01-Nov-2004
revised: 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!
Warnings: No death actually occurs during the course of the story, but it is a type of deathfic, or so I've been told. Be prepared for some major sadness, even angst of the philosophical kind.
Notes: I know, I know, it's another story, but this one just BIT me and I had no choice. I'm halfway through Binah II, so I figured hey, I could just see how it turns out... I trust all ya'll to tell me if it's worth continuing.
"They say that Hope is happiness--
But genuine Love must prize the past"
--- Lord Byron
Once upon a time, he thinks, and rubs his nose, yawning, before draping his arms over his head. The dream is distant, bleary, and he reaches for it, seeing blue skies and something he needs to find, to discover, that incessant quality of all dreams. His search is frantic, compelled by a shrieking in the background.
Duo comes awake, blinking rapidly, and scrambles for his phone before registering his own movements. Papers are knocked off onto the floor, and two wrenches go flying off his desk. His phone continues to ring, and he slams his fist down on the main button.
"Maxwell," he says, and blinks at the screen. There's sleep in his eyes; he figures he was probably drooling. His reflection on the dark screen shows his bangs are sticking up on one side, and he tries to straighten himself up while he waits for the call to connect. Must be from Earthside, he thinks; the delay is almost a minute.
"Chang here," Wufei says, his face appearing, broken by lines of static across empty space. "Emergency."
"Hunh," Duo replies, still half-asleep. The call's damned expensive, even for Preventers.
"Relena and Heero. Sending email." Wufei cuts the line. The recorded message ends.
Duo sighs and pushes away from the desk, logging into the yard's old desktop. He taps his fingers on the desk while waiting for the intricate decryption program to launch; he's still protective of his personal files, and the computer has become a bit too popular with Hilde's crew for Duo to be comfortable letting even his web browsing habits become public knowledge.
He ignores the mass emails, notes that Hilde has forwarded the next transit list, sighs at the latest missive from Hilde's accountant, and opens the email from Wufei.
It takes five seconds to read, a full minute to comprehend, another ten seconds to reread at a slower pace. He's out the door in thirty seconds.
The shuttle station is crowded, and Duo paces in the ship, waiting anxiously for his flight window. Hilde's explained it's an emergency, and he knows the boys will do their best to shove them up to the front of the line. Every law of physics tells him that he's not getting to Earth sooner than eighteen hours from launch to landing, but every second wears at him. He's out of touch while he's in the station; the security prevents lines from interfering with the station's systems.
Duo growls, kicks a panel, and glares when the panel pops off to reveal an extra supply of socks. He can leave them, but they'll do nothing but float about him while he pilots, so he clumsily pushes them back into place and slams the panel shut.
He remains there, on his knees, and stares down at his callused fingers. There are grease stations from the engine rebuild the night before with Frank and the boys. A paper cut from sorting through the bills on Hilde's desk. A bruise from a fight the week before, on his left knuckles; his hand ached for several days. He flexes the hand, and considers punching something. Maybe the guys at the control tower.
"Scheibeker, Shuttle XF-883-T-09, you're cleared," a familiar voice says.
"Roger," Duo replies, but Hilde's gotten to the pilot's seat first.
She begins the flight systems check; over her shoulder, Duo notes the docking bay he's been granted. His normal thirst for conversation has been quenched; he thinks if he talked, he'd repeat Wufei's email, as he has for the past half-hour, only this time it would be out loud.
"Appreciate it, guys," Hilde says.
"We heard," comes back the tower. "Give our love to the little lady."
"Yeah." She finishes the systems check, while Duo buckles into the seat behind her. He wants to pilot, but his hands are shaking. He wants to be there now.
"Ready for the catapult," Hilde tells the tower.
"Tow moving into place." There's a familiar thunk, and the shuttle shifts on its moorings, then begins to move forward. The small craft before Duo's main window carries two figures; one turns and waves.
Duo doesn't wave back. He takes a deep breath, and wonders about breaking the laws of physics.
He does the math when they land at Bremen, screaming down the runway with a disregard for the tower's pleas that they observe the port's safety regulations. The inter-colonial space lanes had been jammed with shuttles. They had to navigate by eye and heart, rather than slow down into the lane and let the computer navigate, a slow trail from floating landmark to floating landmark.
In the darkness of space, with the moon behind him and the earth a growing globe before him, Duo counted off the seconds as though it were a constant countdown to the final moment. He recalls coming this way, four years before, and his heart thuds weakly in his chest. Time was all that mattered, then. Time is all that matters now, too.
Bremen's security forces are streaming out of the hangar towards his shuttle, and Duo's relieved to see a Preventer's motorcycle cop pull up, followed by a cop car. Duo grabs his pack, shouldering it and tightening the straps, while Hilde locks down the shuttle. The hatch slides shut behind them. Dropping to the tarmac, Duo's surprised when the motorcycle cop takes a half second to flip up his own visor.
"Long time no see," Trowa says. Hilde gives him a quick hug, and heads for the Preventer officer waiting by the car.
Duo hesitates, thinking to follow Hilde, then climbs on behind Trowa. Duo considers waving to the shuttle security guards, but Trowa predictably is ready with comment.
"Don't piss off the hosts," Trowa murmurs, voice muffled through the helmet, and guns the motorcycle anyway.
"Don't piss off the Gundam pilot," Duo shoots back.
Trowa cuts off the Preventer officer's vehicle and laughs softly; there's no humor in the sound. He guns the engine, and they roar across the tarmac. Out the exit, Preventer's badge flashed, onto the highway, and down the four lanes cutting the yellow line.
Follow the yellow brick road, Duo thinks, and wonders where that phrase came from. Sister Helen used to say it, when she teased him about starting a path with only a faint hope that the end would bring success. He figures that applies to most of his life, and tightens his hold on Trowa's waist as the slim motorcycle speeds between stalled vehicles.
The highway divides, and Trowa turns off an exit, coming down the ramp so fast the two almost scrape knee. Duo bends easily with the curve, tucked in behind Trowa's lean body. He understands the laws of physics, he thinks, and he hates them with a passion. Knowing his adversary has never done him much good. Knowing he's beaten before he started was never something that appealed to him.
The city reeks, a heavy pall sifting in through the visor, of car fumes and cigarette smoke and urine and exhaust; the heavy summer heat weighs down every movement. Duo shuts his eyes against the sun glinting off every silver window, every metal beam stretching up fifty stories. The city may glow in the sunshine, but the dark clouds overhead are pollution and darkness in mid-day.
"Hold on," Trowa says. "Just hold on... "
Duo doesn't bother to respond. He holds on, and lets Trowa move them through traffic with the agility of an acrobat leaping and twisting away from oncoming knives. They move down the centerline, angling through an intersection and pulling up to the city's main hospital.
Trowa flips up his visor as a hospital security guard approaches. Duo slides off the back of the bike; down the street, he can see the Preventers' vehicle arriving with Hilde in the back.
"Miss Darlian-Peacecraft is still in surgery," the guard is explaining.
"Thanks." Duo doesn't wait. Inside, and down the hallway following signs to the O.R. A small part of his brain is amused to see the hospital has provided colored lines on the floor for confused patrons: blue to the children's wing, green to the intensive care unit, yellow to the operating rooms. It makes sense, somehow, but he pays it no mind.
The doctors have been speaking for several minutes, but Duo's lost track of their words. Wufei and Quatre had risen at his entrance, but had no news other than Relena was back in surgery. Heero is in ICU, but no visitors allowed, so they wait for news of Relena. There are guards positioned around the waiting room. Duo cracks his knuckles and considers telling them to leave if they're not family.
One glance from Quatre, and Duo simmers down - he knows the phrase, he hears it enough from Hilde - and the doctors continue to drone. Quatre is nodding, as if he understands all of it; Wufei is frowning and staring at a point somewhere through one of the doctors. Duo exhales through gritted teeth, finally unable to remain silent.
Gimme all that in Standard, he starts to say.
Wufei beats him to it. "Translate," he orders the head doctor.
The doctor pauses, and nods slowly, offering the men a sympathetic smile. Duo refuses to take it, and glares.
"Miss Darlian-Peacecraft suffered a mild concussion, two fractured ribs, broken collarbone, and her hipbone and femur were shattered. Her internal injuries are severe but we've stabilized her." The doctor flipped through a sheet, nodding at something before continuing. "She had been stabilized, but suffered a reaction to one of the medications, and had a stroke, followed by a heart attack, at which point we brought her back into surgery. She's currently on breathing support, and is being moved back to the Intensive Care Unit."
A light footstep, almost imperceptible, then a second set. Duo knows Trowa and Hilde are behind them.
"Heero?" Duo gives Quatre and Wufei a puzzled look.
"The other passenger in the car," Quatre says, looking at the doctor, but he seems to be speaking for the benefit of the latecomers. "What news on him?"
"Heero Yuy?" The doctor looks at a second man, older; there's a fingerprint smudge on one lens of his glasses.
"Mr Yuy is already at the ICU, with spinal injuries and traumatic brain injury. The investigators at the scene have finished their preliminary report, which indicates that he turned at the point of collision, towards Miss Darlian-Peacecraft. At the moment of impact, then, he was thrown forward and then back against his own side window. He's still unconscious."
Duo waits. The room is silent, except for the anxious shuffle of a guard's feet, somewhere behind Duo.
"There are possibilities of any of a number of injuries," the doctor continues, softer. "Most are pretty severe, given his position and the speed at impact. We won't know until he wakes."
Duo exhales, slowly, and Quatre sighs as well. Wufei's head lowers, until his chin is against his chest.
"In fact," the doctor says, removing his glasses and polishing them, "I must be honest. We don't know if he *will* wake."
There's more being said, being heard, words moving around Duo in a daze, and he wonders if he's still asleep at his desk with a transit record pasted to his forehead, drooling on a set of old wrenches. The lights are too bright, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hearing explosions and screams and the wreckage of bodies against the darkness. He wants to laugh, to make a joke, to break out of the dream, to remind the characters around him that this is only a story, and in the end, the hero will awaken the princess from her enchanted sleep. He waits for someone to awaken him.
"Sit," Wufei orders, and it's good enough, Duo decides.
The four remain in the waiting room, reluctant to move despite the guards departing to stand outside Relena's and Heero's doors, somewhere else in the depths of the hospital. Hilde goes with the guards, but Duo remains with the other pilots. The room is not a sanctuary, nor is it particularly inviting, but it's a moment suspended where they wait.
Duo's been at that moment before, and he watches Trowa stand by the window into the empty operating room. Quatre is leaning forward, head in his hands; Wufei is by the wall, arms crossed, head down. Duo leans back and stares up at the ceiling, and it feels like the refrain of a song, the repetition of a moment, that strange sense in dreams where he knows he's dreamed this before, but can't place the time or memory.
"Let's go," Quatre says, standing. He doesn't say where, or why, but the rest follow him without question.
Duo isn't there when Relena regains consciousness; he's sleeping at the Bremen quarters for ambassadorial staff. It's Relena's apartment when she's in town, and there are a hundred little touches that remind him that he doesn't belong. The rooms are light green, austere, elegant, and the carpet is plush white. Even his socks look dirty against that purity, but the sofa is comfortable, if a little short.
He's drinking coffee when the call arrives, Quatre's exhausted voice is leaving a message, reporting Relena is awake enough to move her fingers in response to stimuli. She's still on the breathing apparatus, and can't speak. It's Wufei's turn to see Heero, for ten minutes. The ICU doesn't allow them to stay for longer, though Heero isn't aware of their presence.
Or maybe he is, Duo had thought the day before, but there's no change on the heart monitor. The IV drips, steady, water torture for the observer, and Duo had studied it for the duration of ten minutes, his hands cradling Heero's chilled fingers. When the nurse came, Duo left without a word.
Now, he dips a finger into the coffee, swirling it around, and thinks of Heero's cold hands. The older face, a few lines around the eyes that hadn't been there before; Duo had noted two or three gray hairs at Heero's temples, and thought to tease Heero before he remembered Heero was somewhere past sleeping.
No one kiss wakes you from this dream, he tells the coffee silently.
He dumps the coffee, rinses the cup, and decides to let Hilde sleep longer; she can hear the message after she's rested more. She'll have to return soon to L2, but he doesn't want to go home, to his little apartment full of spare parts, to his job fixing and breaking and sorting and organizing, to the endless paperwork that Hilde loves so much. He wants to stay in this moment, where he can continue to hope that Heero will wake up, might wake up, in that precious moment, when it's still possible the spell can be broken.
Two weeks, and Duo is with Quatre and Wufei when Trowa calls with the news. Heero's awake, and the doctors are running a battery of tests. At the hospital, they ignore the security guards, letting Wufei flash his Preventer's badge. Down the lines, green arrows on the floor, and Duo runs behind his old partners, avoiding the crowded ancient elevators.
Seven flights of stairs; Trowa's waiting by the doors, not near the elevators. He smirks when Duo looks sly, and shrugs, but it seems forced.
Outside Heero's room, the guards stand when Wufei approaches, and it's several minutes before a nurse can locate the lead doctor to inform them of the prognosis. Duo keeps moving towards the door, shifting away again only when the nurse catches his movement.
"Aphasic, with decreased muscle strength on the right side of his body," the doctor is saying.
Duo realizes his hand is on the door to Heero's room. He backs away, trying to focus on the doctor. It's not the same as before; Duo wonders if the doctors are interchangeable.
"Two epileptic attacks already, which are common for a head injury," the doctor continues. "We've run CRTs and MRIs, which indicate possible DAI. His level on the Glasgow Coma Scale is severe, but his medical records indicate a young man with considerable stamina."
"DAI?" Quatre interrupts.
"Diffuse Axonal Injury," the doctor says. He moves his clipboard, and his nametag is revealed.
Boris, Duo reads.
"The brain is a soft organ inside a bone shell. During some injuries, the brain is not only slammed against one wall of the skull and then back again - resulting in two equal injuries opposite each other - but also twisted. This rotational action along the axis creates a shearing of the neuronal pathways in the brain's position against the skull."
"Still not in Standard," Wufei scoffs. "What does it mean?"
"It means that the injuries are possibly permanent, and that Mr Yuy is going to be in therapy for several years."
Duo blinks, shakes his head. "This is the guy--"
"He survived self-destructing his own damn Gundam," Wufei says, interrupting. "One head bump isn't--"
"In that situation, he landed on his shoulder, which absorbed much of the fall, however great," Doctor Boris responds. "I've spoken with Mr. Barton, and seen Mr Yuy's medical records. This is entirely different. This is a head trauma, and we still don't fully understand why one concussion will result in a mild headache, but another will... " The man stops, frowning. "Sirs, your friend cannot speak, and cannot understand language. That ability will come back, slowly, and better with speech therapy. He cannot remember anything for longer than several minutes, but this type of short-term memory damage often fades as the brain learns to retrace its neuronal pathways in the course of recovery."
Duo closes his eyes. Good, good, good; Heero will be back in one piece. He's a tough bastard. If anyone will pull through, Heero will.
Another week, of waiting; Duo won't return to L2, but he knows Hilde would understand, though she knows him well enough to not need an explanation. The business end bores him; he's just her lead mechanic, really. But he can't wait for much longer, in this polluted city. He has a daily routine: pace the sidewalk from Relena's ambassadorial apartments to the hospital, up to Relena's room to bring her flowers, and down to Heero's room to be turned away.
Each day he hopes, but each day the nurses turn each of them away. None of them are blood relatives or a spouse. The doctors' orders are final, and Duo sometimes considers introducing the doctor to a Gundam pilot's protective, worried rage. Trowa often appears at those points, cool and calm, and it annoys Duo enough to distract him from his impulsive wishes.
The eighth day, they meet with Doctor Boris and two of his associates. It's a small room, on the second floor at the hospital. Duo slouches at the end of the table, staring with glazed eyes at the x-rays, the MRTs, the CAT scans, the pretty glowing pictures with blood clots and fractures that he can barely see. It's all part of the story, the injuries before the miracle, and Duo is impatient to have something concrete.
"You are not allowed to visit Mr Yuy without me present," Doctor Boris is continuing. "Mr Yuy is extremely disoriented, and agitated. His memory loss appears to be severe, but at least the aphasia has resolved itself, although he will still require speech and language therapy. I have, however, figured out a few things, based on his answers to some very simple questions."
Quatre glances at Wufei, who frowns. Duo leans forward. The doctor's not meeting their eyes; he looks nervous, and he clears his throat a few times before speaking.
"Sirs, he thinks he's fourteen, and... that he's being held prisoner by the Alliance." The doctor taps his finger on the charts, as though they hold the proof of this, encrypted in an ancient language only the doctor can decipher. "Mr Yuy has no memories of the past five years, and it's possible he never will."
End Part 1
(:./sol/kf1)
