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" A Very Dark Corner "Written By: Clara Barton Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Language, violence, angst…major angst (probably a bit more than my usual. Okay, a LOT more than my usual), sex… yaoi sex, that is. Pairings: 1x2 Summary: Duo Maxwell is anaspiring writer who
suddenly finds his lonely and dull life full of intrigue,romance,
and horror. " A Very Dark Corner " Chapter 7 Over the past few weeks, life had fallen into a strange routine for Duo. In some ways it was a reflection of his activities from the past year – he still got up in the mornings and wrote his blog, still found himself drinking cold coffee by the time he finished writing and remembered it was by his elbow the entire time, and he still showed up late to his appointments with Wufei. The difference, of course, was that he now despised writing his blog – he second guessed every word, every sentence, wondering if it was too graphic or not graphic enough. Winner wanted him to keep the serial killer to his same patterns, but Duo wanted all of it to end. He didn't want to encourage the killer to ever take another life, and he found it increasingly difficult to sit down in front of his computer in the mornings. The rest of his days, however – were completely new. Heero came over several afternoons each week, whenever he finished classes and had time before work and most of that time was spent in pursuits that involved absolutely no clothing. Heero had quickly decided that his first sexual encounter with Duo was only a precursor of better things to come – it was almost as if he viewed sex as some kind of mathematical equation that he could solve with just the right variables, and so insisted on sex as often, and as varied, as possible. Duo found it surprisingly easy to accommodate Heero – no doubt it was partly because he had been so starved for physical contact over the last year, but part of it was also the earnestness with which Heero approached sex. He wanted so badly for it to be perfect, and it reminded Duo of himself, years ago, when he had first met Solo and had needed to prove to the older man that he could hold his own in their relationship. They did other things besides screw like rabbits, however. On nights when Heero wasn't working or studying he came over to watch movies or Duo took them out for dinner. Heero didn't sleep over very often – usually only on the nights he came over after work – but Duo was now seeing the younger man every two or three days. The afternoons and evenings he spent with Heero almost balanced out the darkness of Duo's mornings and the overwhelming guilt that plagued him whenever he so much as looked at his computer. A few nights before Heero's Thanksgiving break they went into Boston for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant and then spent several hours walking through Barnes & Nobles, comparing books, music, and DVDs. It was exactly the sort of thing that Duo used to do with Solo – and Duo realized that even though he enjoyed it just as much with Heero, it was for different reasons. They argued about different things than he and Solo had, and Heero had very different taste in reading material than Solo had. But that aside, Heero seemed to approach every book, every CD, every DVD, with an open mind. He tried to find something of merit in each story or song. It was the complete opposite of how Duo felt. He knew he was a cynic – life had certainly given him no reason to be otherwise – and he found it much more difficult to find anything redeeming in most of the things they looked through. He could have written it off as Heero's age, but Duo suspected that even when Heero was thirty, forty, or older, he would have an appreciation and openness for new things. It was just part of his personality. The more time Duo spent with him, the more he realized that Heero, despite his past and the doubts he had expressed about himself, really believed that the world had positive experiences to offer him. Duo found himself envying that to an extent, but even more so he wanted to protect Heero and he wanted, above all else, to be someone Heero found merit in. It was a strange feeling. Duo had always believed that being with Solo made him a better person – and likewise for Solo being with him – but he had never felt this driven to be a better person for someone else. They were just leaving the bookstore – Duo had managed to keep himself to just one book and Heero, unable to choose between three possibilities, came away empty handed – when Heero's cellphone rang. Heero frowned at the number on the screen, and his voice, when he answered the phone, was different than Duo had ever heard it. "Hello?" Heero said cautiously. Duo couldn't hear whoever was on the other line, but he saw Heero completely tense up in reaction to the words. "How long?" Heero asked after several minutes of listening. "No. I don't know." Heero abruptly hung up the phone. "Everything okay?" Heero shook his head in the negative and shoved the phone back into his pocket. The car ride back to Duo's apartment was in silence. As they lay in bed that night, Heero uses Duo's chest as a pillow and Duo idly tracing patterns on the smooth skin of Heero's back, Duo couldn't help but ask the other man about his earlier phone call. "Who called you earlier?" Heero's body became absolutely still, as if he wasn't even breathing, for a moment. "My father," Heero breathed. Duo didn't know how to follow up that bombshell, so he remained silent, letting Heero talk at his own pace. Something that Duo had finally started to do. "He has liver cancer. The prognosis is very bad – he found out a few months ago that he only had a few months left. He wants to see me. He wants me to come home for Thanksgiving." "Are you going to go home?" he asked. "No," Heero said after a long moment of silence. "I can't see him now. Not like this. Not knowing that he's going to die." Duo remained silent, trying to figure out what Heero was feeling – what he could be remembering. He wondered, if their situations were reversed, if he would make the same decision. As much as Duo loathed Heero's father – to the point of actually feeling a hint of joy at the news that he was dying of liver cancer – Duo had a hard time thinking that refusing to see him, one last time, would benefit Heero. If Duo had had the chance to see his own father once, just before he died – knowing that he would die – or even to see Edward Reynolds again, he knew that he would have leapt at the chance. But then, the only bad things that either of those men had ever done to Duo were die. "You think I should go," Heero said. Duo tried to choose his words carefully. "I think that this is your last chance to see him. He called you, Heero. He talked to you – after years of silence he reached out to you. Yeah, it's because he's dying, but he wants you. He wants to see his son one last time and… I think you'll hate yourself if he dies and you never had the chance to tell him how you feel and show him what you've become, in spite of him." "You're right," Heero agreed with an annoyed sigh. "Get used to it," Duo told him. Heero snorted a laugh.
Duo's parents had never been big on Thanksgiving – they had been only children and their parents had had them late in life, so by the time they had Duo, all of his grandparents were dead and there was no great pilgrimage to make for the holiday. Added to that, Duo's mother hated cooked with a passion, and his father only grudgingly saw to it that the family didn't starve. So, for Thanksgiving, Christmas and any other special occasions they went out for dinner. It wasn't until Duo was a foster child living with the Reynolds that he had even tasted roasted turkey. Solo's family, on the other hand, were amazingly enthusiastic about Thanksgiving. They were also very Jewish, so the fare they put out was a strange mix of American tribute and kosher appropriate food that had always puzzled Duo. The first time that Solo brought Duo home to his parents had been over the Thanksgiving holiday, and Duo had been convinced that they would hate him and that the entire long weekend would be torture. Instead Ethel, Solo's mother, had opened the door and kissed him square on the mouth before hugging him so tightly he couldn't breathe. He had been welcomed instantly to the family – even though he and Solo had only been dating for a few months and even though, as Solo's mother confided to Duo later that same night, Solo had a habit of short-term relationships that, at most, lasted three months. Solo's father had just asked one question – how Duo felt about the Yankees – and when Duo had given the correct answer, that they were the scourge of the earth, Joseph Levi had clapped Duo on the back and pronounced him a 'vast improvement on the last gornisht helfn goy.' It became a tradition every year for Duo and Solo to travel north for Thanksgiving with Solo's parents. After Duo, Solo, and Hilde moved up north as well, Duo and Solo still went to the Levi's for the traditional mid-afternoon lunch and then stopped by Hilde's apartment later that night to pick at whatever more traditional feast she spread out and to spend time with Hilde and Solo's friends from work. Duo hadn't given much thought to what he would do this year – his first without Solo in seven years – except adding a slew of 20s and 30s horror films to his Netflix queue. He had already told Hilde he wouldn't be stopping by for the traditional late supper – it felt too strange, the idea of hanging out with people he didn't know and had no interest in knowing, without Solo with him to make introductions and provide amusing office gossip about the strangers. But then Ethel called him a week before Thanksgiving to ask what time he would be coming over. He had only seen the Levi's three times after Solo's funeral – once a few weeks after, for a disastrous lunch that had resulted in Joseph breaking down and crying while Ethel and Duo barely managed to keep it together themselves; a few months after that, for Duo's birthday, when they had met for dinner and that time Duo had been the one to leave in tears; and a few months after that, for Ethel's birthday – when it had been her turn to cry. He kept in touch, emailing them once a month, out of habit and guilt. Ethel was a pro with Jewish guilt – every month she reminded Duo that Solo had been a gift from God, for all of them, and that Duo had made his last years on earth his happiest and Duo owed it to Solo to be happy himself and when would he find a nice man to settle down with? She had even emailed Duo facebook links to several 'nice young men' from her temple. But Duo hadn't been able to move on, and as much as Ethel encouraged him to find a new man and bring him over to introduce to Ethel and Joseph, Duo couldn't imagine how that meeting would be anything but disastrous. Solo had meant too much, to Duo and to Ethel and Joseph, for Duo to ever be comfortable introducing another man to them. So now here he was, carrying a bottle of Ethel's favorite wine and walking in the freezing wind, alone, to the home of his dead fiancé's parents. It was twisted and depressing – but Duo had a feeling that Heero's Thanksgiving was every bit as awful as this was for him, and if Heero could suffer through three days with the man who had beaten him severely enough to hospitalize him, Duo could spend a few hours with two people who, inexplicably, treated him like part of their family. When he arrived Joseph let him in and Duo was immediately struck by how much the older man had aged in the last few months. He looked old and it shook Duo. "David, it's so good to have you," Joseph said and hugged him. Once, it had frustrated Duo when Joseph and Ethel refused to call him Duo and would only call him David, but the way they said the name – the affection and slight Hebrew accent – had grown on him. Sometimes Solo had called him David, especially after they spent any prolonged amount of time with his parents, and while Solo had still been affectionate, he had also managed to somehow inject enough innuendo into the name that even now Duo found himself blushing when Joseph called him that. "Look at you," Ethel exclaimed, coming out from the kitchen to greet him, "too skinny." Duo couldn't help but smile at her old complaint – he had always been too skinny, according to her, and so had Solo. They used to joke that she considered any man who wasn't morbidly obese to be anorexic. He handed over the bottle of wine and Ethel kissed him on the mouth and then used her thumb to brush away her lipstick. Her hand strayed to his cheek and then to his long bangs, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before she finally dropped her hand back to her side. Her eyes were bright and wet and Duo hugged her. "Oh, my dearest David," she said into his shoulder. Joseph looked at them with a slight frown, and Duo could only imagine how difficult this was for him. "Well," Ethel said as she pulled away and brushed at her eyes. "Dinner is almost ready. David, Joseph has a question for you – something about Twitter he needs you to explain." Joseph rolled his eyes and when Ethel left he leaned in close to Duo. "She needs it explained. I don't care about Twitter – what am I going to do with that?" Duo smirked. "I feel the same way," he confided. "But I can probably figure out whatever it is she needs to know." "Good." Joseph led him into the office and sat down in front of their computer and started it up. Duo took the opportunity to look around the familiar room. There were a few family photographs on the walls – tracing the history of the Levis from the earliest days of photography in the nineteenth century to more recent shots. Duo's favorite photograph of Solo was still on the wall – it was from his time at Princeton, and it was a spontaneous photograph captured by Ethel. Solo was standing alone, under a tree, looking away from the camera and laughing his head off at something that Joseph – who was notorious for trying to avoid Ethel's overzealous photographing of every moment of their lives – had said. Solo looked young, handsome, and completely happy and at ease with the world. Joseph caught him looking at the photograph. "You should take it with you," he said. "What? No." Duo shook his head. "Yes. Ethel hates that one anyway – she doesn't appreciate the fact that he's laughing because I was making fun of her and her damned camera." Duo smirked. "She is a menace with it," he murmured, recalling countless holidays and special occasions where Ethel took so many photographs she might as well have bought a video recorder and made a documentary instead. Joseph got up from the computer and took the photograph down. He held it out to Duo. "I can't, I –" "You don't want it," Joseph concluded. He sounded hurt and disappointed. "No," Duo stopped him from hanging it back up and took hold of the frame. "No, I want it. I just don't want to take it. I've taken enough, haven't I?" Joseph shook his head. "No, David, you haven't taken anything. You gave Solomon so much happiness. And you've given Ethel and me so much pride." Duo swallowed hard at that. He didn't feel as though he had done anything to merit pride in anyone. He had done absolutely nothing with his life – except witness everyone he loved die – and, of course, inspired a lunatic to become a serial killer. Joseph pushed the photograph into Duo's hands and stepped back. "Thank you," Duo said. He cleared his throat and sat down in front of the computer. "Let's get Twitter set up for Ethel, okay?"
After the meal Ethel insisted on serving coffee and pulling out photo albums. It was part of the annual Thanksgiving tradition – and due to the fact that she had religiously taken photographs of every stage of her life, Duo invariably felt like he was being treated to a museum exhibit. He had no photographs of his own family, or his foster family, and despite Solo's constant attempts to avoid Ethel walking them through family history year after year, Duo had loved this part of Thanksgiving. It wasn't just because he liked to see what Solo looked like as a kid – he liked the photographs of Ethel and Joseph after they first married, and the photographs of Ethel's family from her childhood almost as much. There was a story there, a family and a history, that Duo would never have for himself. "Now," Ethel said and sat down between Joseph and Duo on the living room couch after retrieving a red leather photo album. "Here's a new one for us to look at." "New?" Duo asked, and instantly regretted it when Ethel opened the cover and he was confronted with a photograph of himself and Solo from that first Thanksgiving. "God, we were so young," Duo muttered. "And so skinny," Ethel added with a 'tsk' sound. And happy, Duo thought, looking at the series of photographs from that year. Duo looked awkward in most of them – he had been unprepared for the welcoming reception from Ethel and Joseph and had spent most of that trip on eggshells, convinced that at any moment he would ruin something – but in a few that Ethel had captured without him knowing she was taking photos he looked happy. Especially the ones with Solo – there was one of the two of them on the front porch, sitting side by side with their shoulders touching, and Solo was leaning over to kiss Duo. "So handsome, my two boys," Ethel said and ran her finger over a photograph of Duo and Solo from Hanukah that same year. Solo had made Duo go to temple with them – after Duo made Solo promise to go to Christmas Eve Mass with him – and they were dressed in suits and ties and, Duo had to agree, did look very handsome. Duo was fine until they flipped through to June. Ethel and Levi rented a house on the Cape every summer and Duo and Solo had always joined them – either for a weekend, a week, or once – and never again – an entire month. They always rented the same house, small enough to be considered a cottage, that had a beachfront yard and an old hammock strung over the sand in front of the porch. Since Solo eschewed his mother's photography habit, Duo had never seen most of these photos before – but he had been aware of a fair number of them, having been forced to pose and stand with a frozen smile for minutes at a time alongside Solo and Joseph. There was one of Solo and Duo stretched out in the hammock at sunset. Duo was asleep, his head pillowed on Solo's chest, but Solo was awake and he was looking down at Duo's head, smiling. It was a look that Duo had seen on Solo's face countless times – the same look that usually accompanied Solo saying 'I love you' or 'get naked, right now.' It was a look that Duo would, now, only ever see in photographs. Solo was gone – a mere specter who resided only in Duo's memory and here, on these glossy pages. In the past. It felt as if a crushing weight were pressing down on Duo's chest, making it impossible to breath and impossible to feel anything but overwhelming pain. "I, I, ah," Duo's throat was thick and he struggled to form words. "I can't. I can't look at these." He stood up, trying to put distance between himself and the golden, smiling ghost of Solo. "I'm sorry," he said. "I have to go. I'm sorry." Duo knew it was unspeakably rude and selfish – but he had to get out of that house, away from Solo's parents, away from Solo's photographs, away from that life that Duo would never have. He escaped as quickly as possible – he didn't even remember to get his overcoat before he practically ran from the front door and started off at a brisk pace, walking away from the house as fast as he could without it looking like he was running away. "Fuck," he muttered as he walked. "Fucking, fucked, fuck." He had been doing so well – he had been moving on. He had Heero. He had Heero's smiles and touches and kisses and Heero's heartbeat to fall asleep to. And then, with the force of a freight train and the gentle caress of a cruise missile, the memory of Solo was crashing back into his life. Wufei had warned him earlier in the week, at their last session, that these next few weeks would likely be the most difficult since Solo's death – Thanksgiving, Solo's death, their never-used wedding date, Hanukah, Christmas – and Duo had grudgingly acknowledged the possibility that the next month would be absolute hell. Of course, Duo was already in hell – knowing that someone was cheerfully murdering people at Duo's instigation while Duo was completely powerless to do anything about it. Despite Quatre's orders to the contrary, Duo had stopped writing his two weeks ago. He simply could not contribute any more violent fantasies to a murderer's macabre arsenal of things to do. Duo suddenly had the urge to get very, very drunk. He knew drinking alone, in a bar, on Thanksgiving would only make things worse – there were too many memories of Solo tonight for Duo to fight them off on his own – so almost without conscious thought he started walking towards Hilde's apartment. He wouldn't know anyone, but then again, that didn't really matter. He could drink in the company of strangers and he could try his damnedest to drown the image of Solo smiling down at him.
When Hilde's apartment door opened Duo instantly regretted his decision to come here to drink. Quatre Winner, a smile on his face, his blond hair in artful disarray and his green sweater and tan khaki attire making him look like an Eddie Bauer ad, opened the door. The smile instantly disappeared. "Duo." "Quatre," he responded after deciding that he wasn't going to call the man Detective Winner. "Hilde said you weren't coming." "Well… change of plans. Are you going to let me in?" Duo asked when Quatre remained planted in front of the door. "Yeah. Sure." He stepped aside and ushered Duo in, and Duo's regret transformed into an acute desire to find the nearest bridge and just jump off it. There looked to be another six or seven people in Hilde's living room – all laughing and drinking and balancing plates filled with food on their laps as they sat on any available surface and ate – and Duo only recognized three of them. Hilde, wearing the same fifties retro apron she wore every year for Thanksgiving; Trowa Barton, who looked up at Duo's entrance and who's face lost all animation and transformed into a mask of disdain; and Zechs Merquise, who smiled at Duo in a way that was almost – but not quite – how Solo used to smile at Duo when he came home at night. "Oh fuck me," Duo muttered. "I think I'll pass," Quatre said. Duo frowned. He hadn't realized he had spoken loudly enough for the other man to hear. Zechs was already getting up and walking towards them, and Hilde had noticed he was here – so it was impossible for Duo to turn around and leave now without coming off as a complete freak. "Duo, Hilde said you wouldn't be able to make it," Zechs greeted him with a broad smile. He forced himself to smile back. "Yeah, well, change of plans…" Hilde came over and wrapped him in a tight hug. "I'm so glad you made it!" "Yeah, me too," Duo said and patted her back awkwardly. She stepped back and looked between Duo, Quatre, and Zechs. "Well…" she started, clearly unsure of how exactly to start up a conversation with the three men. "I'll walk Duo through the buffet," Zechs volunteered. Duo fixed Hilde with wide, alarmed eyes, but before she could come to his rescue, Quatre put his arm around her. "Great," he said and steered her away. "I'm sure you've been through this before," Zechs said and gestured towards the kitchen. Reluctantly, Duo started in that direction, Zechs by his side. "A few times," he said. "And I'm actually not hungry. I just need a glass of something strong." Zechs arched an eyebrow. "I seem to remember a previous date with you completely drunk. Am I going to fare better this time?" Duo frowned. "I wouldn't call this a date," he pointed out and gestured towards the rest of the guests, "more of a party." Zechs smiled slightly. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying," he said with an eloquent shrug. Duo could – especially when the guy looked so much like Solo it made him just want to close his eyes and never open them again. He found the liquor – conveniently spread out on the kitchen counter and poured a glass of straight scotch, not even bothering with ice. He downed it quickly and poured another. "I never would have guessed you were such a heavy drinker," Zechs mused. Duo shrugged. "You always manage to catch me on bad nights." "I wish I could make them better nights," Zechs mused and reached out to run his hand down the side of Duo's face in a caress that made Duo freeze. "Sorry to interrupt," Trowa Barton drawled and stepped between them, forcing Zechs to back away, and started to pour himself a drink. "So good to see you again, Detective," Duo sneered. "Yes, I imagine the pleasure is all yours," Barton agreed. He regarded Duo with narrow eyes. "I see your habits have changed recently." Duo arched an eyebrow. He was positive that Barton was alluding to his lack of blog updates. "Yeah? Well, people change. Sometimes for the better." Barton gave Zechs a pointed look. "It certainly appears that way," he agreed and smirked at the tall blonde man. "I haven't seen you in a while, Zechs. We should have lunch sometime." Barton rested one hip against the counter and turned his back to Duo, his entire attention focused on Zechs. "I've been a bit busy," Zechs said with a shrug. "You should free up your schedule," Barton practically purred before shoving away from the counter. He sneered at Duo. "After all, if you let a bad habit become an old habit it's pretty hard to break." He left and Duo stared after him. His brain simply couldn't process what had just happened. "I'm sorry – he's gay? And did he just hit on you?" Duo turned to Zechs in a daze. The blonde man scowled. "Yes. This has been going on for years – I'm never sure if he's just making fun of me or if he's actually interested." Duo honestly couldn't tell either, but he still jumped at the chance to foist Zechs off on someone else. "Well, he's a hot guy. If you're interested, you should go for it with him." "I'm not interested," Zechs assured Duo. "He's not my type." "Your type?" Duo echoed dully and shook his head. He poured his third glass of scotch, sipping a little slower on this one. "Please tell me you don't have a type." "No, you're right. Not a type so much as… an ideal." "That's even worse," Duo assured him. "An ideal? No one can live up to an ideal – hell, no one can even live can they? I mean – look at you. You're this amazing golden god and…" Duo trailed off and shook his head. He was looking at Zechs but he was thinking of Solo. He hated how similar they looked. He hated how even Zechs' gestures were mimics of Solo's. He hated how much it affected him. "You're saying that even this amazing golden god can't fantasize about the man he'd like to be with?" Zechs asked. Duo shook his head. "I do not get it – how the hell are you standing here flirting with me after what happened last time?" He couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm a complete wreck, man, so yeah – I'm saying an amazing golden god can't be fantasizing about me." "I guess it's a good thing you don't make the rules, then," Zechs murmured. Duo had to laugh at Zechs' confidence. "You're something else." "So are you," Zechs agreed. Duo shook his head again. "I really thought coming here and getting drunk off my ass would help, but I'm thinking being here is a mistake." "Why?" "Because it's just making everything worse." Duo sighed and finished off his drink. "I should go. It was, ah… nice seeing you again." Zechs frowned. "Let me give you a ride home, you just had a lot to drink." "Nah, I walked, I'll be fine." "Then I'll walk with you," Zechs insisted. "I don't really feel like staying either, and I can use this as an excuse to leave before Trowa drinks too much and tries to molest me." The mental image those words conjured made Duo chuckle. "A fate worse than death," he deadpanned. Zechs nodded in sad agreement. Duo shrugged. "Sure. You can use me as an excuse." He walked out of the kitchen and nearly ran into Hilde. "Hey," he kissed her cheek, "I'm going to head home." "What? You just got here!" "I know, I'm sorry. It's just… too much Solo tonight. I'm lousy company and you've got a great party going on here." She frowned. "I don't mind kicking everyone out if you want to stay," she offered. "No, but thanks for the offer." Zechs walked up, scarf around his neck and in the process of pulling on an overcoat. Hilde arched an eyebrow and Duo rolled his eyes. "I've got to head out as well," Zechs said. "Thank you for inviting me – this was a very pleasant way to spend the evening." Hilde nodded. "Yeah, of course. I'm sorry you couldn't stay longer." "Night," Duo said and waved before leaving, Zechs right behind him. "What happened tonight?" Zechs asked once they were on the street. Duo frowned at him. "You said I always caught you on bad nights. I can understand why our first date was a bad night, but what happened tonight?" "The past. Memories." Duo sighed. "Have you ever wanted something so much that you honestly don't feel like you could go another day without it?" "Yes," Zechs agreed almost immediately. "And it always seems to be something that you can't quite have – no matter how much you want it or how much you try." Duo nodded. "Yeah. Jesus Christ, yes. You know what's so fucking stupid? Those damn photographs. Family albums – all of that shit that I'm never going to have." Zechs frowned. "Do you need me to show you how to use your camera phone?" "What? No, that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the past – and the future, too, really. But none of it exists, does it? I'm just trapped here in the present. Alone." "I wouldn't say that you're alone," Zechs argued. "No, I'm not alone," Duo agreed, thinking of Heero. But Heero was Heero – and as great as that was, it wasn't Solo. And tonight, all Duo could think about was Solo. It hit him suddenly that Ethel hadn't bothered with any photos tonight – she hadn't taken any at her's or Duo's birthdays either. The realization forced a hard lump into Duo's throat. Last year, Ethel had taken photos like crazy – of Duo and Solo, of Solo and Joseph, even of Duo on his own. Because last year, there had been a future to look forward to. This year… there was nothing. By the time they reached Duo's apartment he was in such a foul mood that he barely noticed how cold he was. "Thanks for the company," Duo told Zechs as he fished for his keys. "Anytime," Zechs told him. "Any time I'm miserable, at least," Duo muttered. "You don't have to be miserable, Duo," Zechs told him. Duo rolled his eyes. It almost sounded like something Wufei had once said to him, and Duo had jumped down his throat at the time. Duo wasn't choosing to be miserable. He was miserable. Life without Solo was miserable, and Duo was choosing to try to survive it. "I don't want you to be miserable," Zechs added. "And you don't have to be alone tonight." Duo looked over at him with a frown. It the darkness and the warm glow of the streetlights, Zechs looked achingly like Solo. Even the way his scarf was wrapped , under the lapel of his jacket with the ends tucked into the back, was the way Solo had worn his scarves. Zechs closed the distance between them and kissed Duo. The press of his near frozen lips against Duo's own elicited absolutely no feeling in Duo. But when Zechs nudged Duo's lips open with his tongue and Duo tasted him – his heat and life – Duo pulled Zechs closer, desperate for more contact. He managed to unlock the door behind him without looking or breaking contact with Zechs' mouth and suddenly they were stumbling inside, out of the cold, and into the bright light and warmth of Duo's apartment. Duo pushed off Zechs' coat even as Zechs started to unbutton Duo's shirt. Duo had the urge to touch Zechs' naked skin, to feel his heartbeat, and to press his body against the other, taller man's. He nearly choked Zechs' in his eagerness to pull off his scarf. Zechs seemed to share Duo's urgency. Having succeeded in unbuttoning Duo's shirt he had quickly moved on to unzipping his jeans. Zechs pulled Duo closer, breaking contact with his lips to place kisses along his jaw. The press of Zechs' warm lips on the skin at the corner of Duo's jaw, just below his ear, shook him. There it was again – that incredibly intimate, incredibly Solo gesture. And wasn't that what Duo wanted? What he needed tonight, of all nights? Duo put his hands in Zechs' hair, luxuriating in the heavy, silken feel of the blonde strands that were so much like Solo's that if he just closed his eyes and took a deep breath he was sure he would be able to smell his lover. But when Duo breathed in he was confronted with the sharp scent of Zechs cologne. It was nothing like the spicy, rich, woodsy scent that Solo had worn. It was nothing like Solo. Zechs wasn't Solo. Solo was dead. Very, very dead. Dead a year ago in eight days. Why am I doing this? Duo wondered and suddenly the feel of Zechs' large, strong hands caressing his back was anything but arousing. "Stop. I'm sorry." Duo stepped back, but Zechs resisted for a moment. "I can't do this," Duo added and pulled Zechs' hands away from his body. The blonde man stared at him in confusion and irritation. "You were doing fine," Zechs argued and stepped towards him. "No, no, I wasn't." Duo rebuttoned his shirt. "I was imagining that you were a dead man, Zechs. That's not okay – that's not fine. That's pathetic and –" "Solo? You were imagining that I was Solo?" There was a dark thread of anger in Zechs' voice. "Which is fucked up, I know. And that's why this is a really, really bad idea. I'm sorry. You're a great guy but –" "But I'm not a dead guy?" Zechs broke in, definitely angry now. "You're still in love with a man who is nothing more than a rotting corpse!" Duo winced. "I'm also dating someone," he felt the need to add. Zechs seemed to freeze. "Another Solo clone?" "Ah, no. Heero's nothing like Solo. And – okay, I'm sorry, again. I never should have started this, but this conversation has gone beyond strange and…" "You're right," Zechs agreed. He started to straighten his clothes. "I think I overestimated you, Duo Maxwell. I certainly hope your Heero doesn't wind up bleeding out in front of a strip club." With that, Zechs slammed out of the apartment. "Jesus Christ." That night Duo's sleep was interrupted with horrifying visions of Solo's body, of all the horrible ways that he could have been attacked and his beautiful skin ruined by the sharp blade of a stranger's knife. Never before had Duo tried to visualize what Solo must have looked like, and now the images came to his mind, unbidden, and tormented him for hours.
The man's dark hair was plastered to his head from the rain and his dark eyes glared forward, filled with pain and anger. But he wasn't submitting. He didn't cry out and beg for mercy – he shouted obscenities and his agonized screams were far from weak. In the pale green light of the distant fluorescent lights his skin had taken on an ethereal glow, more sickly than his natural golden color, and when Zechs dragged the knife down his skin to reveal a shallow, bloody tear the blood was a strange, dark violet color that dribbled out in think rivers to stain the man's chest. Zechs alternated the depth of his cuts, touching his knife to bone in some and barely tickling the flesh with others. The man lasted for hours, much longer than the usual, and even though he never gave in and never begged, Zechs felt invigorated when he finally released the man's pitiful life with one decisive stroke. He felt free – liberated for the first time in more than a year. He glanced towards the computer, towards Duo Maxwell's smirking face, and smirked back. For the past eighteen months he had worshipped Duo from afar – ever since he had first seen him with Solomon Levi one night – and he had taken steps to bring Duo closer to him. He had eliminated the pathetic man and then – it was as if he had freed Duo from some prison. He started to write and the words were clearly meant for Zechs. They completely understood each other – the power and pleasure that came from the exquisite suffering and misery of the weak – and Zechs had spent the last year relishing in Duo's blog posts. He had been inspired and deeply touched and – -and disappointed. Duo was supposed to understand. He was supposed to need Zechs just as much as Zechs needed Duo. But recently… in the last two weeks he had completely abandoned his blog and after tonight, it was clear to Zechs that Duo didn't just need help. He needed rescuing. Once again.
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