21-Sep-2004
Title: The Color Of Hate 1/??
Author: CleverYoungThief
Rating: R
Warnings: See below.
Archive: GWA
Pairings: None
Genre: Suspense
Timeline: Post One Year War
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue. College kids are like L2 kids;
we got nothin'.
Feedback: Pretty please?
Thanks to: All the reviewers and readers, and the War Room. ^_^
Note: This one has been sitting on the shelf for awhile because I have so many other unfinished multiparters. But since this one is going to be fairly short for a multiparter and since Bound is almost completed, I decided to go ahead and post the first two parts of this fic. *shrug* The rest will come in time, sooner or later, as soon as I find the inspiration to work on it. The rest of the fic is pretty much planned out, it's just finding time to sit down and write it.
Dedicated to: Kage, who very faithfully listens to my babbling bullshit, and Arith, who is queen of gore. ^_^ A quote of yours ends up somewhere in the second chapter of this, Kage.
WARNING - I'm gonna take a cue from Mally and post a separate warning entirely for the fic, because it's full of character death. Not gratuitous death, or angsty-oh-my-god-not-my-lover! death, but actual (gods forbid) plot-related death. Also, this is a bit twisted as far as certain-characters-who-shall-remain-nameless are concerned, so if you're sensitive, tread lightly. If you can't handle gore, murder, or mindfucks, read no further, grasshopper.
Not gonna post this warning every chapter, though, so consider yourself warned.
"Can you feel that? ... Oh shit.
Drowning deep in my sea of loathing
Broken your servant I kneel
(Will you give in to me?)
It seems what's left of my human side
Is slowly changing ... in me."
--- Disturbed, Down With The Sickness
13421213820191293182100
34203813109876044297489
7294846281934646t2038464
system
yuy 2457
go to command level
J
010/#xy/67&
/*TARGETS/
Include: dragon
Include: sandprince
Include: lion
Include: reaper
Include: wing
*/Apocalypse /
*/
*/final mission
Include: briefstat.sys
Include: weapons(osp)
security
comlink off
safety off
security
file: shinigami_kid.obj
status: disavowed
MISSION ACCEPT? - (Y/N)
Heero sat as still as a statue, watching the last line of the computer script blink for a what seemed like an eternity, the same way it had for him over and over, the last few years of his life. It called into question everything that he ever was, but the question drew him the same as it always had. He was given a choice, always, but he never really had one. J had always known that, after all.
Hai. Ninmu ryoukai.
(Y)
Wufei fasted.
He only ate once a day, and never cooked his food. Fourteen days... .twenty-eight days. His cheekbones grew sharp in his face, but he needed the discipline of it all. Without that, there was nothing left for him.
The cabin he had rented in the mountains had no running water, no heater. Still, it gave him everything he needed. Whenever he did have to go down into the small village at the base of the mountain, his gaze was icy towards the people there. His lip curled with contempt for them. Their lives were so simple now, so quiet and peaceful. But a storm still raged in his heart, refused to be sated.
It's all a lie. This peace... it's an illusion.
He fasted because the world tasted bitter to him now. Life was pain, and with no one left to fight, he preferred it that way.
He climbed to the top of the mountain and stood bare-chested in the fierce rays of the sun, doing kata on the rocks, feeling it darken his skin, filled with pain and thirst. His sword flashed in the sunlight. He fought shadows until he didn't feel it anymore, the emptiness and betrayal of a war past, leaving him with nothing.
There is no place for us now.
He meditated in the snow.
Wufei sat on a rock facing out over the face of the mountain, at sunset. He stared into the woods, watching them. For what, he didn't know. Sometimes he thought about the war, and his colony. Sometimes he thought about the others. Mostly, though, he didn't think at all.
When he finally retreated to the cabin for the day, he immediately sensed that something was wrong. The birds were too quiet. All he could hear was the sound of the wind in the trees, and even that seemed changed. Something was wrong.
A sound came from the cabin. Inside. It was faint, barely there, but it was enough.
Instantly, he was alert, eyes shining in the half-light. He touched the sword at his side, unsheathing it slowly with an almost silent hiss of steel against leather. His bare feet moved soundlessly on the warped wooden porch. The door was slightly ajar. He knew he had closed it before he left.
He leaned against the wall for almost half an hour, not entirely sure what to do. He supposed he could just go back out into the woods and sleep there. He'd done it before. Or he could stand outside the door and wait until whoever was inside got bored or curious. Though, perhaps he had misheard the sound. What if the cabin was empty? He'd feel like a fool standing outside of it all night, afraid to go in.
Finally, he kicked the door open, and went into a crouch, primed for gunfire.
There was none.
Someone was sitting in front of the fire, a half-eaten bowl of rice and chopsticks sitting at the small table beside him. The masked man tilted his head at the door, then stood, facing him. An unsheathed sword hung at the intruder's side in his hand, sparkling in the firelight.
Suddenly, Wufei recognized something in the way the intruder tilted his hips, moving more of his weight slightly to one side. Signs of an old limp. A leg that had once been badly broken. He looked more closely at the intruder's face and saw dark blue eyes piercing through the black mask. He recognized that midnight gaze immediately.
"Heero?"
"Wufei." That monotone voice was muffled by the black mask, but unmistakable. The Wing pilot pulled off the mask, and that familiar shock of dark brown hair came loose, framing his face and casting shadows over his eyes. "How did you recognize me?"
"Your stance," Wufei said, fury rising in him. "Bastard. You knew I was standing out there."
Heero laughed softly, and the sound was chilling. "I was wondering how long you would hesitate."
The two stared at each other for a few moments, until finally -reluctantly- Wufei sheathed his sword, stepping forward. Heero didn't sheathe his, but laid it on the table, next to a mug of tea.
"I see you've helped yourself to my rations."
"It's a long climb."
Wufei sat down across from the Wing pilot, warily. "Why are you here, Yuy?"
Heero didn't answer him right away. He stared away into the fire, sipping from the mug of green tea beside him. Wufei waited. He hadn't missed Heero, wasn't glad to see him, didn't feel anything like nostalgia. But he still felt connected to the other pilot. Maybe it wasn't only violence, but pain that joined them.
Finally, Heero answered, his voice quiet. "I'm here to give you the death Treize couldn't."
There were a few beats of silence between them. They weren't the words Wufei had been expecting, but at the same time, he wasn't particularly surprised. He tried to be angry, or frightened, but he couldn't feel anything but a newfound sense of purpose.
He wanted to fight Heero.
Instead of saying so, he acted as if he hadn't heard the Wing pilot at all. He stared at the shining blade on the table. "That's a Gan Jiang sword. Where did you get that?"
Heero sat his mug back on the table. "Borrowed it from a man named Fa Dao."
Wufei scowled. "The largest illegal arms dealer in China? But he was killed last week, Yuy."
The Wing pilot half-smiled, and the expression made a shudder run down Wufei's back like a trickle of ice water. He stared at the other pilot in morbidly fascinated wonder. He's mad. Yuy's gone mad.
"I guess that's why he didn't mind," Heero replied, softly.
Wufei hummed tunelessly and softly under his breath, smiling faintly. "I guess if you're bent on killing me, Yuy, there's not anywhere I can go, is there? And no one would hear me call for help on this mountain."
" ...No."
"Then I hope you're not expecting me to go down easily." In a wide sweeping motion, Wufei grabbed the mug of warm tea and threw it in the Wing pilot's face, giving himself enough time to back away and unsheathe his sword.
Heero cursed in surprise, blinded, and grabbed for the sword on the table, pushing his chair over as he stumbled to his feet. He had recovered in a few seconds, and his gaze met Wufei's unblinkingly. Green tea dripped slowly from his bangs, landing on the wooden floor in dime-sized drops. But there was no rage in his eyes, nor amusement, like Treize.
They were cold.
He truly means to kill me.
"Come on then, Yuy. Come on, if you mean to do it, then do it. We'll see who is the better warrior here," Wufei whispered, his gaze never leaving Heero's. "Come on."
Heero smiled again, and this time there was something faintly sad about it. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Wufei."
And suddenly, Heero came, striking fast and moving with a grace that Wufei had never seen him exhibit. It was lethal, but it was also beautiful. Wufei blocked it, turning his body so that the Wing pilot was suddenly faced away from him.
"When's the last time you've actually killed, Wufei?" Heero asked as he spun, thrusting straight for the heart. Wufei moved back quickly, parrying the blow.
"The war. The war that's over, Yuy." Wufei struck back, but Heero blocked his moves almost effortlessly. The Wing pilot's face had lost every hint of amiability. "Has the peace been kind to you, Wufei? You miss it, don't you? The war. The killing."
Wufei rushed him, swallowed by rage. Heero dodged the attack with fluid grace.
"It wasn't about that," he snarled, furious.
"Oh," Heero mocked, lightly. "It's so easy to get confused. We're free, but we're chained. I don't have a life anymore, no more life than you. This is all we know. I just came to give your life back for a moment, then take it away again. Aren't you afraid?"
"I'm sad for you, Yuy," Wufei managed, gasping. Yuy landed a blow, gashing his arm. "I wish I could help you."
"You can't even help yourself."
The words hit Wufei like a roundhouse kick, and he faltered. He tried to say something in response, anything, before he blocked Heero's blade; it was less than an inch from his face. Heero was so close that Wufei could feel the Japanese soldier's breath on his face like a warm promise. He laughed softly, but it was a menacing sound. Whatever could have passed for humor from the Wing pilot had been long broken.
"Come on, Wufei. I know you're better than this. You killed Treize Khushrenada, after all."
"Don't," Wufei warned.
"Look at you, Wufei," Heero whispered, advancing on him like a storm. Pushing him backwards. It was Yuy's style, Wufei realized. Brute strength. No matter how good you were, you couldn't beat hands that could bend steel. It was a battle lost from the start.
Heero's voice was almost a monotone snarl. Feral. "You're still obsessed with him."
"And you still hate him-" Wufei replied, side-stepping and catching Heero in the shoulder. The blade glanced off the Wing pilot's collarbone, tearing cloth and flesh. "-even though he's dead. Do you know why, Yuy? Has peace helped you figure it out?"
Wufei attacked quickly, so quickly Heero could barely defend himself, let alone strike back.
Suddenly, Heero surged forward, and Wufei felt his wrist twisted hard, almost to the snapping point. He cursed, and dropped his sword. It clattered to the floor. Heero jerked him forward by his wrist until they were only a foot apart, and the Gan Jiang sword was pressed between them, aiming up to the underside of Wufei's chin. One upward thrust, and Wufei's tongue would be tacked to the roof of his mouth as the blade made its way to his brain.
The Wing pilot's eyes were locked onto his, as frigid as arctic waters. Cold and cobalt. It was-Wufei realized-the color of pure, unadulterated hate. But when it came to what Heero hated so fiercely, Wufei had no idea at all.
"People only learn through blood, Wufei. If you don't know that by now, you're a fool. And you're defeated."
Wufei closed his eyes. "Damn you."
"Wufei... " Heero whispered, and Wufei opened his eyes again, looking at him. He imagined he could almost see remorse in the Wing pilot's expression now. But he also realized then that Heero wasn't insane, and he didn't know if that made it better or worse. His execution was mercilessly deliberate.
"You're a weapon, but so am I. I'll see you soon."
Drawing back quickly, free hand tightening on Wufei's shoulder like a vise, Heero thrust the sword forward and up, aiming for the heart. It wasn't precisely clean-the blade caught momentarily on the Shenlong pilot's lowest rib-but it was clean enough. Though Wufei was still looking into his eyes, his dark gaze was distant now.
Wufei's mind drifted away, free from pain.
Birds called softly in the garden of the Shaolin stone pagoda on L5, where young Wufei Chang.sat, a small boy in an embroidered dragon miao.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!!!
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!!!!
"I'm comin', I'm comin', Jesus Christ," Duo muttered. He inhaled harshly and rose up on his elbow from where he had been sleeping on his stomach, fumbling on the side-table for the phone. He heard the alarm clock crash to the carpet, the bright neon green momentarily lightly the ceiling, before he finally felt the cool plastic he was searching for.
He pressed TALK and held the receiver to his ear, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Maxwell. I just got off a twelve hour shift. This better be fucking good."
The sound of his superior, Parker, came over the line. Of all the voices he wanted to wake him up at two thirty in the morning, Parker was probably last on the list.
But something was different in the older man's voice, tonight. It was completely solemn, almost gentle. "Maxwell? Listen carefully. Pack your bags, we're heading dirtside at 0600 hours. Be at the airport at 0500. We have a situation in China."
Duo yawned, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes with one hand. "You gonna tell me what it is, or is it some kind of fucking surprise?"
There was a beat of silence before Parker answered.
"A couple of hikers found a body at Mount Tai Shan. We think it's Wufei Chang. He doesn't have any relatives, but we thought you could ID the body."
Duo was suddenly wide awake, frozen, eyes wide in the streetlight coming from the window.
Fei? Wuffers? Dead? Wufei is dead? It didn't compute.
"Maxwell? You there?"
He just stared off into the darkened apartment. A few moments before, he had been hot, almost uncomfortably so. But it felt now as if he had been ducked in a bucket of ice water. He could barely feel his fingers.
"Maxwell!"
"Yeah," he said, softly, finally answering. His jaw felt unhinged, like it didn't belong to him. "I'll be there, just... .let me make some calls first, okay? ... Are you sure?" he added, rubbing one hand roughly over his face. "I mean, they could be wrong, right?"
"Do you want me to lie, Maxwell, or do you want to feel better?"
Duo hissed, eyes stinging. "What do you think, Parker?! He was my friend, one of the only ones I ever had. I want you to fucking lie to me!"
When Parker answered, his voice was still serious, but almost soothing, now. "We're not a hundred percent sure, Duo. We could be wrong." But we're not, that tone of voice said. There's no way we can be wrong. I'm sorry.
"Okay," Duo replied, his voice a whisper. He sat up and leaned wearily against the headboard of the bed, closing his eyes. "Okay, Park. I'll be there. Just give me a few minutes, okay? He was a friend."
"Right. I'll see you in Beijing. And Duo?"
" ...Yeah?"
"I'm sorry, man. I really am."
"Yeah. Thanks."
Duo hung up gently. Then picked up the entire phone set, ripped it out of the wall, and threw it across the room.
He got up slowly, pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt like a sleepwalker, then threw some clothes in a suitcase, leaving it opened on his unmade bed. He walked out into the L2 darkness, knowing exactly what he was looking for. With his unbound hair and grief-drunken walk, it didn't take long.
Someone shoved him up against a brick wall, steel pricking his neck.
"Give me your wallet or I'll cut you."
Duo smiled at the man. Whatever was in his gaze made the man back up slightly in instinct, and that's all the room Duo needed.
Maybe it was the guy personally, maybe Wufei's death, maybe just Death himself. Whatever it was, it was consuming. Duo saw nothing, heard nothing, cared about shit. The idea that he could lose his badge for what he was about to do didn't matter. He was a creature of hate.
He broke the mugger's arm, the one that held the knife, twice. Once at the wrist, and then again, for absolutely no reason, at the bicep, snapping it across his knee. It sounded like a branch breaking under the weight of snow. He hit the guy, and kept hitting. The mugger was probably screaming, probably drawing a crowd, but Duo didn't hear it. And he didn't stop until the man didn't move anymore. He thought maybe he was crying, but he couldn't feel it.
And then, just because he was fucking sick of all of it, the death, he picked the biggest guy out of the rest of them, and beat the living shit out of him, too.
They scattered.
He walked away with his bruising , bloodied hands in his pockets, wondering absently how he was going to call to reserve plane tickets now that he had ripped his phone out of the wall. He had cut his knuckles on one of the guy's broken teeth. He thought another was cracked from the force of shattering the first mugger's jaw. If he had been armed, he thought, he probably would have killed the whole lot of them.
He could hear Wufei's voice in his head, dripping with contempt. Feel like you accomplished anything by that bloody little fiasco, Maxwell? Feel like justice has been served?
"No, but I sure feel a hell of a lot better," he murmured, and was dismayed to find his voice was full of tears. He hadn't cried in over five years.
He stopped in the road suddenly, bathed in the harsh orange glow of the streetlights, as he realized he didn't feel better. Duo was left alone, with two bleeding, unconscious men behind him, with the sounds of wailing sirens rising in his ears, and he didn't care at all.
Because Wufei was still dead.
End Part 1
(:./cyt/hate1)
