06-Nov-2000
::blinks:: I am prolific. What's wrong with me?
Here's part two of the fic, which is going to be a part or two longer than planned, because this part got a little long to do all I had in line for it. Hope you like it.
Notes: See part 1 notes.
Warnings: Angst, mention of rape, implied shounen-ai, whatever I
said in part 1 warnings.
Disclaimers: I don't own my puppets, only my words and my demons (or
is it the other way around?).
"I want you to come with me."
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit... what does that mean? No, I mean, I know what it *means,* but does it mean... get a grip, Duo.
Those were pretty much my thoughts, if you could call them that. The paper fell from my hands and onto our kitchen counter, but I didn't notice. 'I want you to come with me.' Was she trying to tell me that *she*... and if she had, oh, shit, if she had... and she wanted *me* to go with her, so I must've been something to her, someone she could trust... but I didn't want to believe this... could I deal with this? It was all a jumble in my mind. And there was another thought in there, insidious and very insistent. Even then I had the good sense to know it wasn't what I should've been thinking. Now I'm ashamed, and if you caught me in a different mood I might not admit it, but... .
What I thought was, 'If she was... can she ever want me? Is this why she doesn't want me? If I help her with this, will she be able to want me, ever? After how long? What the fuck am *I* supposed to do if she can't ever want me?'
Yeah, so I'm selfish. Excuse me. I was only sixteen. And I'd spent my entire life at war. And all I could really grasp was that the one thing in my life that seemed like it just might work out for me that didn't involve explosives was suddenly seeming like it just might blow up in my face. I know what I felt, feel is nothing compared to what she went through... but it's pretty shitty and damned if I'm going to apologize for my feelings.
Even though I feel like I have to apologize for them.
Even still, I don't think I'd quite processed what was happening. It was so surreal, I felt like I was stuck in a Dali painting (and I hate Dali, which should tell you something about my mood, too). It wasn't supposed to *be* like this. The whole idea was too large for me to grasp, and it felt wrong, for us. Wasn't it supposed to be 'hero and heroine save universe and then live happily ever after, producing all kinds of annoying children'? Since when was 'hero and heroine save universe, but due to heavy emotional baggage the hero does not get the girl, who instead lives her life in therapy and walking on eggshells' part of the package? Major shit on the horizon, captain. I've always had a nose for shit, and I could see it descending on our lives in spades.
I want you to come with me.
Fuck.
"Yeah, sure, ok, Hildey."
That night, I got drunk.
Well, first I hung around and did my best to look supportive, just in case she wanted to... talk, or whatever you're supposed to do when you're... whatever she is. Hell, I didn't know what I was doing. Everything had changed, except that nothing had changed, because I got the feeling that this was an old thing, that this had happened a while ago and I'd been living with it ever since without knowing. If she'd actually said anything else, I wouldn't have had the foggiest clue how to respond. But it seemed like after I'd agreed to go to this meeting, she didn't want to really be around me anymore... or else an inexperienced god of death struggling ineptly to look sensitive (while he patched his outlook on life back together with Scotch tape) didn't seem like an appealing confidante. I shrugged. It was better, really, that she went to her room. Because I really, really needed vodka. Lots of vodka. With no chasers.
I don't claim to respond maturely or constructively to difficult news. It seemed like a natural thing to do. I walked down to the corner bar and came to an understanding with the bartender (about my age) that involved the exchange of a few bills. We came to the same understanding every time I entered that bar. "Screwdriver?" he asked me. He's pretty good at gaging my mood, and I usually go for vodka after a shock. Except this time, the reply was "No orange juice. Just vodka. Keep the bottle handy. Actually, bring out some tequila, too."
He gave me an odd look, and then sighed. It was a long night.
When I came to the next morning-I don't think "woke up" is really an accurate description of my return to consciousness-my mouth tasted like a cesspool and my head was pounding against my skull like it was trying to escape. I stumbled to the bathroom, cursing and thankful that at least I was in my own bed when I opened my eyes... it doesn't always happen that way, and when it doesn't I'm usually pissed at myself. I think the only reason I actually made it to my bed at all was that the bar is less than 500 feet from our front door. Even so, I suspect the bartender got someone to help me, because there's no way I could've worked the key by myself. Tequila is crazy shit, even if you *don't* drink anything else, which I did.
After a glass of water, the world sort of came into focus. Something approximating focus... close enough. The world was only at a 45% angle and pulsing with the pulsing of my head.
When I met Hilde in the kitchen holding out a bottle of Tylenol, I remembered why I'd wanted the damned vodka, and found myself childishly wishing I hadn't remembered. Shit, Hilde... .
We had breakfast (in my case, more water, and half a piece of dry toast I was fairly certain I could keep down) as if everything was normal. It wasn't.
When she left for work, I still had an hour to kill. Most mornings I used it to take a shower. This morning I wandered around in a daze, entering rooms not really sure what I wanted in them. I was like a ghost. Suddenly, I felt as if *I* needed to talk someone, which was odd because Hilde was the one who was going through shit, right?
Without quite knowing what I was doing, I turned on the vid and called Heero. Best friends are for dumping shit on, I guess. His face appeared on the monitor and I started babbling it all out as if a floodgate had opened inside myself. Since he was Heero, he was actually able to catch most of it. "Duo," he said when I'd finished.
"Duo... listen to me." He seemed to pause then, and consider what he was about to say. "I won't say it's going to be ok. Because it probably isn't."
That's Heero, blunt as it gets. Some days I wonder why I like him so much. He really sucks at this comfort shit.
"...but I will say that you are not alone. Others have been in similar situations." I looked at him. He paused. He had that look on his face that says he's trying to assimilate all of his emotions-- he's getting a lot better at that than he was when the war began, and he's a *hell* of a lot more talkative, but he still has a long way to go to normal, and it's still hard for him. What scared me in that moment was that he looked upset. Heero Yuy never looks upset. He took a breath. "That is, I know it's hard."
I remember blinking then, and then becoming aware of the distinct feeling that somebody had punched me in the gut. Shit. Shit, it was everywhere. Why was it everywhere... my friends? Fuck, I didn't know if I could deal with the knowledge that *another* one of my friends had been hurt like that... fuck, fuck. What was I supposed to *do*?
"Trowa... " I managed to breathe out, "how... how is he?" Fuck, I never *knew*, Heero. Did you feel like this when you found out? Did you know what you were feeling?
"He's... ok. We're pretty happy together." His face always lights up when he says shit like that... Heero is beautiful, really. And when he's with Trowa, well... I think their being lovers was one of the better things that's ever happened to either of them. So it was possible, then, to be happy together... Hilde and I maybe still had a chance at happiness.
I wondered, though. Heero sucked at dealing with his own emotions, and he didn't have much of a track record with anyone else's... as if reading my thoughts, he said, "I didn't know how to do anything else. So I just held him."
"Heero... " I whispered. "What the fuck am I supposed to *do*?"
He looked pained. "I don't know," he said.
Then Trowa walked in, and I looked at him with new eyes as he twitched his little almost-smile at me and said hello. We chatted for a few minutes, and then hung up to go about the business of blundering through our lives.
And getting more Tylenol.
End Part 2
Yeah, the next part will come back to Hilde more. But all of it will be in Duo's POV, because I think it works rather well to tell someone's story in the first person... and I think it's even more interesting to tell someone's story in someone *else's* first person.
Stay tuned to find out what's in store. And give the muse feedback.
(:./cutter/tsuyoku2)
