POSTED: 09/20/00
REVISED: 02/01/01
AUTHOR: Jay / carboxylated@yahoo.com
ARCHIVE: Gundam Wing Addiction (Tyr), Desolation Angels (Ashura, if
she wants it)
[Full fiction index @ http://www.geocities.com/fenris_wolf0]
Disclaimer: Mobile Suit Gundam Wing is not mine, but belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and Sunrise. ;_; The characters and timeline have been borrowed for my own fiendish fangirl ends.
Title: The Dollhouse
Category: Yaoi, AU, horror.
Timeline: AU (Alternate Universe)
Pairings: 1+2, 3+4, 13+5
Rating/Warning: R. Violence and more than your daily recommended use
of madness.
Feedback: Craved, desired, wanted, coveted, yearned for, wished for,
and longed for. C&C will be repaid with dancing G-boys, my endless
adoration, as well as a nice slice of karma.
/... .../ = thoughts
He was finished with the diary by morning. Mariemeia had spiraled into the same kind of madness as her father, cooing over her dollhouse, her dolls, or condemning them to burn in hell in angry fits. But then, she would remerge on the inky paper as an angelic vision, benevolent, scrawling prayers in the border space.
Sometimes they scream, she wrote. They scream and they talk and they cry but they never leave here. imprinted in the foundations of this place, as far as blood can stain. Sometimes I answer.
The last entry was hastily written. We're going away, mon dieu, to a place where we're all dolls.
Duo closed the journal as dawn peeked through his windows. He walked over, looking through the bright glass, discerning only rows and rows of green hedges. But somewhere, almost out of his range of sight, glimmered something blue-white. The lake. He shivered, unconsciously reaching for Heero's jacket. As soon as his fingers touched the soft material, his fear eased; his heart pounded anyway.
"Duo," Quatre said, smiling easily. "I hope this morning finds you well."
"As well as can be expected," Duo responded, dryly. He noticed the dark circles under the blond boy's eyes. "How was your rest?"
Quatre grinned, wryly. "Extremely unsatisfactory. And yours?"
"Quite the same."
Heero's voice caused him to turn his head, slightly. The dark-haired boy chuckled as he entered the small breakfast area off to one side of the kitchens. "What was that about sleep, Duo? The luxury of. the innocent, was it?"
"It was," Duo replied, stiffly.
Heero's lips quirked. "It may amuse you then that I slept very, very well."
The slight squeak of wheels announced Treize's arrival. "Sleep is no measure of virtue," he said, smoothly. "However, as my quarters are adjacent to yours, judging from the sounds of movement in your room, I must counter your claim."
Heero's eyes widened, fractionally, before his lips curved into a full smile. "I slept very, very well." He shot Duo a disarming grin. Quatre clucked his disapproval. "Dear cousin, has anyone ever mentioned that your smile has a certain. lycanthropic quality? Downright wolfish, I would say."
"I'll remind you that we share bloodlines," Heero said, brightly. "My mother was a Winner, as gentle as a lamb."
"Ah, but you've inherited the appetites of your forefathers. I've always said that you were at least ninety percent Yuy."
Heero grinned once more. "Winner could never dilute the old blood," he announced.
Duo watched and listened to the exchange with growing apprehension. He felt-- what would be appropriate? He felt like a slab on meat on the butcher's block. A very, very unfortunate slab of meat, awaiting the hungry jaws of. he repressed the shudder as Heero crunched his bacon and stirred his eggs.
"How does Treize get downstairs?" Duo murmured to Quatre.
A pause. "Elevators." Quatre looked slyly over at his friend. "But usually, Wufei. assists him." His eyes glanced at the coat Duo was still wearing-- Heero's, and he smirked. "You were complaining about the quality of your sleep last night?
Never missing a beat, Duo ignored the latter comment and replied: "Ah-- is this a quirk of the Khushrenada heirs?" He gave Quatre a meaningful look. "Or was Mr. Barton hired solely on the premise of his excellent skills of non-conversation?"
"Touché," Quatre murmured. "Very well. We won't speak of things at such a ghastly early hour."
"Point for Maxwell," Duo quipped.
He found himself in the gardens afterwards-- after the fog had rolled away, leaving the estate crystal clear and beautiful. He appreciated the color and scent from a casual observer's point of view, stopping to admire the blooms, offhandedly noticing the color arrangements.
"My work in progress," a voice behind him said, neutral. He turned to see Wufei, standing expectedly, trowel in hand. His eyebrows rose.
"A side hobby for the chef," Wufei said, matter-of-factly. "Harmless. Therapeutic, in fact, when someone like Master Winner is very fussy about the particulars of their tea."
Duo laughed gently. "I didn't think you--"
"I could appreciate the simple beauty of nature?"
"No, not like that." Duo shrugged apologetically. "But flowers."
"Overtly feminine," Wufei nodded. "And rather uncharacteristic for a boy of your age." His dark eyes looked at Duo calmly. "I understand."
"How long have you been working here?" Duo asked, abruptly.
"A few years," Wufei replied, settling on his knees.
"Does Heero visit often?"
Wufei reflected for a moment. "No."
Duo's hands tightened. "Ah. Thank you." He growled, inwardly. /What miserable luck./ He stared at the emerging landscape: the lush, rolling hills far to the west, woods to the east; but verdant, growing, and alive. "Is it true?" He asked, indistinctly.
"Is what true?" Wufei brushed the dirt from his loose jeans.
"Bedlam Manor. Electroshock treatment. Mariemeia."
"I haven't been here long enough to know," Wufei answered, shrugging carelessly. "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.'" He quoted.
Duo looked at the sky, wistfully. "It's a beautiful day," he commented.
"That it is." Wufei laughed mirthlessly. "But the nights are what really make Bedlam special."
Strains of piano filled the expansive living room.
Duo stood just outside the door, enraptured by the complex melodies of major and minor notes that blended into a veritable brocade of sound. Afraid to intrude, he only stood, numb to everything but the music. When the notes faded to a slight tremor, he rapped on the thick doorframe.
"Quatre? Can I come in? I need to talk to you."
The pianist stood up, smirking. Heero tilted his head and gave Duo another appraising look. "You're welcome to come in, anyway."
"I'm sorry," Duo said softly. "I didn't know you played."
Heero nodded. "Quatre is not. the only musical one in the family." He smiled, faintly. "Doubtless, it may be surprising considering my. more barbaric blood."
/Wufei the gardener, Heero the musician./ His mind noted, dryly. /Perhaps Trowa is a mime?/
He realized that Heero was still looking at him. "Ah... no, of course not," he answered, in some semblance of grace. Heero smiled and sat down on a nearby couch, twisting his body to stare at Duo, propping his chin up with one hand.
"What do you do in your free time, Duo?" Heero asked, sweetly.
"I... I write," Duo replied, a little awkwardly.
"Is that so? What do you write? Any Earnest Hemmingway aspirations?"
"I write whatever comes to mind." Duo looked away, discomfited by Heero's constant gaze. The dark-haired boy only smirked more.
"I'm famished," he announced. His smirk was decidedly voracious. Deciding that discretion was, after all, the better part of valor, Duo bowed quickly. "I would not be so rude as to intrude on your meal--"
"Nonsense," Heero said, briskly. "I insist you accompany me." His tone left little leeway. Duo walked a few faltering steps back, only to discover that the door had swung in, closing.
"I resent this," he said, sharply.
"Resent what, Duo?" Heero regarded him with curious eyes, amusement lurking in his irises.
"I resent being-- chased, when I have no desire to be pursued."
Heero slid from the couch and took slow, paced steps, until he stood face to face with Duo. He reached out one hand, as if to caress the other boy's cheek, but instead swept the hand outward. "Then leave," he shrugged. Duo glared at the boy, and began to turn-- he was obstructed by Heero's body, which stood firmly in place.
"Excuse me," he said, politeness strained.
"Ah. Pardon me." Heero stepped back and swept an elaborate bow. "Where are my manners today?" The question didn't invite a response. Duo gave Heero one last look, shook his head, and quietly walked out the door.
Heero smiled at the empty space. "I like challenges," he said quietly.
The air smelled like him-- the faintest scent of natural odor and cologne.
/I have no desire to be pursued./ He repeated it in his head, like a mantra, before drawing a hand across his brow. /Then why do you feel so-- pleasantly dizzy around him?/ A sly voice in his head asked. Duo smiled sourly, no response easily coming.
Walking into his room, he stopped abruptly.
"Madam?"
The woman that stood in front of the window turned, giving him a frosty look. Her brown hair swept past her shoulders, and she held a length of white cloth in her hands. "May I help you, sir?" She asked, a little coldly.
"My name is Duo Maxwell, miss.?"
She took an irritated breath. "Khushrenada. Mrs. Anne Khushrenada."
Duo found it suddenly hard to breath. "You. you." he choked, sputtering.
She ignored him, and turned to stare back through the window. "Have you seen my little girl?" She asked, carelessly. "I can't seem to find Mariemeia anywhere."
He realized that the fabric in her hands was a wedding gown.
She continued. "I've been meaning to take a walk with her." Her smile was viciously sad and deranged. "My poor little doll," she murmured. "My poor little doll."
Duo stared in silence, white-knuckled, as she turned to the window and disappeared.
It was storming was the night darkened. The rain was coming down in sheets, pounding against the roof. He checked the clock: 7:34 p.m. Bemused, he rose and dressed, unconsciously wrapping the velvet jacket around his shoulders and proceeding downstairs.
Everyone was seated at the table, even Trowa and Wufei. He gave Quatre a questioning look. The blond gently murmured, "Sunday dinner."
Duo nodded and took his seat, chair scraping against the hardwood floor. "Forgive my lateness," he said, fluidly.
Treize nodded, distracted. Duo followed the older man's eyes and when his gaze settled, his eyes widened with shock.
"You brought it down," he breathed.
The dollhouse rested on a nearby table.
"I saw no reason not to," Treize replied, quietly.
"I can think of several," Quatre remarked under his breath.
Treize's lips twitched in a slight grimace. "We won't speak of them tonight."
"Uncle, Duo has expressed a desire to return home." Heero finally spoke, twirling a knife in his hands.
"Sir, I mean no disrespect when I--" Duo began, when he was cut off.
"The lines are out," Treize said coolly. "It's the storm. Communication lines have been cut."
"I see," Duo said, haltingly. He paused for a moment. "Then with your good grace, sir, tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow," Treize assented.
Duo had to glance at the dollhouse again, feeling as if it were to blame. He missed Heero's satisfied smile.
When the meal was over, they sat in a contemplative silence. Wufei and Trowa had stood to clear the table, and the only sound now was the clatter of china and glass. It was still raining outside, punctuated by the occasional roll of thunder.
As Duo stared into his empty glass, the lights flickered and the house was abruptly plunged into darkness. For a moment, there was nothing-- just the sound of breathing. Lightning struck, and the silhouette of a small figure was splayed across the table, against the glass of the windows.
"My God." Quatre breathed.
A shrill laughter cut through the dining room. Thunder clashed, loudly, followed by a choking sound and a crash.
The lights went back on, and Duo stared at Quatre, who lay on the floor, body kicking as he pulled at the noose of chiffon at his neck. His body failed to respond until there was the sound of dishes breaking, as a pair of lean legs quickly crossed the distance separating their owner and the choking boy. Trowa almost fell as he approached the blond boy, fingers desperately ripping the thinly braided material from Quatre's neck. Duo stared in mute horror at the sharp, red imprint against his neck. He was only vaguely aware that Heero had leapt up, and was now standing by him.
"Nephew?" Treize's voice was sharp with concern. "Quatre?" The sound of a man despairing. His knuckles were white, gripping the handles of his wheelchair.
Quatre sobbed, weeping, clutching at the taller boy, his voice helplessly hitching. "She tried to kill me," he whispered, unsteadily. "I was her favorite cousin-- she-- tried to kill me."
"Quatre, please--"
Quatre's fingers flew to his neck. "I was her favorite," he repeated, eyes wide. "I was her favorite and I never tried to save her."
"Quatre!" Heero's voice rang through the hall, commanding.
The boy ignored him, rocking his slight body back and forth. "I never tried to save her from you." His eyes rose to meet his uncle's, unfaltering, burning with accusation. "I could have saved her from you. I could have!" It rose, to a shrill shriek. "You *killed* her! You and your machines, you-- killed-- her." The last words escaped from gritted teeth.
Treize's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I was trying to fix her," he said, weakly.
"She was flesh and blood!" Quatre raged. "Not some goddamn machine!"
His uncle gestured towards his helpless legs. "I never wanted her to be like me," he said. "I just wanted to-- make her better. My little doll." His voice was pained.
Quatre's body steeled, and then fell, lax in Trowa's arms. "How could you?" He paused, and continued, shakily. "I heard her screaming in the night, and I thought it was a dream. I saw the bruises on her arms. I saw the hollows of her eyes. And always clutching those dolls. Always playing with dolls because there was nothing else." He looked at the dollhouse, dully. "Your little doll? We're her dolls now." He heaved a weary sigh.
"Was it like this before?" Heero asked, voice razor-sharp.
Quatre turned his head, eyes questioning. Heero was standing in front of the dollhouse, now. Duo slowly walked over. He felt a chill wash over his skin.
The dolls were arranged in the dining room. Treize in his wheelchair, Wufei beside him. Quatre on the ground, Trowa beside him. Duo and Heero, standing by a table. The scene, playing out before them. A scrap of white cloth was tied around Quatre's, the blond doll's neck.
Quatre was slowly unbraiding the length of white cloth, fingers tracing the embroidery. Treize wheeled over, slowly staring at it, breath rattling in his throat. "It's from her mother's wedding dress," he said. "From Anne's dress. The one she died in."
Quatre dropped the cloth with a shudder. "God save us." Lightning flashed again, and he winced.
"God forgive me," Treize said quietly, straightening in his wheelchair. The only answer was thunder and rain.
End Part 3
Feedback eagerly accepted; those providing will be rabidly glomped and adored.
Jay
Please send comments to: carboxylated@yahoo.com