09-Nov-2004
Title: Kingfisher
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: no, don't own 'em... duh.
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
On the fairest time of June
You may go, with sun or moon,
Or the seven stars to light you
--- John Keats
Nights pass, days of staring at the ceiling in the apartment empty but for Duo and the five dogs. He's learning to understand their expressions, to see the dynamic between them. He tells them stories, the ones he meant to tell Heero. They have no answer when he wonders out loud if he should return.
A week, and Duo cannot continue: cannot wander the city, cannot drink coffee at an all-night bar, cannot watch people laugh and talk. He would stay, in the afternoon, to wait for Trowa, but he's seen the schedule posted on the cabinet door. Trowa spends an hour with Heero in the morning, then an hour with Relena, then nine hours at work, and back to the hospital again. Duo would not impose on Trowa further.
He stares at the books on the shelves, and knows he must pay his own penance. Emily watches him from under the sofa, wary, but no longer growling. He whispers to her, and sometimes her tail wags, but she has no answer, either.
The silence eats Duo from the inside, and he dreams he can hear Heero calling for him to finish the story. When Duo wakes, twilight fills the apartment. He opens the curtains to see the sun leaving the land. He takes his jacket, and lets himself out of the apartment.
No one notices his passing through the hallways, and Duo knows the patterns of the hospital well enough to keep it that way. He's not sure of the doctors' decisions, though he's read the emails and is aware of some small progress.
He thinks, as he walks, passing room numbers and names he doesn't recognize, that he doesn't understand his self-imposed isolation. But he does, too; he's read it in the stories. The long journey, and the kindness of strangers - these are how the prince finds his beloved.
He's surprised to find Heero awake and waiting, when he arrives.
"Hey," Duo says, from the doorway. "I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"Better," Heero replies. He stares down at his hands, then up at Duo. "Doctors show newspaper, television reports." He frowns. "I not recall anything. Sometimes think lying."
"It must be scary," Duo says, coming closer. He settles down on the chair, still in its spot by the bed. He sees the book sitting on the bedside table, and takes it, flipping through the pages to the spot he'd marked. Heero's eyes light up. "We hadn't finished reading," Duo tells him. "And you never told me how you got to be called a scamp."
"Oh." Heero frowns, raising one hand; the restraints are still there. It saddens Duo. Heero sees Duo's glance, and tugs at the chain. "They not let me free." He sighs. "You report, tell J not give in. Pass test."
"First, you answer my question," Duo parries. He digs through his memories, and brings out a smile, tries it on. "Are you going to tell me?"
Heero hesitates, studying Duo carefully, before a shy smile curves up one corner of his mouth. "J drinks much coffee. Mechanics complaining grumpy, jiggly."
"Jittery?" Duo guesses.
"Jiggly," Heero says, nodding. "Put salt coffee beans."
Duo gapes, then grins widely. "Not bad. Did you get caught?"
Heero snorts.
"Good for you," Duo says. "Man, wish you'd told me this when... " His voice fades, and Heero looks puzzled. "Nothing," Duo says, shrugging. "You do anything else?"
"Sneak out," Heero confides. "Like see movies the base. Got through exit door, then hid back." He smiles, a mischievous, pleased look. "Favorites ones wizards dragons."
"Did you see the one with the princess with the fireballs?" Duo is entranced; Heero nods. Duo fingers the volume in his hand. "G had that one in the video collection. I watched it with the Sweepers. I preferred the ones with fast cars and lots of explosions."
Heero rolls his eyes. "Boring."
"Maybe for you!" Duo shrugs, grinning slyly. "So you also misbehaved when the head guy wasn't looking, hunh."
"Not all time," Heero says, frowning a little; the glare is softened by the impassive half of his face. He looks amused, instead. "Difficult only boy around many grown men, sometimes."
"Yeah." Duo sighs, and impulsively decides to tell a story of his own, in return. "I used to change the training program so I was shooting at Leos with G's face."
"No," Heero says, his eyes widening, then he smirks. His voice drops to a whisper. "Once changed training disk watched favorite movie instead. J yelled when found, but already watched." Heero's smile grew. "Five times."
Duo laughs softly. "I wish I'd known you then," he muses.
"Know me now," Heero replies, puzzled, and stares past Duo towards the door. "True? Many years pass, but... " He chews his lower lip, and raises a hand, jerking at the restraint. "They lock up night. Far concerned, says aren't speaking truth."
"It is true," Duo whispers. "It's been four years. J is dead, Heero. He died during the war."
"No," Heero protests. "Can't--"
"I don't lie," Duo says. He opens the book, and glances down at the page. "We haven't finished all the stories."
Heero nods, and settles down in the bed. It takes some effort to uncurl his right leg, but he manages. When he's comfortable, he gives Duo an expectant look, which becomes something else, something Duo cannot identify.
"Glad came back," Heero says, his gaze dropping away from Duo. His slim fingers pluck at the blanket, a childish manner in a young man's body. "Haven't decided to believe doctors. I... " His hands drop into his lap, and his shoulders slump. "Can't believe everything gone, and can't remember any it. Seen pictures, read news reports, but not real." He glances at Duo, tentative, then away. "You're real."
"Oh." Duo smiles, flattered, and a little scared.
He clears his throat, not sure what to say. Instead, he glances down at the page. The ink is dark, scattered marks of darkness; his finger marking his place is callused, rough beside the pristine paper.
"There was once a king's son, who was no longer content to stay at home in his father's house. As he had no fear of anything, he thought, I shall go forth into the wide world. There the time will not seem long to me, and I shall see wonders enough."
He no longer counts the days or nights, although he sees the people in the street carrying packages, arms of gifts. Duo wonders what Heero had wanted, as a boy, if he had wanted anything. He thinks of goose eggs and talking cats, but the rug in the shop display isn't the kind that would fly.
Instead, he returns, slipping through the darkened hallways, cloaked in black. His boots make no sound but Heero always comes awake at his arrival. Some nights there are no words, and Heero studies him, intent, settling back to listen when Duo begins to read.
Tonight, Heero is tired, and shakes his head at Duo's greeting. He is twisted away from the door, upset, but won't say why. Duo waits, but Heero doesn't speak. Duo sighs, and opens the book.
"Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen, who were rich, and had everything they wanted, but no children. The queen lamented over this day and night, and said, I am like a field on which nothing grows. At last God gave her her wish, but when the child came into the world, it did not look like a human child, but an ugly dog."
Heero bangs against the bed's frame, startling Duo into silence.
"Dogs," Heero says, his eyes wide. His right hand shakes, falls; his left hand is clenched in a fist. "Dogs. Pictures showed, there dogs."
"You have five of them," Duo whispers. He clutches the book, uncertain. "Molly, Brewster, Buddy, Rufus, and Emily."
"Emily," Heero repeats. "Black dog."
"Yes," and Duo sets down the book in his lap, gripping the chair instead. His hands are shaking. "Do you remember?"
"Just... " Heero frowns, and tries to raise his hands, but they catch halfway. He explodes in fury, ripping at the restraints, pulling with all his force. The metal shrieks, groans, and bends from his strength. "Shit!" He screams, kicking with his good leg; he curls over, hands digging at his scalp. "Shit, shit, fuck--"
"Heero," Duo cries, but softly. He glances towards the hallway. No one is coming, but Heero is kicking madly at the blankets, his arms flying about, beating on the railing. "Heero, calm down, someone's going--"
"Fuck!" Heero arches his back, his face towards the ceiling. His eyes are wide and glassy. "Remember bits pieces nothing makes sense. Like dream nightmare what hell wrong head!" He shakes his head, curling over again to rip at his hair, beat against his head with his fists.
"Stop, stop," Duo protests, reaching for Heero's hands. "Please, don't do that, you'll--"
He yanks his hands free, and twists, trying to turn his back on Duo.
"Heero?" Duo is confused. He wishes he could remember the words, the open sesame, the rumplestiltskin, the answer to the riddle. He would repeat it, breaking the spell, but Heero's shoulders quiver, then shake. "Heero?"
"Go away," Heero moans. "Head hurts."
"Should I come back--"
"Go away!"
Duo balks, then sighs, setting the book down on the table. There's another book there, as well, and he pauses long enough to note it's larger, with a green leather cover. But he doesn't linger; quick footsteps are rushing down the hallway, and Duo slides away through the shadows rather than be caught.
At the entrance to the ward, he turns, watching the nurses enter and leave Heero's room. Under his breath, he tells the rest of the story, and hopes that Heero can hear, will remember, will awaken from his dream, his nightmare, his story without a happy ending.
"There was once a rich man, who had a servant who served him diligently and honestly. He was every morning the first out of bed, and the last to go to rest at night. Whenever there was a difficult job to be done, which nobody cared to undertake, he was always the first to set himself to it."
Duo pauses, turning the page.
"Duo," Heero says, the first time - since that frustrating night - that he's interrupted a story. He waits until Duo looks up from the book. "Undo me?"
"I shouldn't," Duo says, but finds himself picking the lock with skillful fingers. Heero stares down at his bare forearms, and holds out his hand, palm up; Duo gives him the book.
In the soft glow of the nightlight, Heero bends over the book, opening it to the inside page. He stares at the dedication, his lips moving soundlessly; he runs his finger across the writing. The light shatters in the tears, caught in long eyelashes. He blinks, then squeezes his eyes shut, and lowers the book to his lap.
"Know all these stories," Heero says. He lays his hand flat on the book, and looks at Duo, who hovers over him, worried. Heero smiles, one end of his mouth curling up, the other just barely. "I don't know face, but now do know your voice. These your stories too, now."
"Heero?" Duo reaches for the book, but Heero shakes his head. "Don't you want me to finish? So you can find out what happens?"
"Know what happens," Heero says. He sighs. "Who are you?"
"Duo Maxwell," Duo says, promptly. "I piloted Deathscythe during the war."
"And after the war?"
"I went to L2, to work with my friend Hilde." Duo drops his chin. "I came back when you needed me. After that, you didn't need me. Until... "
"I think would always need... " Heero frowns, and sets the slim leather-bound book on the bedside table. He opens the drawer, and pulls out the dark green book that Duo had seen once before. "Look this," Heero says, opening it. "These... Trowa, during the day, tells me things." The sideways smile is quick, lightening flash behind windows. "Different stories."
Duo leans against the bed railing, looking at the pictures. Heero flips the pages, pausing at some, skipping others without a second glance. There are pictures from between the wars. One picture is of Heero and Trowa, the summer after the one-day war. Heero stops, his hand splayed across the photograph, as if trying to hold the memory.
"This is from zoo," Heero says, his tone grave. "Trowa told me. Visited. That bird, there." He taps his finger on the bird in the picture, behind the two young men. The men's expressions are cheerless, two crows among the birds of paradise.
"Heero," Duo protests.
"Shh," Heero tells him, but a glimpse of that mercurial smile softens the reprimand. "My story. It's turn to listen."
Duo nods, and sits back down, pulling the chair closer to the bed. He leans over the rail, watching Heero's fingers smooth down the edges of the photograph.
"Once upon a time," Heero recites, "there were two people who loved each other very much. But one died, and the other mourned for a long time. He did not see his other friends, and he shut himself away, missing the one who mattered to him so much." He held his finger down on the bird's image, as though pressing it deep, imprinting it on the whorls of his words. Heero lifted his hand, and turned the page, his gaze running across the pictures as though searching. "Eventually gods took pity on him. They turned friends into birds, so could forever be happy."
Duo frowns. The story doesn't make sense to him, even though he's grown accustomed to the telegraphic speech of Heero's injuries.
"That is story Trowa told me today," Heero explains. He pauses on a picture of all five pilots, at the end of the second war, and stares for a long minute. "I remember today, and yesterday. I remember a month, days, and sometimes see in my head pieces of stories."
"Oh." Duo isn't sure what to say, but he accepts the photograph album. He rests it in his lap, the leather heavy, a scent of chemicals and paste and paper, the faint wrinkle of ink and gun oil and jet fuel teasing him. "You don't remember... "
"Doctors say I won't," Heero says. His voice is flat, but calm. He stares at Duo, and in the light, his eyes are too blue, too like the night sky outside the window, the faintest hint of dawn crisping the winter edges of the buildings. "I probably never. Always for me, one day fourteen, and the next day, eighteen."
Duo manages a smile. "I like you at fourteen, Heero."
"I like at eighteen," Heero replies. In the cryptic shorthand, Duo understands that Heero speaks of both of them.
"Perhaps it's better to not know all the stories," Duo whispers.
"I know the stories," Heero says, shaking his head.
He twists on the bed, grunting quietly at the effort of moving his right leg, shifting his right arm. He hooks his legs through the bars, letting his bare feet swing. Heero leans over the railing, and presses his lips against Duo's forehead. The touch is cool, a small puff of warm breath as Heero pulls away.
"I know the stories of you, too," Heero adds.
Duo's eyes go wide, and he stares down at the album in his hands. This is when the princess has awoken, if the stories are true. When the young man understands the secret behind the magical beans; when the old king reveals the door leading out of the underworld.
"Who are you?" Heero's whisper is a faint caress.
"I can't tell you," Duo murmurs, risking a glimpse at Heero's face. Heero's brow is furrowed, then it smoothes, hint of a smile. "But if you look, you'll find me."
"I looked." Heero taps on the photo album. "You in there, and in here," and he presses his palm against his heart.
"I didn't want you to forget me," Duo explains. "But I didn't know what else to do."
"Am glad," Heero says. He sighs, staring down at the book in Duo's lap. "Does this mean have to leave?"
"Yeah." Duo nods, shakily, and looks up at Heero's sorrowful expression. "I'm glad I got to see you again."
"I'm glad you came back," Heero replies. "I not want to live, forgetting... "
"Promise me," Duo says. "Promise me you won't do that again. That you won't give up and not care, that you'll keep living."
Heero is silent for a long time, long enough for stories to be told and heard and forgotten. He leans over the railing and places his hand on the photograph album.
"I promise," he says, staring into Duo's eyes. There are a hundred stories there, scattered bits of highwaymen and eagles, bolts of silk and deep forests, princesses and flying carpets. They fall apart, fractured; coming together to pour down Heero's cheeks in a new shape. The stories end on his chin, drip down onto his hand. "I promise," he whispers.
"I don't know if you'll live happily ever after," Duo says. "I don't know how the story ends. But I didn't want to be forgotten."
"Never," Heero says.
In the morning, Trowa arrives before breakfast, to find Heero sitting up, his back to the door. His arms are free, and Trowa pauses, confused.
"Good morning, Heero," he says, setting his briefcase on the chair.
Heero doesn't turn around, and Trowa frowns, uncertain. He leans over, to see Heero has the photograph album open, on his lap. It's not what he expected; Heero has been nothing but recalcitrant about looking at his own history, for months now.
"Heero? Are you... " His words trail off at the sight of tears on Heero's face. Trowa unhooks the bed's rails, and sits down next to Heero. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Heero says. He stares down at the image of two boys, one smiling, one simply looking pleased and a bit amused.
"I'm sorry you'll never remember him," Trowa says, quietly. "We can tell you all the stories, but it won't be the same. I'm sorry."
"It's okay." Heero gently closes the album. "I have stories of my own."
The End
oooookay. That story really took a turn on its own that I was completely not expecting. Uh, sorry, folks. I would've warned you, but I honestly was just writing and suddenly BAM there it was and... oops? Don't hurt me.
*flees*
(:./sol/kf4)
