Goodbye LJ...

[windandwater]

This is just to make it official for those who don't know, but I'm leaving LJ completely. For the rest of this week at least. Tomorrow is the Bar Exam and it runs for three days, so don't expect to see me about at all until Thursday night. Or even until the weekend since I plan on spending Thursday after the Bar drunk and crying. No online time for me at all. *whines* It will be hard, but I know I can do it.

So, because I'm a total h0r like that, I am declaring this to be a spam post. Go ahead. Run wild! Give me fics, give me links, give me pics, just babble to your heart's content and rape my inbox so I have something to see when I finally DO come back to the wonderful world of LJ. I don't even care if you write me a drabble and post it one word at a time. XD;

Though, I've tried to make a spam post before and it failed a bit miserably, so I don't have very high expectations this time around. Feel free to prove me wrong though!

♥

Comments

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

as she looked back at the screen, examining her latest opponent.

"So. He had backup." Dorothy frowned, folding her hands again. "I begin to understand..."



"I don't understand."

Quatre's voice was dull and tired with endless repetition, and, like before, nobody had an answer. Because nobody had an answer for death, and it was Duo's sudden, brutal death that had driven them all into this shock. It should not have been so hard. They were all soldiers, and none of them were strangers to death or to violence. Duo had been a pilot too, a soldier like them, and death in combat was part of the game. So why was it so hard? Why did Wufei still walk around like a man in a dream? Why had Trowa retreated so thoroughly into silence? And why did Heero -- best friend of Duo's if he had one -- do nothing at all?

"I just don't understand," Quatre whispered.

Maybe it was the fact that of all of them, Duo had been the one who seemed unbeatable. Unlike Heero, unlike Trowa or even Quatre, Duo had never wanted to die. He plunged himself into battle with a recklessness that seemed as suicidal as Heero's self-destruct button, until you looked closer and realized that every move he made was backed by the balance of talent, and training, and absolute confidence that what he did was right. And he came out of every impossible situation triumphant, because he was Death and Death could not die.

And when Deathscythe's hatch had opened, and Duo's lifeblood had come pouring down the paint, it was as though some fundamental rule of physics had been altered. Duo was dead.

Surely there had been some mistake.



"It was still a mistake," Dorothy concluded. "Even the presence of a second threat shouldn't have drawn the MD's attention from their target."

Treize made a soft sound of agreement. "For that matter, why was the second Gundam not detected until that moment? It must have some extraordinary stealth capabilities."

"Extraordinary indeed," Dorothy agreed. "But that presents yet another puzzle. If that Gundam was capable of evading the Dolls' detection, then why change that strategy at that exact moment? Why give up such a tremendous advantage?"

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"I agree. It makes no sense as far as I can see." Treize leaned forward and tapped the corner of the screen where the black Gundam hovered, trapped in the destructive power of the beam rifles. "This should not have been there."



He didn't want to be there.

There was no need for him to be there. There was no need to hold this session in the first place, and Heero had told the others of this fact in no uncertain terms. Duo was dead and while this was unfortunate, there was nothing more to be done about it. There was no mystery connected with the pilot's death, thus there was no need to collect Deathscythe's black box recording. The viewing was a waste of time and could only cause more trouble.

But he had been overridden, and somehow he found himself in this room with the lights darkened and the disk in the wall slot. A small table was placed in front of the wall screen, and the other Gundam pilots had arranged their chairs in front of it. Heero sat alone, on the opposite side of the table.

The screen flickered, and resolved itself into the familiar-yet-alien sight of a Gundam cockpit. Duo centered the screen, tugging at his harness straps to make sure they were in place. His breathing was quickened, and excitement glittered in his eyes. "All right, 'Scythe," he said as he wrapped his hands around the pilot controls. "Let's go kick us some ass!"

The screen image shuddered as the Gundam launched, then stabilized. Heero deliberately looked away from the screen, casting his eyes on the wall opposite. This was a pointless exercise, and he would not waste his time by watching Duo's battle theatrics. He couldn't shut out Duo's voice, though, his exultant and fierce warcries and the muffled sound of the combat all around.

But something inside him was counting against a clock, and he knew exactly what time it was when the tone of Duo's voice changed. It was tainted with fear, now, and Heero shuddered as his own name rang out from the speakers. "Heero, look out! They're right behind you, goddammit, Heero, MOVE!"

Why was there fear in Duo's voice now? Heero wondered with a touch of exasperation. He was not the one in danger.

"Heero..."

It was strange; he didn't remember hearing that strange, desolate note in Duo's voice the first time. Of course, at the time he'd had considerably more to worry about than Duo's mood swings.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"I agree. It makes no sense as far as I can see." Treize leaned forward and tapped the corner of the screen where the black Gundam hovered, trapped in the destructive power of the beam rifles. "This should not have been there."



He didn't want to be there.

There was no need for him to be there. There was no need to hold this session in the first place, and Heero had told the others of this fact in no uncertain terms. Duo was dead and while this was unfortunate, there was nothing more to be done about it. There was no mystery connected with the pilot's death, thus there was no need to collect Deathscythe's black box recording. The viewing was a waste of time and could only cause more trouble.

But he had been overridden, and somehow he found himself in this room with the lights darkened and the disk in the wall slot. A small table was placed in front of the wall screen, and the other Gundam pilots had arranged their chairs in front of it. Heero sat alone, on the opposite side of the table.

The screen flickered, and resolved itself into the familiar-yet-alien sight of a Gundam cockpit. Duo centered the screen, tugging at his harness straps to make sure they were in place. His breathing was quickened, and excitement glittered in his eyes. "All right, 'Scythe," he said as he wrapped his hands around the pilot controls. "Let's go kick us some ass!"

The screen image shuddered as the Gundam launched, then stabilized. Heero deliberately looked away from the screen, casting his eyes on the wall opposite. This was a pointless exercise, and he would not waste his time by watching Duo's battle theatrics. He couldn't shut out Duo's voice, though, his exultant and fierce warcries and the muffled sound of the combat all around.

But something inside him was counting against a clock, and he knew exactly what time it was when the tone of Duo's voice changed. It was tainted with fear, now, and Heero shuddered as his own name rang out from the speakers. "Heero, look out! They're right behind you, goddammit, Heero, MOVE!"

Why was there fear in Duo's voice now? Heero wondered with a touch of exasperation. He was not the one in danger.

"Heero..."

It was strange; he didn't remember hearing that strange, desolate note in Duo's voice the first time. Of course, at the time he'd had considerably more to worry about than Duo's mood swings.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, breathy chuckle, and involuntarily he glanced back up at the screen. Duo's eyes were looking not quite towards the recording slip, at the intercom, and he had a strange smile on his face. "The things I do for you, Heero," the recording said.

Then he moved his hand over to one particular toggle, and Heero's eyes widened as he felt an unfamiliar lurch of surprise in his chest. What in hell did that idiot think he was *doing?* He heard the soft intake of breath from the three other pilots, as they, too, belatedly realized Duo's intentions.

Duo flipped the switch, and for a moment the recording went mad.

"He... he turned off his stealth systems..." Quatre said slowly. "Right in the middle of the pack, and he turned off his stealth..." He turned searching, demanding eyes on Heero, but before he could ask any questions, the picture on the screen suddenly resolved itself into darkness again.

Quatre's attention immediately riveted back to the screen; apparently, he'd thought it was over. But it wasn't, Heero knew. Not by a long shot.



"Obviously, the Gundam chose that moment to decloak knowing that it would throw off the MD's shots," Dorothy concluded precisely. "Clever."

Treize frowned, then shrugged carefully. "Clever, but reckless. Evidently this maneuver bought Gundam 01 the time it needed to recover, and eliminate the Dolls. But in doing so, he must have taken virtually all their fire at point-blank range."

A gleam entered Dorothy's eyes. "I was so very disappointed that the Dolls hadn't managed to take down 01," she mused. "Do you suppose, perhaps, they did not fail to take out at least one of the Gundams?"

"Very possible." Treize studied the still captures they had managed to get of the black Gundam, as fragmentary as they were. "See if you can get any more surveillance footage. I very much want to know what happened to the second pilot."



For a long time, the loudest sound in that room was the dead man's heavy, labored breathing. Duo was slumped in his chair, head hanging, hands glued to the controls. The camera was at a slight angle to the com, enough that it afforded a perfect view of the bloody mess that started below Duo's waist.

The static crackle of machinery broke from the speakers, and everyone in the room

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

jumped as the Gundam's com systems activated. "Maxwell." For a moment Heero did not recognize the voice that cut cold as space through the speakers. "We don't have time for you to idle about uselessly."

Duo stirred, faintly, and a breath of sound that the recording device barely caught. "Saa... Heero..." he whispered. "...did we win?"

"We haven't won anything, idiot. Get moving." Surely it was a trick of the speakers, of the low-quality recorders in Deathscythe's cockpit, that gave Heero's voice that cold, nasal sound. Because that wasn't his own voice. It wasn't.

The Duo on the screen seemed to stiffen suddenly, as though coming back to himself, and his eyes flickered open. Those eyes were impossibly dark, clouded with shock and pain, as the wounded pilot fumbled for the controls. "Heero..." he mumbled.

He wanted to tear the disk from the wall, but he couldn't move. What was the point of this? Why bother to relive Duo's mistake? Disinterestedly, he drew his gun from the holster and began to disassemble it, cleaning each component before he put them back together.

He only wished that he could turn off his hearing, as the recording played itself out with merciless accuracy. He heard his own voice, still flat as a machine's, and Duo's dazed, halting confession. He heard himself, ordering Duo not to bother him with trivial things. Heard the buzzing tone of a Priority Code One over the com, and then sudden white static as the burst of radiation cut off all further transmissions. Heard Duo, hoarse with pain and fear, pleading for Heero, for anyone to help him.

And, of course, nobody did.

A faint, helpless moan cut across the recording. Tears were tracking down Quatre's white face, and he lifted a shaking hand to touch the cold glass as Duo screamed out his name. It seemed to take forever, to take entirely too long before Duo choked on his own blood, and his voice faded into silence.

"I knew there was something wrong," Quatre said, his voice shaking. "Snow... blood... Allah, if only I'd realized..."

Heero snapped the last of the metal pieces into its slot and checked to see that the gun was properly loaded. "Are we finished here?" he asked in a dead-level tone.

Quatre gasped, staring at Heero as though he had grown another head. "I don't understand you," he choked out. "I knew that Duo... had feelings towards you. I even suspected that he had... fallen... in love with you, but it was his business and his choice not to tell you. I respected that, and I didn't interfere with the way... you treated him... but damn it, Heero, don't you even care that he's gone?"

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Heero didn't even bother to look at Quatre, sliding his gun back into the holster. " 'Love' is just a pretty name for an unnecessary emotional attachment," he said, sounding as bored as though he were reciting something out of a dictionary. "It's a weakness that a soldier cannot afford. I always knew that Duo Maxwell was too emotional to be a true soldier, that sooner or later that weakness would turn him into a liability. And I was right."

"Yuy..." Wufei's voice was low and shaking with fury, and the hand that pushed him up against the back of the chair was bloodless with the force of his grip. "You... dishonorable..."

Heero met his eyes with a cold stare of his own, and said nothing.

Wufei slowly came around the table towards him, murder in his dark eyes. "I could not understand how a pilot like Maxwell had become so badly wounded by the Mobile Dolls. And now I know. It was because of you. He exposed himself to enemy fire to save *your* life, and how do you repay him...!"

"He made his own decisions," Heero snarled. "He made a mistake and he died for it. I had nothing to do with it."

"You *bastard!*" Wufei lunged the rest of the way across the room, gripping the collar of his flight jacket and slamming him back against the wall. "The only 'mistake' that Maxwell made was in trading his life for *your* worthless hide! He was ten times the pilot you are!"

Heero swept his arm up and broke Wufei's hold on his collar, shoving the Chinese man a few steps back and glaring at him angrily. "There is only one test of a soldier's competence. Duo failed that test!"

"How can you say that?" Quatre cried, rising from his seat also. "He sacrificed himself for you! Doesn't that mean anything to you at all?"

"A soldier's life is expendable," Heero muttered darkly. "Duo should have known that."

Wufei spat a curse, and his hands flew to his hip, as though searching for a weapon sheathed there. He froze his hands in mid-motion, though, staring at Heero with a look of disbelief. "I'm beginning to realize something, Yuy. For a long time I have considered Maxwell to be a flighty, shallow person. I could see the obvious skill with which he piloted his Gundam, and I respected him for that, but I was convinced that the boy himself was an idiot. And now I wonder why. There was nothing that Duo did, or said, that should have led me to doubt his intelligence, and I of all people should know that happiness is not equal to weakness. But you -- you, Yuy, with your sneers and allusions and curt dismissals of any value he might have had... I listened to you, and like a fool I let myself be convinced that Duo, not you, was the one with the problem..."

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Heero didn't even bother to look at Quatre, sliding his gun back into the holster. " 'Love' is just a pretty name for an unnecessary emotional attachment," he said, sounding as bored as though he were reciting something out of a dictionary. "It's a weakness that a soldier cannot afford. I always knew that Duo Maxwell was too emotional to be a true soldier, that sooner or later that weakness would turn him into a liability. And I was right."

"Yuy..." Wufei's voice was low and shaking with fury, and the hand that pushed him up against the back of the chair was bloodless with the force of his grip. "You... dishonorable..."

Heero met his eyes with a cold stare of his own, and said nothing.

Wufei slowly came around the table towards him, murder in his dark eyes. "I could not understand how a pilot like Maxwell had become so badly wounded by the Mobile Dolls. And now I know. It was because of you. He exposed himself to enemy fire to save *your* life, and how do you repay him...!"

"He made his own decisions," Heero snarled. "He made a mistake and he died for it. I had nothing to do with it."

"You *bastard!*" Wufei lunged the rest of the way across the room, gripping the collar of his flight jacket and slamming him back against the wall. "The only 'mistake' that Maxwell made was in trading his life for *your* worthless hide! He was ten times the pilot you are!"

Heero swept his arm up and broke Wufei's hold on his collar, shoving the Chinese man a few steps back and glaring at him angrily. "There is only one test of a soldier's competence. Duo failed that test!"

"How can you say that?" Quatre cried, rising from his seat also. "He sacrificed himself for you! Doesn't that mean anything to you at all?"

"A soldier's life is expendable," Heero muttered darkly. "Duo should have known that."

Wufei spat a curse, and his hands flew to his hip, as though searching for a weapon sheathed there. He froze his hands in mid-motion, though, staring at Heero with a look of disbelief. "I'm beginning to realize something, Yuy. For a long time I have considered Maxwell to be a flighty, shallow person. I could see the obvious skill with which he piloted his Gundam, and I respected him for that, but I was convinced that the boy himself was an idiot. And now I wonder why. There was nothing that Duo did, or said, that should have led me to doubt his intelligence, and I of all people should know that happiness is not equal to weakness. But you -- you, Yuy, with your sneers and allusions and curt dismissals of any value he might have had... I listened to you, and like a fool I let myself be convinced that Duo, not you, was the one with the problem..."

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

He trailed off, and Heero waited for Wufei to say something relevant to him.

"It was *you,* Yuy, why didn't I see it before? You've had this groundless animosity towards Maxwell for *months,* and all this time Maxwell put up with it for some obscure reason. And then when he was hurt protecting *your* back, as any real partner would do, and you sit back and *let* him die, and you don't seem to give a good goddamn about that fact at all!"

Heero took a step backwards, and turned his back on Wufei. "This conversation has no purpose," he announced. "This meeting has no purpose. Duo Maxwell made a mistake, and that mistake killed him. And there is nothing that you or I can say or do to help him now."

"Heero," Quatre said, his voice shaking, "I don't believe you're doing this. Duo loved you more than his own life, and even if you didn't return his feelings... he was still your *partner,* damn it, and he was still your teammate! He was your best *friend!* How can you dismiss him this lightly?"

Heero leveled a flat, cold glare on Quatre. "You don't understand anything."

"Oh, I understand you, Yuy," Wufei snarled. The dark-haired pilot was nearly shaking with the effort of restraining his violent fury. "I understand you all too well. Now understand this. *You * are not the all-precious, irreplaceable pilot that you seem to think yourself to be. When the day comes that I am free to act according to my own conscience, then you had best be there, because I *will* find you to repay you for Duo Maxwell's death."

"If you think death threats frighten me," Heero said implacably, "then you're mistaken."

He wheeled, and marched out of the compartment. As the door hissed shut, he saw the screen flicker, out of the corner of his eye, as Quatre turned back to it. He started off, not entirely sure where he was going, only to stop in the cross-corridor, staring blindly at the walls.



"I think I see it now," Treize said finally. He straightened up, staring thoughtfully into empty space.

Dorothy spun in her chair until she was facing the older man. "Then you must enlighten me, cousin, for I don't comprehend this strategy at all," she admitted.

"There's a reason for that, Dorothy," Treize met her eyes and smiled. "It isn't strategy at all. It's fairly obvious that the two pilots must have known each other, and from the way

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

they coordinated their attacks, known each other fairly well. We've already seen one instance of a Gundam pilot self-destructing. I believe this is another case of the same thing, albeit a little more indirect."

A startled flicker of understanding showed in Dorothy's eyes. "You propose that the second pilot took a fatal hit, because he knew the other Gundam wouldn't survive that kind of damage?" she questioned.

Treize nodded. "In other words, he sacrificed himself to save the other pilot's life."

Dorothy paused, momentarily taken aback. "I fear I truly don't see what could compel someone to do something like that," she said, sounding surprised by her own admission.

Sighing, Treize stood and looked back at the frozen screens. "Whatever goes on in a man's head at a moment like that... it's not something that anyone else can understand."



He heard footsteps, that started him out of his reverie, and spun to see Trowa come up behind him. Their gazes met, and Trowa stopped, then leaned against the wall.

Heero spoke first. "Trowa. It was a battle. It was war. Death is... unavoidable," he said firmly, but something in his eyes showed the unspoken question.

For a moment, Trowa stared at him, his own eyes bright and impenetrable. Heero stood and met his gaze as the roiling chaos within him refused to be quelled. Just before the trembling of his muscles became visible, Trowa spoke.

"Heero, what do you fight for?"

Heero actually started, surprised by the question. "Peace," he said, in spinal reflex. "I fight to attain my goal. I fight to attain peace."

Trowa's chin came up slightly like half of a nod, but he continued. "And this goal, is the most important thing?" he asked.

"Of course," Heero said, but a trickle of uneasiness felt cold in his belly.

"So... this goal is more important than emotions?" he said softly.

"Yes."

"And this is more important than working as a team?"

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"Yes..."

"And this is more important than friendship?"

"Yes!"

"And this is more important than love?"

Heero stared at Trowa, utterly confused. "Yes," he whispered, unable to do otherwise.

Trowa pushed himself off of the wall and walked slowly towards Heero, stopping so close that he could almost hear the other boy's breath. He spoke very softly, like a fall of snow. "Then I pity you, Heero Yuy, for the peace you dream of is a hollow one. There *can* be no peace without compassion, Heero... there can be no peace without love. There can be no peace in a world where strength alone matters, and anyone found lacking in any way is left to die. In your struggle for perfection, you have proven yourself unable to protect those that you profess to fight for, and *your* peace will end... unavoidably... in death."

Shaking from the inside out, Heero stepped backwards, out of Trowa's immediate reach. Trowa made no move to pursue him as he backed unsteadily away, stopping only when he bumped against the corner. "I had hoped that *you,*" he breathed, "you, at least, would understand."

Then, turning, he fled, his blood pounding in his ears. Something buried deep inside his mind was struggling to get loose, from where he had locked it away when he first saw the lifeless doll in Deathscythe's cockpit. It scratched against the bottom of his control, his discipline, like claws against glass.

He needed... Relena. He needed her confidence, her surety. Relena understood, she knew what he was fighting for, she knew what peace was and why it was worth all this... mess. She would clear this confusion from his mind. If only she were here, she could show him what to do, she could tell him what was right and what was wrong.

Because he hadn't done anything wrong.

He hadn't done anything wrong.

He hadn't done anything...



He avoided the other pilots, not that it was hard. If he entered a room where Quatre was, the other pilot gave him an angry glare, and left the room. If he happened to pass Wufei in a hallway, the Chinese boy would give him a look that didn't bother to disguise his contempt. Trowa did not so overtly avoid him, but he refused to speak to Heero after those last, damning words.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

None of this went unnoticed by the rest of the people on the ship. Duo's death could hardly be kept a secret, and within a day rumors began to fly among the crew. The people who just days ago had treated Heero with a certain awed respect began to avoid his eyes, break off conversations when he entered the room, then start them again once he left. Some didn't even bother to do that, continuing their conversations in low voices, unaware of his superior hearing. The worst were the ones who didn't even bother to look away, but stared at him in a sort of repelled fascination as though he were some mutant specimen of human being.

In the end, having endured as much as he was willing to, he headed for the docking bay to work on his Gundam in solitude. It was pressurized at the moment, so he didn't bother to fetch his spacesuit before opening the doors to the bay and stepping in.

He came to an abrupt halt, nearly getting caught in the doors as they slid shut behind him. Twenty-four pairs of eyes turned to him, and Heero cursed silently as he realized that over half of the Maguanac corps was here... and all of them looking cold and hostile.

He did his best to ignore them as he stepped further into the bay, heading for his Gundam. He had gone no more than ten feet before one of the seated Maguanacs pushed to his feet and stood blocking Heero's path. Heero stopped and turned to glare at him, but the older man glared right back down at him. Heero sense movement at the periphery of his vision, and realized that some of the other men were gathering around.

"Is there something you want?" he said in a detached tone.

"Yeah, I think so," the man replied readily. "You were supposed to be Duo's partner in the last fight, weren't you?"

The answer was self-evident, so Heero didn't bother to answer it, just waiting. One of the other Maguanacs spoke up. "Well, it looks to me like you did a pretty pissing bad job of being his partner, boy."

"So?" Heero said in a monotone.

"Duo was our friend," a third one put in, stepping into Heero's immediate field of vision. "More than that, when we first took him and his Gundam off of Earth, he ignored his own safety in order to watch our backs, and helped us get out of there. And it looks like when his back needed watching, you fucking fell down on the job."

"That sounds like just the stupid, insubordinate prank that Maxwell would pull," Heero remarked dispassionately. "The only surprise is that he lasted as long as he did."

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

None of this went unnoticed by the rest of the people on the ship. Duo's death could hardly be kept a secret, and within a day rumors began to fly among the crew. The people who just days ago had treated Heero with a certain awed respect began to avoid his eyes, break off conversations when he entered the room, then start them again once he left. Some didn't even bother to do that, continuing their conversations in low voices, unaware of his superior hearing. The worst were the ones who didn't even bother to look away, but stared at him in a sort of repelled fascination as though he were some mutant specimen of human being.

In the end, having endured as much as he was willing to, he headed for the docking bay to work on his Gundam in solitude. It was pressurized at the moment, so he didn't bother to fetch his spacesuit before opening the doors to the bay and stepping in.

He came to an abrupt halt, nearly getting caught in the doors as they slid shut behind him. Twenty-four pairs of eyes turned to him, and Heero cursed silently as he realized that over half of the Maguanac corps was here... and all of them looking cold and hostile.

He did his best to ignore them as he stepped further into the bay, heading for his Gundam. He had gone no more than ten feet before one of the seated Maguanacs pushed to his feet and stood blocking Heero's path. Heero stopped and turned to glare at him, but the older man glared right back down at him. Heero sense movement at the periphery of his vision, and realized that some of the other men were gathering around.

"Is there something you want?" he said in a detached tone.

"Yeah, I think so," the man replied readily. "You were supposed to be Duo's partner in the last fight, weren't you?"

The answer was self-evident, so Heero didn't bother to answer it, just waiting. One of the other Maguanacs spoke up. "Well, it looks to me like you did a pretty pissing bad job of being his partner, boy."

"So?" Heero said in a monotone.

"Duo was our friend," a third one put in, stepping into Heero's immediate field of vision. "More than that, when we first took him and his Gundam off of Earth, he ignored his own safety in order to watch our backs, and helped us get out of there. And it looks like when his back needed watching, you fucking fell down on the job."

"That sounds like just the stupid, insubordinate prank that Maxwell would pull," Heero remarked dispassionately. "The only surprise is that he lasted as long as he did."

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"Why, you little --" Enraged, one of the Maguanacs started forward. Heero turned on him, and without bothering with further words, drew his gun and pointed it directly between the man's eyes. He heard the clatter of metal all around him, and tensed as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the dozen guns that were now trained on him.

"I think you'd better make youself scarce," snarled the first Maguanac who had intercepted him. "You might think you're untouchable now, but Duo was our friend. You might not give a damn what happened to him, but if we cross paths with you again, then we will make you regret his death."

Heero eased the tip of the barrel up, pointing at the ceiling, and heard the others relax. "You understand nothing," he said coldly, and turned his back on all of them. Their eyes itched on the back of his neck, but he made himself walk slowly and unconcernedly to the exit, back into the hallways, until he finally found himself in the privacy of his quarters.

He shut the door behind him, cutting off the last of the whispers and the fascinated stares. He walked to the chair at the room's only desk, drew his gun, and began to disassemble it. It was already in perfect condition, but he cleaned each of the pieces with a methodic determination, and began to put them back together again. His hands worked with long-ingrained reflexes, leaving his eyes to stare across the room to the second, empty bed.

As he finished chambering the bullet, his fingers suddenly faltered, and he carefully set the gun down on the desk before standing and crossing the room. He crouched down, and, hesitantly, took hold of the strap of the duffle bag that held all of Duo's possessions.

In a sudden, instantaneous fury, he threw the bag against the wall. It burst at the seams, and its contents rained down around him. "Why?" he shouted, knowing that the walls were well soundproofed, that nobody would hear him. "WHY?"

In a single movement, he grabbed the frame of the bed and overturned it, the wooden frame cracking against the wall. "Why did you constantly haunt me?" he roared to its absent sleeper. "Why did I see your eyes in my head all the time? Why could I never concentrate in your presence? Why couldn't I get your smile out of my mind?"

The fury would not abate, and he grabbed ahold of one of the legs of the bed. The wood of the frame cracked, and he yanked the entire corner free from the springs and swung it, crushing and scattering Duo's possessions before the spar smashed against the wall and flew into splinters. "WHY?"

The shattered remnants of woods slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor, bouncing. Something bright and metallic caught his eyes, and Heero slumped to his knees, eyes fixed unseeing on the silver cross that had tumbled free of the silk wrappings that had been its careful protection. "Why?" he whispered.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"Why, you little --" Enraged, one of the Maguanacs started forward. Heero turned on him, and without bothering with further words, drew his gun and pointed it directly between the man's eyes. He heard the clatter of metal all around him, and tensed as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the dozen guns that were now trained on him.

"I think you'd better make youself scarce," snarled the first Maguanac who had intercepted him. "You might think you're untouchable now, but Duo was our friend. You might not give a damn what happened to him, but if we cross paths with you again, then we will make you regret his death."

Heero eased the tip of the barrel up, pointing at the ceiling, and heard the others relax. "You understand nothing," he said coldly, and turned his back on all of them. Their eyes itched on the back of his neck, but he made himself walk slowly and unconcernedly to the exit, back into the hallways, until he finally found himself in the privacy of his quarters.

He shut the door behind him, cutting off the last of the whispers and the fascinated stares. He walked to the chair at the room's only desk, drew his gun, and began to disassemble it. It was already in perfect condition, but he cleaned each of the pieces with a methodic determination, and began to put them back together again. His hands worked with long-ingrained reflexes, leaving his eyes to stare across the room to the second, empty bed.

As he finished chambering the bullet, his fingers suddenly faltered, and he carefully set the gun down on the desk before standing and crossing the room. He crouched down, and, hesitantly, took hold of the strap of the duffle bag that held all of Duo's possessions.

In a sudden, instantaneous fury, he threw the bag against the wall. It burst at the seams, and its contents rained down around him. "Why?" he shouted, knowing that the walls were well soundproofed, that nobody would hear him. "WHY?"

In a single movement, he grabbed the frame of the bed and overturned it, the wooden frame cracking against the wall. "Why did you constantly haunt me?" he roared to its absent sleeper. "Why did I see your eyes in my head all the time? Why could I never concentrate in your presence? Why couldn't I get your smile out of my mind?"

The fury would not abate, and he grabbed ahold of one of the legs of the bed. The wood of the frame cracked, and he yanked the entire corner free from the springs and swung it, crushing and scattering Duo's possessions before the spar smashed against the wall and flew into splinters. "WHY?"

The shattered remnants of woods slipped through his fingers and clattered to the floor, bouncing. Something bright and metallic caught his eyes, and Heero slumped to his knees, eyes fixed unseeing on the silver cross that had tumbled free of the silk wrappings that had been its careful protection. "Why?" he whispered.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

The room was silent, silent, giving him no answer, and his mouth tasted dry as ashes as he reached out and took the cold metal into his trembling hands. "Why can't I stop hearing you scream?"



A week passed.

And another.

Twice, in that time, Heero (along with the others, but always the last to be called) went out-ship to fight space battles like the one where Duo died. To his own disbelief, his piloting was slow, uncharacteristically clumsy. Only the fact that he was never assigned to any important position in the battles kept him alive, for he had no partner to fight with. He could sleep no more than half an hour at a time. In his off hours, he took to endlessly, obsessively maintenancing his weapons and Gundam. It was no use -- his piloting skills continued to degrade.

Almost the entire crew, along with the other pilots, now reviled him. Every face would now curl with disgust when he walked by, and those who he was forced to interact with went out of their way to inconvenience him. Tensions aboard the transport were rising to nearly unbearable levels; the pilots, especially, were taking on a stressed and haggard look. Only Trowa, in the midst of all the conversations denouncing Wing's pilot, sometimes looked at him with a shadowy, indecipherable expression on his face.

He wondered, sometimes, if maybe Trowa did understand him after all. Just a bit.

At the end of the second week, Hilde showed up. She was driving a small, two-person shuttlecraft, and she crashed it into the docking bay. The medics came along with the technicians to dig her out of the wreckage, and when they did, it was obvious that she was well on her way to a nervous breakdown.

Quatre flew down to the medical bay as soon as he heard the news, and the other pilots were not far behind. Only Heero was not invited inside, and he paused, one hand on the wall of the corridor outside the medical bay as they brought her in. She was crying and ranting, and the medics were anxiously discussing the possibility of sedating her.

"I don't understand," he heard Quatre say to Trowa. "Hilde's one of the most sensible people I know."

"She and Duo were close," Trowa said quietly. "It's understandable that she'd be distraught."

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

"Distraught, I could expect!" Quatre exclaimed. "But listen to her -- it sounds as though she's having hallucinations..."

Heero listened.

And then, oddly numb, he turned and walked back down the corridor.

He felt very strange -- as though his head was light, but incredibly heavy, at the same time. He half-expected to stumble over, top-heavy, and it was only the mechanics of walking that kept him on his feet as Hilde's incoherent ravings replayed in his mind.

"Make him stop... make him stop... I hear him all the time now... in my head... even when I sleep, I hear him... make him stop screaming... I can hear him... screaming... all the time... I don't want to hear him... make it stop..."



It was impossible.

Why should Hilde hear the same thing, the exact same thing, that Heero did? Hilde hadn't been anywhere near this place at the time of Duo's violent death. She never saw the recording, she never heard Duo screaming her name. She never heard it.

But she heard it now. All the time. In her sleep.

And so did he.

So what if --

He opened the door to his room, and stumbled inside. He didn't turn the light on. Instead, he dropped into the chair and stared into the darkness. One hand reached out of its own accord and dragged across the desk, entangling with cold metal. He raised his hand, letting the chain slither down his arm.

What if Heero wasn't going crazy after all?

Carefully, precisely, Heero reached for his gun and began to take it apart. Because if Hilde was hearing the same thing that Heero was, the exact same thing, then that meant that it was really Duo he was listening too, and not the punishing fictions of his own mind.

And that meant that somehow, Duo was still hurting. That somewhere, he was still screaming, and for the last two weeks Heero had closed his ears and done nothing.

Again.

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Which meant that Heero had been wrong. He had been wrong when he told Quatre that he couldn't help Duo now.

He had failed.

Again.

His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, in the faint light that leaked into the room from the hallway. But he didn't need the light for his fingers to complete the familiar task, sliding the perfectly oiled components back into place, chambering the bullet with quick, efficient motions.

Duo needs me. And I didn't help him.

Unacceptable.

And this time he kept on going, sliding the gun into his hand in the natural extension. There was a kind of joy in at last allowing his hands to make the movements they had wanted to make all along. Bringing his arm up and inwards, resting the barrel against his temple. Finger on the trigger and squeeze, squeeze --

His eyes lit on the cross, hopelessly entangled with his left hand. "Ninmu ryoukai, Duo. I won't abandon you again."

Squeeze --



~owari~

(not really)

Re: Pocketful of Ashes

[mikkeneko.livejournal.com]

Which meant that Heero had been wrong. He had been wrong when he told Quatre that he couldn't help Duo now.

He had failed.

Again.

His eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness, in the faint light that leaked into the room from the hallway. But he didn't need the light for his fingers to complete the familiar task, sliding the perfectly oiled components back into place, chambering the bullet with quick, efficient motions.

Duo needs me. And I didn't help him.

Unacceptable.

And this time he kept on going, sliding the gun into his hand in the natural extension. There was a kind of joy in at last allowing his hands to make the movements they had wanted to make all along. Bringing his arm up and inwards, resting the barrel against his temple. Finger on the trigger and squeeze, squeeze --

His eyes lit on the cross, hopelessly entangled with his left hand. "Ninmu ryoukai, Duo. I won't abandon you again."

Squeeze --



~owari~

(not really)