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"Before Now"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: Angst, language, sex, angst Pairings: 1x2x3 Summary: Two stories of friendship,
love and loss told fourteen years apart. "Before Now" Chapter Seven Before Duo didn't have much experience with how normal kids greeted the end of a school year, but television and movies had shown him that celebrations were in order, probably something crazy and stupid that he would regret for years to come and never want to talk about again. But instead, when school let out for the summer on Friday afternoon Duo walked home, dropped off his backpack in relief, and then walked down to the church to help Helen out with the daycare the church ran. He had started helping out earlier in the spring, when Helen had mentioned that her normal assistant was about to give birth and she could use a hand. Duo had been wary at first, because the only kids he had ever really spent time with were the kind of kids who picked pockets and ate out of trash cans, but it had been surprisingly easy to deal with them, to play games and sit with them and try to teach them how to read and bandage up their knees when they fell down. Duo knew it was probably lame to enjoy it so much, to look forward to going to the church and hanging out with a bunch of three year olds, but the kids were a hell of a lot easier to spend time with than most of the other people in Granville. But Duo was fully prepared to embrace his own lameness, to the extent that when he got home that night he was so exhausted that all he did was go upstairs and fall down face first on his bed and go to sleep before it was even nine o'clock. To continue the lame parade, he was up at nine the next morning, instead of sleeping in until noon - which he was pretty certain was a requirement for the first Saturday of summer vacation - dressed and walked downtown to meet Trowa and Heero by the bus station so they could ride out to the state park and go running. Neither Heero or Trowa were morning people, so Duo kept up a steady monologue as they ran, talking about the baseball game he and Father Maxwell had watched on Tuesday night, making sure to work in a few snarky comments about the Red Sox just to see if Trowa was listening and to show off what he had been learning about the rivalry between the two teams. After four miles they came to a stop by the lake and Duo felt a moment of 'why not' as he stared out at the clear water, the reflection of the morning sun dancing across the waves. He tugged his shirt off. Trowa looked over at him an arched an eyebrow. "The water's cold this early in the summer," Trowa said. Duo shrugged. "Can't be that cold," he insisted. Hell, it was almost ninety - apparently a record high. Trowa gave him a look, the look Duo already recognized as his 'don't say I didn't warn you look' but he pulled off his own shirt. Duo smirked and looked over at Heero. Heero sighed and started to undress as well. A breeze blew Duo's hair into his face as he pulled off his shorts and underwear and it gave him pause. He looked up and saw that Trowa was already naked, hands on his lean hips, staring out at the water. "Like... how cold?" Duo had to ask. Trowa chuckled, glanced over his shoulder at Duo with a mischievous smirk, and then ran into the water. His pale body splashed through the shallows and then disappeared as Trowa dove in. He resurfaced a few seconds and a few feet later, his hair plastered to the side of his skull, and he arched his eyebrow in a challenge. "Fuck. It's fucking freezing isn't it?" Duo realized. "Probably," Heero agreed, sounding somewhere between amused and resigned. Duo groaned, but Heero held out his hand. Duo sighed and slid his fingers between Heero's. Together, they sprinted into the water and Duo knew he let out a completely unmanly shriek as he felt the first splashes of the coldest water imaginable hit him, but Heero tugged him on and they lost their balance when they reached the thigh deep water and Duo fell in. He came up sputtering and shivering and swearing and saw Heero and Trowa, shoulder deep in the water, laughing at him. Duo glared. "It's not too bad, is it?" Trowa asked. Duo splashed him. "It's like the fucking Arctic, Tro," Duo growled. Trowa smirked. "You both knew it was going to be this cold, and you did it anyway." Trowa shrugged. "My Dad and I used to come fishing out here - I remember how cold the water was early in the summer." Heero nodded. "My Mom used to swim out here, but she always waited until July." Duo swallowed hard. Neither Heero or Trowa talked about their parents often, or at all really. Still, it sounded like they didn't mind the memories - or at least the two they had mentioned. Duo knew he had little to contribute to the conversation. His mother had been a junkie and overdosed when he was five and as far as Duo could remember, hadn't been too keen on giving him baths much less taking him swimming. And Duo's father, a small-time thief who had been shot to death while breaking into the wrong house, probably had no idea how to even bait a hook much less any interest in fishing. Duo sighed. Yeah. Best to keep those thoughts to himself. Trowa was looking at him. "When do you leave for El Salvador?" Duo had tried to play it off, had tried to be nonchalant and sound bored when he told Heero and Trowa about the mission trip the Maxwells were taking him on. But they knew him well enough, and after his epic failure to downplay his birthday, they probably had his number anyway. Duo was sure parts of it would be boring - specifically all of the parts involving the Bible - but he was also excited about getting to leave the country. He'd never even been outside of New York state before, and now he was going to another continent. Father Maxwell had also told him it would be hard work - helping to build homes and shelters for the hundreds of thousands of people who were still homeless after the earthquakes in January and February. It probably added to Duo's inherent lameness that he was excited about that - about the idea of helping people. "Next week," he said. Trowa nodded. "And you - when do you head out to Boy Scout camp?" Trowa rolled his eyes. "Appalachian Mountain Club," Trowa corrected him. "Same thing, right?" "It's not until July," Trowa answered the question, ignoring the taunt. Duo thought it sounded crazy - twenty days of backpacking with other teenagers and learning wilderness survival skills - but Trowa, who Duo also sometimes thought sounded crazy, hadn't even bothered to hide his excitement when he told Duo and Trowa about it. Duo wondered if Trowa wanted to get out of Granville so badly he was willing to sleep in the dirt, or if he really just enjoyed being out in nature that much. He looked over at Heero. Heero hadn't shared his summer plans with them. "What about you?" Duo asked him. Heero frowned. "I don't have any plans." "You mean except for running seven miles every day so that you can kick our asses at the time trials in the fall," Duo said. Heero smirked slightly. "Aside from those plans." Heero floated on his back, not answering. Duo sighed. He didn't really get Heero's life. He had picked up a few clues - knew he and his step-father didn't get along, and Duo sure as hell didn't get along with Odin Lowe. Duo had met him only once, when Duo was walking downtown and had found a wallet on the street and picked it up to look inside for an ID. And of course Police Chief Odin Lowe had swooped in, had accused him of trying to steal the money and Duo had glared and told him to fuck off because that's what he always said to cops and of course that had earned Duo a ride in the backseat of a squad car as Odin drove Duo home and had a serious conversation with Father Maxwell. Father Maxwell, who had been solemn as he saw Odin out of the house and then turned to Duo and asked him what happened, had been patient and insisted he didn't care what Odin had said, just wanted to know what Duo had to say and in the end Duo had told him and Father Maxwell had nodded and asked Duo if he wanted to split a sandwich before Helen came home and that had been the end of it. "We're going to come back and you're going to be so much faster," Duo complained, knowing he shouldn't push. "Speak for yourself," Trowa said, giving him a superior look. "I'm doing wilderness survival training." Duo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but unless they're teaching you how to run from bears, it's not going to be much practice for cross-country is it?" "You don't run from bears," Heero spoke up, still floating on his back. "They'll just kill you." Duo and Trowa exchanged a look. Captain Depression was getting a bit too deep, and it was clear they were both on the same page. They dove under the frigid water and swam over to Heero and pulled him under. Now It had been beyond weird the first night, sleeping in his old room, seeing the posters of Andy Pettitte and Derek Jeter, of the bookshelves crammed with old paperbacks and the Yankees memorabilia on the walls and the desk. Hell, even the Yankees sheets were still on the bed, and Duo had to wonder when they had last been changed - had to wonder if they had been on the bed since Helen's death or if Father Maxwell had ever washed and changed them and it made him angry and guilty and he didn't sleep at all that first night, just curled up in the stupid sheets and clutched them against his skin and cried into his pillow and felt worthless. They had left his room the same, had had it ready for him, had been waiting for him to come back and he never had. Never could, and that wasn't his fault - Duo hadn't been the one to choose this, Duo hadn't been the one to do this. It sure as hell hadn't been Duo's choice to leave like he had, and now here he was, back in his old bed, the bed where he and Heero had first traded blow jobs, the bed where he and Trowa had held each other and watched National Geographic specials because Trowa had as much of a hard on for nature as he did for Duo or for Heero. And he was alone. In the bed, in the house. After a week of it he still wasn't used to it, and he was pretty certain that there was no way he could become accustomed to this haunted house. It probably would have helped if he had Death with him, but the realtor had said it would be better if the house was dog free and hell, Death didn't even remember him - Death was perfectly fucking happy to curl up against Trowa's feet and shoot Duo a protective look when Duo had crawled out of bed in the early hours of the morning and left them. And after last night's disastrous fucking dinner with Heero and Relena, Duo wanted now more than ever to get the hell out of Granville. But doing that meant spending time in the house, meant going through the boxes in the attic, through the books and the photo albums and it meant remembering. His first instinct had been to just get rid of everything, but Hilde had given him that look, that 'tell me again why I ever wasted my time on you in the first place' look she had developed over the years and Duo had known he couldn't just hire someone to box it all up and give it away. Even without her look, Duo had known he couldn't do that, couldn't do that to the life that Helen and Father Maxwell had made. But it didn't mean he knew what the fuck to do - what he even wanted to keep. The house was the antithesis of his apartment, his decorating style as different from Helen's as it was possible to be. She had always liked warm things, earthy accents, flowers everywhere, rugs and cushions and blankets and photos on every surface. Duo preferred to keep things sparse, the color palette at his loft apartment cool and neutral and more than one guy had asked him if he was obsessed with post-industrialism or something and Duo had shrugged because sure, whatever that meant sounded better than the truth. Duo kept the apartment cold and bare because the last time he had been in a place that was warm and felt like home he had wanted to kill himself. So Duo tried to numb his memories and dull his brain by drinking. A lot. When he'd gone by the liquor store yesterday after the dinner from hell and purchased four fifths of Grey Goose and no mixers the guy behind the register had actually asked Duo if he was okay, to which Duo replied that no, he wasn't okay, and hadn't been okay since he was in high school. The poor guy had looked confused and a little scared so Duo had apologized, cradled his alcohol, and walked back to his car. Last night he had made a dent in his old room, had put together two boxes of books that didn't have too many memories attached to them and shoved them in the corner and half-hoped he remembered to take them back to New York, half-hoped he forgot. And tonight, as he started in on the second bottle of vodka, Duo decided to tackle Father Maxwell's home office. Duo had a lot of memories of this room, of looking through the floor to ceiling books and always knowing he could pull something out at random and it would be interesting and he would lose hours of his life just sitting on the floor by the fireplace reading until Father Maxwell came to get him. Duo sighed. He should probably just let Gibson take all of the books. Duo sat down in the well-worn leather armchair by the fireplace. Helen had tried to get rid of the chair for years, had insisted the springs it in stabbed her ass whenever she sat down in it and Father Maxwell had just laughed and suggested that she just sit on his lap instead and Duo had had to roll his eyes and walk away whenever they did stuff like that, because he knew that grown ups had sex and whatever, that was fine, but really... did they have to talk about it? Duo shifted. The springs did stab you in the ass. As he shifted his eyes landed on the two hundred year old Latin Bible that had always fascinated him. Father Maxwell wasn't Catholic, but he had the Bible anyway, referenced it and tried to teach Duo Latin from it. Duo set down the bottle of vodka and reached for the Bible. He ran his fingers over the spine, over the faded gold gilding and turned the heavy book over. There was a gap in the Bible, something shoved into it that separated the pages. Duo frowned. He remembered that Helen had sometimes scavenged for big, thick books she could press flowers between - but she had never gone near the Bible. He opened the pages to Samuel and found an envelope. Dearest David He slammed the Bible shut and in his haste dropped it on the floor. Duo swore and picked it up and then he felt stupid, felt like an idiot and an asshole and - Jesus Fucking Christ. He drew in a deep breath and opened the Bible again. Samuel. Of course. Duo didn't remember that much Latin, had never been that good at reading it, but he recognized the chapter number, seventeen. Duo picked up the envelope. He remembered the last time had had received one of these - after Helen had died. Duo hadn't come back for the funeral, had sent flowers, enough flowers that Hilde had made a comment about Helen's coffin being bathed in them and Father Maxwell tearing up at the sight because Duo hadn't care about convention, about sending Lily of the Valley or whatever was appropriate and had instead sent azaleas because Helen loved them. The week after the funeral he had come back to his apartment and found a package, had recognized the writing as Father Maxwell's and had stared at the damn thing for two days before he finally worked up the courage to open it and he found a dried, pressed bunch of azalea's and an envelope with his name on it and Helen's handwriting. He'd been wrecked for weeks after that, questioning himself, questioning what he was doing with his life and why the hell he was such a coward and what the fuck was wrong with him and why he couldn't be happy and why he couldn't just... couldn't just be the glowing beacon of humanity that Helen had died thinking he was. Duo drank until he coughed against the burn and had to put the half empty bottle of vodka down. He stared at the letter and he wished it would just go away. Wished he could just put it back in the Bible and pretend he had never found it. But that - that was too cowardly, even for Duo. So, with trembling fingers, he opened it. My Dearest David, I love you, son. I have loved you since the day I saw you at Tryon and I have been proud of you for just as long. Every year I sit down to re-write this letter and every year I begin the same, because whatever else may change in our lives, I will always love you and I will always be proud of you. I know you've never cared for your Christian name, and I will never forget the night you sat down and argued that Goliath was a disadvantaged man who tried to be a hero for his people and that David was the real villain in the story. As amusing as that was, I have always wondered if that is not how you see yourself, if you do not fear that you are the villain, if you do not see how truly good you are, how amazing and perfect. Despite everything that has happened in your life, you have such an amazing capacity to love, David. You have so much faith and hope within you and I will never forgive myself for making you doubt those things, for making you lose faith and hope with me and with yourself. I let you down. I was not the father you needed, and I will never be able to change what I did not do for you, David. Whatever mercy and forgiveness the Lord may choose to show me, I know that I will not deserve it and I know that I let you stand alone, that you had to face the army as a child and I should have stood beside you, whatever my reservations, whatever fears I had in my heart. I should not have let you down. I will always love you, David, and if we ever meet again, in this life or the next, I won't waste one second of the time we are given, I will remind you that you are one of God's children, one of his favorite children and he has blessed you with so many talents, so many strengths, so that you can overcome the challenges of this world and find the happiness you deserve. And I promise I will stand beside you this time, David. I will show you the love you deserve and I will endeavor to be worthy of your forgiveness. I will love you always my son, Jonathan Maxwell ~ * ~ |
