gusto and enthusiasm; each playing as if the title role was theirs alone, in the drama of life.
The injection had been given quickly and the doctors had backed out of the room as fast as they could. They didn't want to stand there and have the excruciating duty of being the silent witnesses to a murder they had committed under the pretense of a newly formed law.
It was determined after the initial test run of the drug GHBDG-742, that it was a completely immoral and cruel way for any human to die. Something had gone horribly awry in the conception of the foul substance and the death that it had written out for Quatre was slow and painful. It had been a hard time, and yet the boy had never been alone. It had been forbidden for the other pilots to leave their rooms, by law. Yet it had only taken a couple of quiet words in Quatre's hushed and anguished voice and they were allowed to be with him. They all stayed, talking with him, laughing with him, sometimes completely silent, each contemplating the destinies that eventually awaited them; dealt by the people that they had sought to protect.
The passing of Trowa and Wufei had been a quiet affair. The noble Chinese youth went with all of the dignity and pride that would be expected of a warrior full of the knowledge, compassion and understanding of the ages. Of all of the pilots, the technicians had been afraid to look him in the face as he went. His smoldering onyx eyes glittering at them through the reflexive glass, seeming to find their faces individually, staring at them each, silently asking why they had ended his life without just cause. Perhaps if they were to tell him face to face, that blood was to be paid with blood he would have smiled and nodded, but no one had given him a reason. He hadn't struggled, cried out, or even seemed angry about it; though in truth he must had been stuck in the clutches of all three feelings inwardly. He must have felt like a caged bird about to be fed to the cat, fearful for it's life, flitting around the cage without ever finding an escape, angry and distraught about a fate that he could not change. Yet he walked in quietly and with dignity, as a descendent of the Long clan ought to go.
Trowa had said nothing at all, his emerald eyes closed to them all, and his arms resting lightly on his knees. A couple of the technicians had sworn that he was humming an old circus tune to himself, and a small smile haunting his lips. Somehow they felt that they may have done the tall youth a favor, ending an existence that even while endurable, was silent and raking torture to the person that was inside. They could see phantoms dancing about in the clear green emeralds that were the boy's eyes, cluttering their gem-like glory from time to time. He had been the easiest; then there had come Heero.
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Duo was drawing nearer and nearer to the cell. Somewhere in the back of his mind his muscles were tensing and he was getting ready to run for all he was worth. He was a coward. He didn't want to die any more than an odd person on the street might. It shocked and ashamed him to realize that death scared him now, something about seeing his slight Arabian friend dying slowly had stirred this fear within his breast, breathing life into glowing embers of doubt and trouble. Slowly those embers had been coaxed into a flame of burning fear that ashamed and terrified him all at once. Watching person by person going had slowly and carefully chipped away at his diamond-hard resolve to take it like a man. He didn't even know what was going to happen to him anymore, he needed to know. The guards had an obligation to the dead-man-walking did they not?
"Ne, if you gentlemen would be so kind as to tell me, where in this white hell hole that you're pushing me off toward now, I would be much obliged."
Silence greeted his half-expecting ears. He had been almost sure that they would greet him with such a response. They didn't want to talk to him, to get to know him, because if they did that then they would be forced to realize that they were killing someone just like them, another human being. Growing annoyed from the brutal cocktail of fear and cockiness that stirred in his chest he spoke again, his voice getting slightly louder.
"Just in case you've all suddenly decided that I'm not here anymore I need to assure you that yes, I am still alive and I asked you a question. If you'd answer me that would be just peachy-keen, 'cause I think you owe me that much."
More silence. Why did that not surprise him in the least? He figured that these guys weren't going to be talking anytime soon so with a sigh he shut his mouth and resumed counting the tiles that he passed over.
{51, 52, 53...darn, lost count.}
Duo sighed and once again began counting the white tiles beneath him when the quiet voice of the guard with the amber eyes filled the pregnant silence of the cold halls.
"You're being taken to where the 01 pilot is, you're going to be gassed together."
With a laugh that sounded like it was verging on maniacal Duo spoke, "He won't die."
Silence stretched through the hallway again, wire thin and taut, waiting for something to let the tension snap. A short and stocky fellow with green eyes spoke from Duo's left, casually conversational.
"Why do you say that?"
Duo held his head high; his eyes sparkling and alive for what had seemed like years since he had come to this place.
"Because, 01, Heero, his name is, happens to be the most tenacious and versatile son of a bitch that has ever walked this lifetime. And I mean that wholeheartedly."
From there the words and stories began to flow from Duo's lips like a waterfall of memories suddenly loosed from a dam. He couldn't stop the words anymore than the guards could stop listening. The other pilots had been the only ones that had ever stood witness to the trials and tribulations that he had endured piloting Deathscythe, they had been the only ones that had ever known what it felt like. And as they died, who he was, the person that he had become during those crimson times would slowly, bit by bit, die as well. He didn't want to be lost in the mists of war; he didn't want to be just another number or a name on a gravestone. He wanted to be remembered as a person, as a living, breathing individual that had walked the world with the same passions and pains that everyone else had lived through. So he told the staff, his jailers, his executioners, about the person that he was, what he had been through, what he had hoped, and what he had dreamed. As they walked the staff's steps had become slower and slower, even while Duo's heart had become lighter and lighter. Long ago the gray and numb resignation of his fate had sunk into him, and yet still black tendrils of doubt and fear had latched into his heart, sinking in deeply and smothering all of the life out of him. Gradually, step by step, even as he drew closer to the room that would end his life, he felt more and more alive.
"...and about that time the war ended, Maremela was in the hospital recovering and Heero had gone out on his own. I went back to L2 and worked the junkyard with my best girl friend Hilde. She's such a sweetheart y'know? I told you about her earlier. I'm pretty sure that she wanted to date me and it might have worked out, it might not have. She doesn't know I'm here, or that I'm not coming back and it might be a better idea not to tell her anyway. I think she'll find out on her own and come to terms with it. She knows that I love her like a sister."
Duo smiled a warm and loving gesture that made his cherubic face positively glow. He shook his head, letting out a little sigh as he continued.
"I was really pissed when I found out that Heero was still alive. God help your souls if he's dying like Quatre. I don't know about you, but were I in a different position I'd carve payment for his death out of the technician's hides. That was horrible."
His smile faltered slightly and then lit up again. "But, from what I heard of your conversation he's semi-conscious and doesn't seem to be in pain. If such is the case them I'm not any more angry with you than I am at the rest of this place. You're just messengers. The guy who signed away my life with some ballpoint pen will get his when the time comes. I'm quite sure of it."
He laughed at the expression of the amber-eyed guard's face.
"You didn't think I was listening? O'course I was!"
He wiggled his eyebrows in an almost suggestive manner. "I think -personally- I was the best pilot out of the lot of them, I was always good at listening."
He giggled, and yet the unconscious hand that reached up to touch the small golden cross that hung down from a thin chain offset the light sound.
"Wu-man and the rest of them are probably rolling over in their graves now that I've gone and said that, but it's the truth. I'm pretty sure that Quat-chan's urn is going to fall off of whatever mantelpiece it's perched on as well."
He paused, his eyes distant for a moment. His mind flashed quietly back to when Quatre had requested to be cremated. The little blonde had been ever-so-annoyed when he found out that his organs were ruined and couldn't be put to good use. That was when he had asked to be cremated. That had been the easiest request that the technicians had complied with. The thought of the flames both terrified and soothed Duo. The thoughts of the purging heat of flames enticed him. It seemed like a release that he ought to be granted as well.
"I was always the best, because I stayed alive the longest and took more beatings then all of them combined. Whenever someone was getting roughed up, -I- was the man for the job; you had better believe it. Even my Gundam knew it, and wouldn't let me self-destruct, though I tried I don't know how many times."
He talked on, his light tone and bright eyes belying the fact that he was calmly letting himself slip inside. They had reached the door. Duo looked to his companions questioningly, waiting for his next instruction. He had stopped thinking of them as jailers after telling them his lives story. Now they were his witnesses, silent sentinels that would keep him alive and carry his memory around. In these men he would live, and for that, such a small comfort as it was, he had to thank them. The stocky guy with the green eyes looked at him apologetically.
"Sorry Duo, this is your stop. Heero's in there waiting for you."
He paused for a moment, feeling very awkward and then he straightened, bringing out a pack of cigarettes. "Want one?"
Duo smiled and shook his head, his chestnut hair dancing before his bright eyes.
"Nah, never got into the habit, it's a nasty one and the smell always sticks in my hair."
The guard looked at him quizzically, trying to understand why such a thing would matter if a person were to be dead in the next few hours. Duo only smiled enigmatically.
"'s all right Steve, though thanks for the offer."
Steve, the stocky guard with the green eyes put the cigarettes away into his pocket and returned Duo's small smile. He didn't understand the wonder that was standing in front of him, and he was sure that many years into the future as a memory would come to him in the cold arms of the night, he still wouldn't understand. How someone like Duo could have survived his life, Steve couldn't say. He just knew in the bottom of his heart that the original feeling that what they had been doing was entirely amoral and wrong had been the correct feeling all along.
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Duo sucked in a deep breath as the cell door clicked shut tightly behind him, making the room airtight. They wouldn't want any of the technicians to get a whiff of the gas they were to be pumping in here soon. It would be such a tragedy if such a thing was to occur and someone was to die. It was perfectly fine if the evil, satanic, twisted soldiers died, but if one of the innocent techs died in the line of their work there would be a public ho-ha.
Shaking his head to clear it of such sarcastic and melodramatic thoughts he searched around the dimly lit room for his companion. Heero was lying against a corner; he could see the Japanese boy's dark outline now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. He stepped over to Heero's prone form slowly, suddenly unsure of himself or what he wanted to say to the Wing pilot. He had no idea how the people on the outside wanted to go about killing them and so time had suddenly become a precious commodity that was precariously slipping out of his fingers.
The only sounds in the room were of the two of them breathing. With a whisper of material he sat down next to Heero, a foot away. The air of the room was humid; there was no air-conditioning at all. From what he had heard outside, the air that would pump in would mean not just relief from heat but also from the troublesome thing that he liked to call his life. So it might be practical of him to speak and save that slipping thing called time.
"Ne, Heero-kun, are you alive?"
For a moment the sound of shallow breathing filled the dark silence between them, then a whispered, shuddering voice answered him.
"Hai."
Duo smiled in the darkness, fierce elation filling him at the knowledge that the Wing pilot had not submitted to the eternal rest that he had been forced to face.
"Didn't think you would die so easily."
Silence filled the room again. Duo had no idea what to say to the Japanese boy that he could easily call the best friend that he had ever had since his childhood times of roaming with Solo.
"Baka."
Duo blinked, it may have been the slightly euphoric feeling that had fallen over his brain, but he could almost swear that he'd heard affection laced into that tone. He shook his head fiercely. There had been something that he had been meaning to tell Heero. It was something that he had been carrying with him for a long time now, something he needed to get off of his chest before he visited the hell that he seemed to be constantly sending people to.
"Heero?"
He almost laughed at the way that his voice sounded in the darkness, tremulous, like that of a lost child seeking reassurance. The silence he received was that of Heero waiting for him to speak. After working closely with Heero over all of the missions and months Duo had learned to read through the gradients of his silences.
"There's something I've been meaning to tell you...y'know, it's just a little thing, not all that important, I just, thought you might want to know."
"Spit it out Maxwell."
Duo blinked, for the words as well as Heero's tone of voice was blank, he had expected a little bit of anything in Heero's voice. Yet he shouldn't have, because the other boy had no idea what he was about to say, about how he felt. For all Heero knew he was about to inform him of what his favorite variety of cheese was. With an exasperated sigh Duo was about to give up. Heero's voice permeated the dark again, giving Duo a clear picture of them sitting together in one of the many, indistinct dorm rooms that they had shared. In his mind's eye he pictured Heero sitting there in a white button-up shirt with the first two buttons open, in slacks and socks, having just come in from school. They had talked like that many a time, and in those times Duo could almost swear that he was having a serious heart to heart with the boy that really was Heero Yuy, and not the soldier that showed his cold face to the world. The Heero that he had glimpsed at was a to-the-point man, very concise in his words, but at the same time very effective when he used them. He had a dry sense of humor and a fairly even temperament and Duo had become intoxicated with him over the time that he had known Heero. He wanted that boy with the cobalt blue eyes to be his own. That was what he needed to tell him. That was what he needed to say.
"Heero...I...I have to tell you that I...I..."
His voice was failing him when he needed it the most. He silently cursed his vocal chords. He had been born with complete use of the things, and used them so often that they got him in trouble constantly and had him reprimanded for being noisy, and yet when he needed to say just a few words, his voice died. Life was not fair in the slightest; as of late he was utterly assured of that fact.
There was the sound of movement and Duo squeaked inaudibly as Heero's head fell into his lap, his surprisingly soft hair brushing against his fingertips.
"What Duo?"
His tone was so gentle that Duo wondered if it was drugs talking and not the Heero Yuy that he knew. The boy he knew didn't seem to be the type to want to curl up in his lap. The words finally fought their way out of his clenched throat, winning a battle that should have been won long before.
"Heero...ah shiteru."
Silence filled the room once again and Duo almost stopped breathing, fearing that the boy had rejected him and simply didn't have the strength to move. Minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness as nothing moved within their dark prison.
"Heero?"
A white hot flash of panic raced through him at the thought that Heero might have succumbed to death and was simply lying limp in his lap. That same, tired, whispering voice cut through the darkness once again.
"I'm still here Duo."
Duo smiled, giving in to an impulsive urge. He brought a hand up and stroked it through Heero's slightly tangled silken hair. Even with the slight snarls, Duo's slim fingers moved with ease through the dark mop as he sat in silence. The whisper of air moving through the vents above him sent a tremor through him that shook his entire frame. Heero caught the movement and snuggled closer to Duo, resting his head closer to the Deathscythe pilot.
Duo continued to work his fingers through Heero's dark hair, used to silence and only half realizing that the time that they had was all the time that they had left.
"Duo, what did you want to do in life? What were your dreams? What did you want to be?"
Duo smiled in the darkness, a vague sense
of irony working through him. He'd told these same things to strangers
only minutes or hours ago. He couldn't tell how much time had passed in
their dark oblivion.
"I wanted to make something of myself Heero. I wanted to grow up, have a job, I didn't really care what, and support myself, have enough food to eat. My dreams as a child were simple ones; I just wanted to live.
As I grew up into the wonderful boy that you know now I yearned for a life where I wouldn't ever have to fight again. I was always dreaming of simple things, of wanting to feel the exotic rush of running through a street wildly at eight o' clock, watching the sun set and having your buddies chasing after you. I just wanted to dive back into the feeling of being bored out of my mind by life's monotonous ways and dream of daring adventures.
My dreams are simple dreams, I'm a pretty simple person, a little wild, I'll give you that, but it's the basics for me.
What about you Heero?"
Heero chuckled lightly against Duo's thigh, a small cough emanating from his constricted throat.
"I just wanted to follow orders. I grew up that way, I didn't dream, I schemed, planned for the next attack, for contingencies and backups and ulterior motives and everything under the sun.
Lately I'd dreamed of a state where fighting wouldn't be necessary, because it was something to fight for. The high of riding the razor edge of life and death is something that is an integral part of me. Without the fight I loose all definition of what my purpose in life is. I was born, trained, and taught how to fight. I dream of being able to do that without innocents getting in the way of that goal. That's my dream."
Duo spoke quietly next, his hand always busy running its course through Heero's bangs.
"What were you planning to do after the war was over?"
Heero was silent for a bit and then spoke once again, his voice seeming hushed and distant. "I was thinking about security work."
Duo smirked, something aching inside of him, though he didn't quite understand why. "I was actually thinking about taking up singing. I've been told I have a nice voice. It'd be a lucrative activity. And I know I've got the looks and the attitude for it. I was born a Prima Donna."
He realized what the aching was. It was his chest; he was beginning to feel slightly drowsy and a thudding, dull pain flashed through his ribcage every now and then.
{My heart protests to this treatment.} He let the thought flow through his mind wryly; there wasn't much sense in being morose. Heero's pulse thudded in irregular rhythms against his thigh. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that Heero didn't have too much longer in this world.
"I was planning on asking you out on a date, actually. I was going to call the Saturday, but that was before we were all condemned."
Heero nodded weakly. "Tell me," he whispered, "what we would do, where we would go?"
Duo couldn't understand why his eyes were misty. "Why we would go out and get some decent hamburgers of course! None of that fancy crap that everyone goes out to. I don't believe in French food, anything that I can't pronounce must not be edible. I'm willing to settle for American food all the way.
'Lesse...after we had dinner we'd go walking in the park and it would start raining because that's the way my luck always works, I'd smirk and joke around and you'd give me the I-am-holier-than-thy-humor face and that would only egg me on. If I found one I would push you down a hill so we both rolled down and got all soaked and dirty. You have to understand that rolling down a hill is one of the necessities of life. It builds character and it's memorable in its pointlessness.
Then I'd take you over to my place and we'd have a cup of tea and I'd talk at you...and eventually, I'd tell you, "hey man, I'm really attracted to you." And if you said you weren't then I'd be embarrassed. If you said you were then I'd give you the biggest hug of your life. You'd better believe it."
By this time Duo had shifted Heero up into his lap so that the Japanese boy's head rested against his shoulder and he could loosely wrap his arms about Heero's waist. His temple rested against Heero's and he could swear that they were sharing the same heartbeat.
"And if we dated for long enough I'd ask you to move in with me. And we'd find a place that was absolutely perfect, because that is -also- the way my luck works. I'd claim half the rooms as my own and have at them and the ceilings would be very strange colors. You'd pretend to be annoyed, but you might like it, and if you were happy with it then I would be too."
He paused, not quite understanding why he was so short of breath. He smirked and shyly kissed Heero's cheek. He thought the Japanese boy was already unconscious, but a small utterance passed his lips.
"What else?"
Duo rested his head against Heero's shoulder for it felt awfully heavy.
"We'd sleep together every night, <yawn> and have kinky and promiscuous sex. Maybe if you were good I'd let you put me in handcuffs...and every morning I'd wake up in your arms and I would thank God that I was there. It'd be great."
"Sugoi...."
Heero's words came out in a rushing and breathy sigh and his head sunk further onto Duo's shoulder, his pulse throbbing dully in his ears.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Steve stood outside the room, wiping away a few errant tears from his face. They looked like they were sleeping. He had never had to deal with the way that death looked, and now he saw it, taking the life away from the gentle faces of the two boys. Their features were so delicate that the looked as if they would shatter upon a severe impact.
Numbly he hit a recording button and started to speak, staring at the screen ahead of him with conviction.
"Today, someone died, his name was Duo Maxwell; he was fifteen years old. He was a soldier by occupation, and sentenced to death because he was dangerous to himself and those around him."
As Steve continued his voice began to gather a harsh and biting edge.
"He was a sweet-tempered boy, always with a smile on his face. His dreams weren't huge, he simply wanted to live through the rest of his life in relative tranquillity, perhaps gain a significant other, go to Church, help out with an orphanage, hang out with friends and have a good life. Thanks to a new law, that life was ended rather abruptly today, and I have something to say about it. I think it's wrong...just plain wrong, to steal the right to life from someone who has fought so hard to reclaim his soul from war and atrocities that he regrets every day of his life. I don't know about the rest of you, but I think that it's time to do something about this law. Look at the 'hardened soldiers' that died today."
He recorded a picture of Heero's face, of Duo's, their serene and yet infinitely sad expressions and added it into the document. He saved his work so he could make latter additions, he had plenty of material to share, and sent the first draft off to the news station, knowing it would air within the hour.
He looked into the glass once again and sighed. "Don't worry, Duo, Heero, I won't let you fade away like all those nameless soldiers before you. You meant something, they all did, and I'm going to make sure that at least you two, out of all of them, are remembered as you should be, as people, as young men; who by all rights deserved to live."
He turned from the window; unable to stand the sight of the two boys curled up anymore.
"To live..." he repeated.
~owari~
