Wufei nodded in satisfaction as he checked the dates I had pointed out. "December ninth Heero, along with myself, Trowa, and a dozen other fighter pilots, staged a raid on Dixon base and recovered Duo's body." He recited the information like formulas from a science textbook, his eyes dark and still and fixed on the slip of paper in front of him. "The doctor estimated the time of death to have been sometime in the previous forty-eight hours -- so it would have been the seventh or eighth of December."
I did not respond. I heard his words, but my brain wouldn't acknowledge anything except the autopsy in front of me. The doctor had been conscientiously thorough in her report, cataloging each injury into a probable cause and time inflicted. The room began to dim around me, and my own breathing sounded very harsh in my ears as I flipped past the pages and skimmed over the neat clinical text and all the pain it hid. My eyes skidded to a halt on the last paragraph, and the meaning of Wufei's words became more apparent. Time of death between 1800 12-7 and 0900 12-8. Exact cause of death unknown; possible causes included blood loss, dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion, hypothermia, systemic poisoning, suffocation due to liquid in the lungs, stress-induced heart-failure, blood clots --
It was funny. I'd been a soldier before I'd been a diplomat, but I never realized how many ways there were for a man to die.
Trowa was saying something -- I think -- but the words just weren't registering; I was only vaguely aware when Wufei took Trowa's elbow and pulled him out into the corridor. The door swung closed behind them. I did not see it. I only saw the final, damning words. The body was cremated within a few hours after the autopsy was completed. The ashes were scattered in space. Nothing was left.
An echo of the emptiness I'd felt from Heero came back to me then, and I shivered in the chill bright air of the base. Slowly, I folded the autopsy report back to the first page, and then placed my shaking arms on the table and laid my head down on them. My fierce denial to Trowa earlier, all my confident certainty that Duo was not dead -- could not be dead! -- seemed suddenly thin and weightless in the face of this cold, solid evidence. Duo could very well be dead, could easily be cold and lifeless and turned to ashes and scattered into nothingness because that was what happened when you died, and it didn't matter how bright and lively and special you'd been before that. Trowa and Wufei believed me -- or at least, they wanted to believe me, that was what Trowa had said -- but all I had to offer in the face of this nightmare was hope. Hope that was based on a power I had always possessed but never understood.
The sound of voices in the hallway drew me out of my reverie -- not because they were loud, oddly enough, but because there was an odd undertone to them which nagged at my memory. Something about those voices reminded me of... of drifting in a half-daze and listening to people talk around me. Reminded me of a half-forgotten suspicion, and I pulled my head out of my hands and cautiously stood up. Stepping lightly as a ghost, I made my way over to the door and pressed my ear against it. I could barely pick out the words, but enough of the meaning filtered through to fill me with a cold dread.
Re: Torn 2
Date: 2006-02-21 11:07 am (UTC)Wufei nodded in satisfaction as he checked the dates I had pointed out. "December ninth Heero, along with myself, Trowa, and a dozen other fighter pilots, staged a raid on Dixon base and recovered Duo's body." He recited the information like formulas from a science textbook, his eyes dark and still and fixed on the slip of paper in front of him. "The doctor estimated the time of death to have been sometime in the previous forty-eight hours -- so it would have been the seventh or eighth of December."
I did not respond. I heard his words, but my brain wouldn't acknowledge anything except the autopsy in front of me. The doctor had been conscientiously thorough in her report, cataloging each injury into a probable cause and time inflicted. The room began to dim around me, and my own breathing sounded very harsh in my ears as I flipped past the pages and skimmed over the neat clinical text and all the pain it hid. My eyes skidded to a halt on the last paragraph, and the meaning of Wufei's words became more apparent. Time of death between 1800 12-7 and 0900 12-8. Exact cause of death unknown; possible causes included blood loss, dehydration, malnutrition, exhaustion, hypothermia, systemic poisoning, suffocation due to liquid in the lungs, stress-induced heart-failure, blood clots --
It was funny. I'd been a soldier before I'd been a diplomat, but I never realized how many ways there were for a man to die.
Trowa was saying something -- I think -- but the words just weren't registering; I was only vaguely aware when Wufei took Trowa's elbow and pulled him out into the corridor. The door swung closed behind them. I did not see it. I only saw the final, damning words. The body was cremated within a few hours after the autopsy was completed. The ashes were scattered in space. Nothing was left.
An echo of the emptiness I'd felt from Heero came back to me then, and I shivered in the chill bright air of the base. Slowly, I folded the autopsy report back to the first page, and then placed my shaking arms on the table and laid my head down on them. My fierce denial to Trowa earlier, all my confident certainty that Duo was not dead -- could not be dead! -- seemed suddenly thin and weightless in the face of this cold, solid evidence. Duo could very well be dead, could easily be cold and lifeless and turned to ashes and scattered into nothingness because that was what happened when you died, and it didn't matter how bright and lively and special you'd been before that. Trowa and Wufei believed me -- or at least, they wanted to believe me, that was what Trowa had said -- but all I had to offer in the face of this nightmare was hope. Hope that was based on a power I had always possessed but never understood.
The sound of voices in the hallway drew me out of my reverie -- not because they were loud, oddly enough, but because there was an odd undertone to them which nagged at my memory. Something about those voices reminded me of... of drifting in a half-daze and listening to people talk around me. Reminded me of a half-forgotten suspicion, and I pulled my head out of my hands and cautiously stood up. Stepping lightly as a ghost, I made my way over to the door and pressed my ear against it. I could barely pick out the words, but enough of the meaning filtered through to fill me with a cold dread.