05-Mar-2001
Title: Stillness
Author: Ravynfyre (ravyn@famvid.com)
Archive: GW Addiction, Darkflame
Category: Introspective
Pairings: 1+2
Standard Disclaimer: All parts of Gundam Wing are Not Mine. It's all Theirs. *sigh* Too bad, but otherwise, I guess I'd never get anything done *happy hentai thought*. Anyway, not makin' any money offa this so dun sue me. You'd only get some college debt, a few dogs, and a pair of fuzzy bunny slippers anyway. Ya know. blood. Turnip. Do the math.
Rating: PG
Warning: Introspection
Spoiler:None
Notes: Gomen for the crosspost. The two songs mentioned and quoted in this fic are "Counting Blue Cars" by Dishwalla, and "We Are" by Vertical Horizon.
Feedback: Yes, please. All comments welcome (although flames may be fed to my dogs, who, since they have notoriously gassy intestinal tracts, will be spending the night with the flamer afterwards)
He has these moments of quiet stillness sometimes. They intrigue me. It's like his thoughts just swirl in out of the void, descend upon him, and spirit away his affability. It's not that during these times he's not friendly. It's that he's just so.... Still.
It's always when he thinks he's alone, where no one can catch him at it. I'm not sure exactly why. I've seen him, busy calibrating some thing or another on his Gundam, and he'll pick up a tool... and then just go... still. Even his face gets quiet. Which is odd, because if there were one adjective in the world you would least associate with him, it would be silence.
He talks sometimes for no other reason than to fill the silence. As if he's afraid of it. But then those odd moments come when he almost seems to welcome it. When his whole being just gathers into a single moment of... quiet.
You look surprised. Yes, I watch him. I listen too. Even when he's just talking to fill the silence. I listen to what he says, the words he speaks, how he phrases it, and even the cadence of his speech. Moreover... I listen to what he *doesn't* say. It says so much more than what he does say, no matter how many books the latter could fill if you wrote it all down.
For example, did you know that he never speaks of his childhood? None of us do, really, but even his day-to-day ramblings are almost carefully choreographed to never bring the subject close to the surface of the sea of polite banality that enfolds us all. You can ask him flat out, and then five minutes later, realize that not only has he not answered you, not only has he neatly redirected the conversation, suddenly he's getting things out of you that you thought you'd forgotten.
Even so, he'll usually toss in some mundane little detail about himself that you hadn't asked about, but seems interconnected, and makes you feel accomplished for knowing it. Did you know that his favorite kind of ice cream isn't chocolate, or even some jamocha concoction like everyone, even myself, assumed? It's white chocolate mousse. With natural vanilla being a close second. I found that out one day when I found him sitting on a park bench staring at a bunch of kids playing kickball. It was one of the first times I'd ever seen him so... still. I never did find out what he'd *really* been thinking about.
Did you know that one of his favorite things in the whole world is the feel of a freshly laundered towel? The really fluffy kind with the thick nap. Especially if it still has that dryer sheet scent to it. Didn't you ever wonder why he dashes for the dryer when it clacks to a halt when we've all been at the safe house together? He likes to be the first one to open the door and get that wave of slightly humid heat washing over his face as he dives in to look for that ridiculous lemon yellow towel of his that he manages to cart from place to place with him.
Did you know that the ocean terrifies him? Large ponds and lakes too. Any vast amount of water. I've seen him wander to the edge of the railing on a ship or a dock and just go so... still. It doesn't last for long though. After a few minutes, he starts to tremble. Once, I even saw him cry. That and clutch at the tip of his braid as if it could keep the water away.
No. It doesn't bother him in combat, or on a mission. Just like he doesn't do that during missions, or in combat, or around people. Go... still, I mean. Like I said, he only does that when he's sure, or thinks he's sure that he's alone. I've gotten pretty good at sneaking around. He's given me a lot of practice. And incentive.
You look surprised again. Did you really think that all I could conceive of in life was the mission? Maybe once. Those times are long ago, though. Ever since that first time I ever saw him go so... still.
He was walking through the safe house. He and I were sharing it, but my mission got done much sooner than anyone projected, so he didn't even know I was there. He'd just come in from working on his Gundam, grease on his hands, wisps flying out of his braid, and a thick black smudge of oil across the bridge of his nose. There was a rag in his hands... rose colored, but heavily stained with dirt and grime from his mechanical dealings. The top few buttons of his black shirt were undone, and the collar hung open more than usual, though the white shirt had amazingly remained spotless. He stepped through the kitchen, bypassing the sink as he continued through to this little foyer thing between the bedrooms and the bathroom. There was this little alcove cut into the wall at about hip height. It was only about a foot wide, and about that tall, with an arched top, and about a five-inch recess. I'm not sure what it would have been used for, but right then, he'd absently set his pistol in it, resting against the wall almost carelessly.
As soon as his eyes swept across it, he just stopped in his tracks. Mid-step, he just stopped and stood staring at it. He went so... still. I almost thought he'd quit breathing. His face... went slack. Quiet. Dead. There was nothing in those normally expressive violet eyes as he stood there for almost ten minutes and just... existed.
I can't even call it more than that. Just existed. If he was thinking, the thoughts were so deep, not even a twitch of eyelid or skip of breath offered any clue. He just went so... still.
He never saw me hovering in one of the bedrooms watching him. Not even when he finally almost leapt back to life. One moment, silence. The next, as if a switch had been thrown, he was bouncing into that bathroom, running water and washing up, all the while singing some song in English at the top of his lungs. Something about telling him all your thoughts on God, and shadows stretching down a street, and children asking questions.
Did you know that he likes to sing? No... not that infuriating rebel yell he calls singing just to annoy the rest of you. I mean, real singing? Have you ever heard him really sing? He's a tenor. A very pleasant tenor.
You look surprised again. Yes, I can appreciate music, and even talent for something not related to battles and missions and conflict. It would really surprise you to know that I like to sing too, though my voice isn't as good as his is. There's just never any time. The war... eats us up. It will devour us all if we aren't careful.
He's the key, though. The thing that keeps us safe. Not the Gundams. They'll devour us too, if we let them.
He dragged me out of that safe house one afternoon while we were still waiting for a mission. We walked into the city, and then to a park a few miles away, or rather, I walked, while he seemed to bounce and dance around. He would get this look in his eyes, they would go so huge, like saucers, every once in a while as he looked at something. A butterfly floating from flower to flower in someone's widow box garden. The wind rushing through the treetops. A horse cantering through a pasture along the highway into town. He'd watch these odd, disjointed things with this look of wonderment on his face, and then smile almost blindingly. Almost like the antithesis to those moments of... quiet.
When we finally got to that park, he dragged me over to the swings. I'd never been on a swing before. He had to teach me how it worked. Seems pretty obvious by looking at it, doesn't it? It's one of those infinite mysteries that are easy to solve, but only during that tiny window of childhood. After the window passes, you need a tutor. So he taught me how.
I like to listen to him laugh. I didn't even mind that he was laughing at my clumsy attempts to master the playground toy. I think that may have been the first time I didn't mind... failing. It made him laugh. Guess it wasn't so much of a failure after all.
I remember hearing this inane tinkling of electronic bells. They were rusty and out of tune, but somehow cheerful despite that. I thought he was going to smile his face off when he heard them too. One moment I was trying to coordinate my legs and arms, the next I was getting dragged at a dead run through the park to this rusty old jeep that was probably white once, but had obviously seen better days. There were pictures of clowns and circus animals and balloons and flowers and such painted in runny thin paints all over, as if someone had tried to hide the rust and dents. It should have looked old and pathetic. Somehow, it still managed to look happy and carefree.
When I glanced around, I saw dozens of children following us, crowding around in a mob beside this battered old jeep. They were all laughing and waving around crumpled bills and handfuls of change, while laughing and screaming boisterously. It was almost dizzying.
Before I had a chance to think about fighting our way free of the mob, Duo was dragging me away again, my hand in his, expertly cutting his way through the sea of children. As soon as we were free, he pressed a fudgecicle in my hand and started unwrapping one of his own. There was a third one tucked in his fist as he led me back toward the swings. Halfway there, though, he stopped, kneeling down beside this little girl who was sitting on the edge of a sandbox watching the rest of the kids across the park wistfully. Her shorts were torn and dirty, and her shirt wasn't much better off. From the age of the grime on her face and arms, it was obvious she hadn't bathed in a while.
I remember how her face lit up when he handed her that third fudgecicle. It was the same expression I'd seen on his own face when we walked into town that day. That rapt fascination with life. A quiet joy. Then he stood up, and we walked away as if nothing odd had happened.
Of course, if you knew him, then you'd know that nothing odd *had* happened. He's just like that.
We had a mission that night. Rather, we had missions. We had to go our separate ways after that.
I'd gone out to double check on Wing for a moment, then returned to check something on my laptop. He hadn't heard me come back, because he was standing in the middle of my room with one of my tanktops in his hand and nothing on his face. I don't even know if he was even breathing then. He was just so... still. I crept back outside and waited, hiding by the corner of the house where I could just barely see him if I stood on tiptoe and peered through the window. He stayed that way for a few minutes, and then shook his head and walked out.
I never got that shirt back. I thought I saw it once, tucked in the cockpit of his Gundam, but it could have been a trick of the light.
When I walked back into the house, he was singing again. I still remember the refrain... "/'Cause I don't know where/ And I don't know how/ We are... We are.../ And I don't know why/ And I don't know if/ We are... We are.../" I looked that one up. It's one of my favorites now. Then again, most of the songs he's sung have become my favorites.
He quit singing when he heard me enter, and then we left shortly after that. That night, when we left, was so... still. Just like him when his thoughts come whirl him away.
That's the night I figured it all out. When the night spoke to me and whirled *me* away. That's when I learned how to be... still. When I learned how to... be.
That's the night I was born.
And someday soon, the pupil will show the teacher how well the lesson was learned. Someday very soon when I can just... let go. Then I can tell him.
And the whole world stilled into... Ai'shiteru, Duo.
~owari~
RavynFyre
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