01-Dec-2000/ 22-Dec-2000
Category: Songfic
Rating: R
Pairing: 2+1 (references to 2+R, 1+R)
Warnings: Language, violence, extreme angst (near-deathfic)--this
one is gonna hurt, folks. Barely visible references to shounen-ai.
Disclaimer: The boys and the girl belong to Sunrise, the Sotsu Agency, TV Asahi, and Bandai; "Fade to Black" belongs to Metallica, and can be found on their album _Ride the Lightning_.
Notes: This is the 10,000th-hit counter fic, won by my most wonderful little brother--he picked the song, and asked for a fic that shows Duo's reaction to the news reports of the assassination attempt on Relena (which happens between parts 7 and 8 of "Complicated"). He even gave me permission to pick up the song after the first verse or so, since the middle works better with this story line (in case you're wondering where the rest of the song went!). So here 'tis, sweetie--hope this fits with what you had in mind!
^___^
// denotes lyrics, / denotes thoughts
It was going to be the best day ever. Bellowing rock songs into the shower's spray, Duo could have danced on the slippery tile at the prospect of a whole day off--a much-deserved break after three hectic weeks of constant shuttle runs. He'd restock their cupboards, maybe hit the arcade, definitely nap through the entire afternoon... the possibilities for managed laziness were downright exhilarating.
He tempered the performance a little by the time he hit the street, but was still whistling along with the music in his head as he headed for the corner store. Heero might be happy to survive on rice and pickled radish while on his own, but Duo was out to remedy the alarming situation of their fridge. The Venus station got very little in the way of fresh produce or meat, but there was always the chance of a surprise shipment--and anything would be better than more instant noodles!
The grocer nodded a greeting as Duo began prospecting among the cartons and cans that lined the lopsided shelves. Nothing too exciting, but he did turn up one genuine jewel--a jar of raspberry preserves, the sort of item that rarely survived shipping. The next bin yielded shortbread cookies, further proof of the kindness of the universe. Together with the armload of essentials he had already collected, it was the basis of a feast.
Piling his purchases on the dingy counter, Duo was already looking forward to an afternoon sugar high, and wondering if he would be able to hide the evidence of his self-indulgence before Heero got home. Otherwise, he'd have to share, and--
"Too bad, huh?"
"What's that?" Duo responded absently, stuffing change into his pocket and gathering up the groceries.
"That little girl gettin' it like that. Damn shame." The older man behind the counter shook his close-cropped head. "Always thought she'd amount to something, you know? Guess she won't be gettin' the chance."
Another vidstar must have ended up in a drugged-out car accident, Duo thought--but then he followed the man's glance over to the static-blurred vidset on the counter, and all thought stopped.
It hadn't been a vidstar. Not exactly. The static scattered the image with pixellated snow, but he knew that face too well to mistake its lines, even with the interference. Even from across the room. Even though his mind tried to hurl the sickening realization all the way back to Earth.
Relena.
/No./
He stared in shock, icy disbelief working its way outward from his stomach until his feet were too frozen to move. The busy screen flipped again, fuzzing so badly that he caught only part of a line of text before it was lost: "...cecraft, gunned down at a diplomatic con..."
/No./
The sack of groceries hit the floor with a clanking crash, a puddle of milk and jam forming around the sodden bag. He stared at the monitor, one hand lifted in mute appeal or defense.
"No." The tone was almost conversational, but his eyes had gone completely blank.
"Shit, kid, you look like you just got hit by a bus. You okay?"
"No." The same monosyllable, but this time the even tone was downright eerie.
"You want me to call somebody?"
"No."
//Things not what they used to be
Missing one inside of me//
Duo stumbled backward out of the shop, almost tripping on the sidewalk before he recovered his balance. /Pull it together, Maxwell. Probably just a hoax--happens all the time./
He needed to find a vidset with better reception, a shuttle ticket back to Earth, and a phone--not necessarily in that order.
The phone presented itself first, though he almost walked past the phone booth in a daze before he recognized the glass box; an iron grip kept his bankcard from sliding out of shaking fingers as he swiped it over the magnetic reader and waited for a dial tone. He tried the passenger shuttle bay first, only to hear what he already knew--no Earthbound shuttles available until next week.
That much he had expected; now to make the more difficult calls. The cost was going to be exorbitant, but he couldn't exactly wait for evening rates--and concerns about long-distance charges fled as one number after another got him nowhere.
No one was answering at the Peacecraft complex's main desk, and Nina's direct line was picked up by a recording. Her voice was distant, sounding oddly muffled. "Due to recent events, no calls to this line will be answered. Please contact this office through our security department."
Of course--it was part of the emergency plan he had drafted himself. In the event of a crisis, all calls were routed through security to screen for additional threats, gather information on groups claiming responsibility, protect staffers from the press.
But implementing a level ten emergency plan meant that there had been a level ten crisis: a direct attack on the Minister, with casualties.
Not a media hoax, then.
Damn it, he would _not_ give in to panic.
The security department's number had been changed, and no amount of cajoling would convince the operator to give it to him--even if he had been in any condition to sweet-talk anyone. Snarling only made her hang up with vindictive finality.
He leaned heavily against the side wall of the phone booth, its cool glass chilling his already-clammy forehead. /Okay. Okay. Okay./ Repeated enough times, the words lost meaning and became a nonsense mantra. /kayokayokayokayok...stopitand get a _grip_./ There was one more number he could try.
Relena's private number rang through. And rang again. And again. When an automated operator cut in on the thirtieth ring to ask if there was a problem, he broke the connection and dialed again.
On the fifteenth try, he realized he was crying.
//Deathly lost this can't be real
Cannot stand this hell I feel//
The receiver was unbelievably heavy in his hand as he finally dialed a local number: Heero's mobile phone. He wasn't picking up, either, and suddenly Duo didn't know what words could possibly carry the message he needed to leave. "It's me. Something bad-- Just call me. At home. I'm not there yet, but I will be. Hurry?" Hating the choked sound of his own voice, he dropped the receiver back into its cradle and elbowed his way out of the booth.
If he had better hardware--any hardware, really--he could have gone web-crawling and found out something. Anything. But he didn't have so much as a laptop computer, and it would take some serious hacking to get past the media circus to actual facts. Those would be closely guarded, given the potential for global unrest that such a high-profile hit would carry with it.
Duo headed for home, not even noticing when he bumped shoulders with more than one passerby, until he was brought up short outside an electronics store with a window full of monitors. He had found the phone; now he had a better vidscreen.
If he had thought finding a clearer picture would help matters, he was wrong. The image repeated across twenty screens: again the headline, announcing the attack, and then footage of Relena's arrival at some massive marble-columned building. That would be Brussels, he realized; they had been going over preliminary plans for this speaking engagement when he--
When he left.
//Emptiness is filling me
To the point of agony//
His hand came up to trace the outline of her face on the nearest screen; she looked so tired, deep shadows visible under her eyes. She never slept enough when something big was going down, but she had never looked like this--so hopeless. Her face was composed, even serene, but there was no light at all in her eyes. He wanted very badly to reach across all those millions of miles of space and hold her, but he was too late. Always too late.
Her image smiled slightly for the cameras, then turned to enter the hall. The next shot was of a struggling gunman being dragged from the same entrance, before the network went to its proudest bit of film: on twenty screens, in horrible synchronicity, Relena swayed and fell as the bullets slammed into her. Over and over, and then again.
The network had paid dearly for that tape, and they intended to get their money's worth.
Something finally snapped in Duo's chest, and it took everything he had to bite back a rising howl of loss. He jerked away from the storefront determined not to scream, not to be sick, not to throttle the passing strangers who managed to stroll, chat, even smile as if the world weren't crashing down around them.
//Growing darkness taking dawn
I was me, but now he's gone//
He started walking, not sure where he was going--not even sure why he was bothering with something as irrelevant as breathing, now that there didn't seem to be air, or light, or anything but emptiness.
Two bars and a liquor store later, Duo was still seeing those images superimposed upon the station's grey buildings--but he was finally numb enough that he didn't really care. He wasn't quite able to block ambient sound, though, and that turned out to be a problem.
He was on his way out of the third bar when he finally tuned in enough to hear the conversation of a little group of loitering station engineers.
"...you ask me, she got what she deserved." A self-righteous sniff. "Damn Earth politicians, thinking they can push everybody around. About time somebody bumped off Little Miss--"
The man never finished his sentence, and didn't even get a warning before Duo plowed into him. It felt surprisingly good to knock someone over, to lash out with his fists, even when the guy's friends decided to make the odds a little less even. Then it started to hurt, but the physical pain was a welcome distraction.
It seemed like a long time before a more familiar voice filtered through the white noise--and then familiar faces from the cargo shuttle bay surrounded him, assorted arms helping him to his unsteady feet. Apparently he was going to make it home after all.
//No one but me can save myself, but it's too late
Now I can't think, think why I should even try//
Heero had just picked up the cargo inventory for his next shuttle run when one of the other pilots came trotting across the hangar, hailing him with a wave and a shout.
"Hey, Yuy--you gotta get home, man."
"What?"
"Your, uh, roommate. Maxwell. Zeke called to say he was in bad shape--some kind of fight in the commerce sector? Anyway, Zeke and the guys talked the cops out of taking him in, but they made 'em promise to sit on him till you got back."
/What the hell?/ "Why would he be in a fight?"
"Sounded like he was pretty out of it. Go on home, Yuy--I'll cover the rest of your loading detail."
He had seen the red message indicator blinking on his portable phone but ignored it, figuring Duo just wanted to gloat about his relaxing day off. Now Heero kicked himself for not checking it, but didn't want to waste time listening to a recording when he could assess the damage in person.
Zeke met him in the hallway. "About time! He didn't take too well to being baby-sat--threw me out on my ass and locked the door. That'll teach me to do him favors!"
"What happened?"
"Don't have a clue. But I did my civic duty and watched the door, and now he's your problem."
"Thanks. For bringing him home. I owe you one."
"More like twenty--had to take a cab."
Heero handed over a wad of wrinkled bills and dug in his pocket for the key. The apartment was dark when he let himself in; the vidscreen's flickering blue light played over the walls in the main room.
It looked almost normal, but something was horribly wrong. "Duo?"
//Yesterday seems as though it never existed
Death greets me warm//
"The one and only. No, wait--that's you." A jagged laugh, then the voice continued out of the darkness. "If you're looking for Shinigami, I'm right here."
Heero barely recognized Duo in that voice; he sounded drunk, or as if he'd been crying. Or both. A bottle clinked against the linoleum as he set it down.
Heero shut the door and dropped his bag, crossing the small room to flip on the light nearest the kitchen. "You okay?"
There was no response; it took a moment to locate Duo folded into the space between the bed and the low table that held the vidset.
The sight was not a reassuring one. Rocking slightly, knees hugged to his chest, Duo didn't lift his eyes from the shifting vidscreen images. The angry traces of new bruises were visible on his face even from across the room--it looked like more than one punch had actually landed, which meant he had to have been facing more than one opponent.
It just didn't make sense; Duo had no enemies on the station, as far as Heero knew, and he could imagine no scenario in which Duo could have made enemies in a single afternoon. Heero tried again, reminding himself not to get angry at random strangers before he had more information to go on. "What happened?"
It was a long time before Duo answered. "I killed her, that's what happened. That's how it works: I turn my back, and they die. This time I did more than turn, though, didn't I? I left her alone, and now she's dead." He looked up with empty eyes. "You'll be dead soon, too. As soon as I turn my back. That's how it works."
"Slow it down, Duo. You're not making sense. Who's dead? What happened?" Now he was close enough to take in the dust-smeared clothes, the unraveled braid, but the individual observations still weren't forming any meaningful pattern.
"You never see, do you. God _damn_ it, Heero, you never even see her. Look at the fucking television, Yuy."
He looked.
The sound was muted, but the image spoke loudly enough to compensate: a reporter beaming with eager pride as she mouthed the breaking story, a banner at the bottom of the screen screamed 'Earth Mourns Bloody Death of Peace Princess.' The screen split vertically as he watched, one half showing frame-by-frame footage of an emergency squad wheeling a red-spattered stretcher to an ambulance; on the opposite side of the screen was a still photo, captioned 'The Dove in Flight,' in which Relena bent to accept a bouquet from a smiling child.
One part of Heero's mind had been braced for these images since the day he had walked into that classroom and seen her eager face, knowing that she knew too much, that she was a threat to the mission. But all those missions were over, now--she was supposed to have been safe. Why else had he left Earth, if not to make sure of that?
Beneath that veneer of rationality, another part of his mind howled in glee, or in misery: /Never would have been ready for this, nevernevernevernever--/
Behind him, Duo's hollow voice continued almost thoughtfully. "Somebody took over your mission, Heero. Only would have taken one bullet--she's so little, you know? Little bird bones. A breeze would break her right in two. But he emptied a clip and a half into her before they stopped him."
Heero mashed at the buttons on the remote until the volume came back up, then tried again until he got the channel to change. The non-tabloid channel had the same images, but a more restrained commentator. "At this time the only thing we know for sure is that Foreign Minister Peacecraft has been shot several times by an unknown assailant; our most current reports indicate that she was last known to be alive and undergoing surgery. Earthside sources have been under a virtual blackout since the incident, which occurred last Tuesday in the Old Europe diplomatic center of Brussels--" He clicked the set off with a vicious jab of his thumb.
Last Tuesday. He had gone to work, come home, eaten spaghetti. Had a glass of wine. Gone to bed.
And all the time she had been bleeding, perhaps dying. He found himself hoping that she hadn't had time to be frightened.
Heero sat down very slowly on the end of the bed. His mind was racing, but in useless circles. "Confirmation?"
"Tried. Nobody's picking up."
Heero put one hand on the closest bowed shoulder, but Duo jerked away from him. "Don't."
"Duo--" Heero closed his eyes, too numb even to feel defeat.
"Something always came up. I'd have my hand on the phone, and then--nine months, Heero. Nine. She probably thought I didn't even--" His own words made Duo clench his teeth. "Oh, god. _Thinks_. She's _not_ past tense, damn it. Not while I can still feel her--" It would have been so much easier to give in to the blankness, but Heero couldn't seem to shut off thought. /This shouldn't be happening. Not to her--not to you. I don't know what I thought we were all headed for, but it wasn't this. Never this. I'd give up the last nine months if it would erase this, too./
When his foot nudged a rustling pile of paper, Heero gathered up a few of the crumpled sheets. Pencilled diagrams, the beginnings of calculations in their margins. "Is this--"
The words were carefully enunciated, but painfully slow. "The hall. I remembered most of its dimensions. Thought I could figure the trajectories, if I could get the angles right. Then I'd know if she was-- But I don't have enough to go on. What kind of weapon, or ammo, or where he was standing. Too much I don't know." He dropped his head on his bent knees, shaking with frustration and weariness. "I never should have left without her, no matter what she said. Even if they'd tried a hit here, at least I could have done something."
Heero continued to sift through the notes, searching for words of comfort, sympathy, something to fill the silence. The pages in his hands didn't make it easier; the scrawled sketches got increasingly erratic toward the top of the pile, and a broken pencil lay on the floor next to an empty whiskey bottle.
When he was finally able to speak, Heero's words sounded coldly pragmatic even to himself. "You can't do anything for her from here. The next Earth shuttle is in a week, and we should be able to find something out between now and then. Quatre probably knows what's going on--he's on Earth, last I heard."
Duo wasn't listening--these were things he already knew, anyway. "Every time."
"What?"
"Every time I looked at her. I fell all over again, every time. She has that way of looking at you, you know? Makes you remember every time you were ever proud of yourself. Like you could do anything--anything at all. You should know." He lapsed into exhausted silence, head still bowed.
After a long pause, Heero spoke again. "You should try to sleep."
The musing voice spun on into the dark as Duo grudgingly gave up his position on the floor to stretch out on the bed. "Hurts to breathe, you know? Wish I could just stop. So tired."
"We'll deal with it in the morning."
"Didn't you know? Morning's not coming. Not ever again." The words were even more slurred now, and coming slowly as Heero pulled off his boots and unfolded the blanket over him. "It was on the news, so it must be true."
"Just sleep. I'll--" /I'll what? Fix it? I can't lift this mountain from you, not when it's crushing me, too./ "I'll think of something tomorrow."
There was no answer; Duo had finally given in to shock and exhaustion.
Flipping off the light, Heero dragged the blanket up over the still form and resumed his position at the end of the bed, allowing himself a light grip on one of Duo's extended ankles--a lifeline he didn't deserve, but couldn't quite relinquish. Staring into the dark, he waited for the numbness to give way to purpose, for some kind of plan to give shape to a future. Neither seemed likely.
/The funny thing is that I _do_ see her, Duo. Every time I close my eyes./
He closed them now, and she was there: standing in sunlight, her eyes laughing above a the shadow of a smile. Just out of reach, and moving farther away even as he watched.
//Now I will just say goodbye//
He was still sitting there when the familiar morning sounds of clanking water pipes, slamming doors, sidewalk conversations began to filter in through the walls and window. Still sitting there when the phone rang.
Quatre.
"O-ohayo. Heero. I'm calling for Duo."
-end-
(this last line picks up the first line of dialogue in Chapter 8 of "Complicated," in case you're keeping track....)
(:./lilias/fade2black)
