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"One Week"Written By: ELLE Disclaimer: GUNDAM WING is a Registered
Trademark of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi. This work
of fiction was written for non-profitable purposes. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Drug and alcohol abuse, Homosexual themes,
Sex scenes: heterosexual and homosexual, Nonconsensual sex,Violence Summary: War is fought by people guided by powerful
convictions. A warrior living a life without war is therefore faithless.
For years they've been trained for battle, ideology drilled into their
minds, fueling their will to fight for freedom. But when the conflict
between Earth and the Colonies was finally over, their kind of faith
could no longer guide them. Lost in a world they helped to create,
two such warriors end up building themselves very different lives.
Two worlds are about to collide: Author's Note:
" One Week"
Prologue He was surrounded by solid darkness, swallowed by silence and hidden from the world. In this unnerving stillness everything melted into a murky haze soaked with pain. It came and it went, like ripples on the sand. Pain hazing in and pain hazing out; nothing else existed. Then there was a sound. His own labored breathing echoed in the fog. Gradually, he became aware of the unbearable dryness in his mouth. His breath came out loud and heavy through his chapped lips. His tongue was dry, swollen. His nose was broken; throbbing with pulses of agony. The persistent ache pulsating through his entire body suggested that the tender bones in his face weren't the only ones to have been fractured brutally. Despite the pain in his limbs, ribs and gut, the broken nose hurt the worse. It was stuffy, clogged with blood and mucus, allowing no air passage whatsoever. It felt like solid rock hanging in the center of his face. He breathed heavily through his mouth, listening to the sound of his raspy breath echo within the small holding cell. It was so dark. He couldn't even tell if his eyes were open or closed. By the stinging sensation, he assumed that they were open. Moaning miserably, he allowed his heavy eyelids to flutter shut and finally rest. He lay perfectly still; afraid that even the slightest movement would stir more pain. He was lying sprawled prone on the floor after being thrown into an enemy prison cell. He had been tossed there by some soldier after hours of torturous integration. The enemy was considerate enough not to pump him full of drugs and truth serum; they didn't want to risk a lethal overdose due to his young age, but that didn't stop them from beating him up in an attempt to get him talking. Of course, no matter how brutally they tried to get information out him, he didn't let out one crumb of it spill from his mouth. Gundam pilot 02, known to a few as Duo Maxwell, was one tough nut to crack. He took pride in his stubbornness. His cocky attitude and witty street-smart remarks could easily drive any man up the wall. It came in handy during interrogation, but his words had lost their sting after one officer got fed up with him and punched him straight in the nose, breaking it. It was hard to sound nasty while speaking with a stuffy, nasal voice. They were going to execute him on live television. The bastards didn't care how it would look like if they killed a fifteen year old kid during live broadcast. He couldn't play the age card twice. OZ wanted to make an example out of him for all Colony citizens to see. If they had to kill a minor to prove their point, they would. Duo supposed that considering his recent terrorist attacks on OZ bases, one could hardly call him an innocent minor. Many lives had been taken; casualties of war, but victims nonetheless. None of those soldiers stood a chance against his superior firepower. Now, OZ was out for his blood; it was only natural. Groaning wretchedly, Duo struggled to lift his heavy and aching body off the floor, somehow managing to rise on all fours. His hair, which was gathered into an unusually long braid, fell over his shoulder and kissed the filthy floor. His arms and legs trembled as he tried to remain up. The effort proved too great for his abused body and he retched, breathless, letting out a series of watery coughs. He felt wetness at the corner of his mouth and wiped it away with the back of his shaky hand. It wasn't difficult to assume that he had just coughed out blood. Fatigued, Duo sighed heavily and maneuvered his hurting body slowly to a sitting position, leaning tiredly against the wall behind him. Looking up ahead, he could see the thin strips of light framing the door. "This sucks," he muttered; his gruff voice carried a faint Southern American accent as it echoed within the small cell. He wasn't sure to whom he was directing his bitter remark; perhaps to God, if the son-of-a-bitch was listening. He never seemed to spare him any of his divine attention, so Duo had long stopped talking to God. Life has taught him better than to believe in some unknown and allegedly benevolent power. Religious faith was for the deluded; those whose lives were comfortable enough, those few gratified souls who wished to thank their Maker for their good fortune. Then there were the bitter ones, who took comfort in cussing their Maker with obscene accusations, blaming God for their every misfortune. Duo had no need to praise or condemn God for anything. He simply ignored the prospect of his existence, because believing would hurt too much. He didn't want to end up as one of the "bitter ones" waiting for salvation and some so-called divine intervention. No; God was out of the question. Even when he did feel like turning to the Almighty, he stopped himself or else he would end up feeling foolish for even trying. There were only two things Duo allowed himself to believe in: one was that his fight was a just one, and the second was that death was the only mystical force anyone could ever put their trust in. In his eyes, there was only one true and undeniable force ruling the world - and that was death. Death was a universal truth, a constant that made all men equal. Unlike God, it never failed to show itself when needed; it was trustworthy. That kind of firm and definite power was something Duo could believe in. If there was ever such an all-mighty powerful force people could refer to as God, it was death: The God of Death. Duo had learned to accept that he has become a faithful messenger of this God. It was an arrogant point a view, perhaps, but it was the only way he could justify the massive amounts of blood on his hands. Most would consider him a hateful terrorist, a young and brainwashed fanatic acting under the deluded teachings of some maniac with an agenda for destruction. Even the people he fought for accused him of being an extremist causing them nothing but harm and further oppression. He believed in what he was doing and why he was doing it, but he had to admit that his fight for freedom was a dirty one. OZ certainly weren't planning on letting him get away with it and the worst part was that the Colonies were playing along. The price of fighting for freedom was becoming heavy and his own home-colony has been turned against him. It was the same for his comrades; they were being betrayed and alienated by the very people they fought for. With a silent hiss, the electric sliding door to his cell opened. A blinding column of white light tumbled into the room, streaking the floor with its harsh brightness. Duo squinted against the brilliant assault. He heard a low thudding sound as someone threw an unconscious body into the room. For a split second, Duo's heart jumped to his throat as he figured that OZ must have caught one of his comrades. It was only a few seconds later, when his eyes adjusted to the light, that Duo was proven otherwise. A lone figure was standing at the doorway; a dark silhouette against a bright white background. The figure was male; a short and lean teenage boy. He stood rigidly at the doorway, shoulders drawn back and his palms balled into fists at the sides of his body. Apparently, he had just tossed an unconscious enemy soldier into the cell. Duo recognized him easily. The familiar sight of his stiff posture and his scruffy hairdo were a dead giveaway. "Heero, what a surprise," he greeted his comrade with a hoarse, nasal voice, struggling to speak over the bothersome blockage in his nose. "You really are some superhuman," he added as a poor excuse for a joke, congratulating the other adolescent boy on his successful infiltration to a highly secured military base; an accomplishment made against all likelihood. Only Heero was capable of defeating such grim odds. The fifteen year old teenage-soldier stood confidently at the doorway, observing Duo silently. He was dressed casually in a bright-blue turtleneck shirt and dark trousers, as though he had just gone out for a day at school instead of infiltrated an enemy base. He didn't seem to be carrying any weapons on him. The only deadly thing about him was the harsh look in his eyes. He was looking down at Duo with a pair of firm Prussian blue eyes. The sight was overwhelming; his eyes glimmered frostily under the harsh white light, like cold hard jewels. They betrayed none of the boy's thoughts; only conveying his powerful presence. Heero's eyes carried the most intense gaze Duo had ever seen. So deeply focused on the boy's ruthless blue eyes, Duo didn't even notice that Heero had pulled out a pistol until he heard the barrel being cocked. The sound echoed hollowly inside the small prison cell. Duo watched numbly as Heero lifted his arm up elegantly, pointing the gun at him. He looked Duo squarely in the eye. His glare was cold and calculated; detached, as though he wasn't pointing a weapon at a comrade, rather just another faceless enemy soldier. The two young terrorists gazed quietly at one another. Heero hadn't pulled the trigger yet and Duo decided to use the opportunity to offer some witty last words. "You're just in time too," he rasped bitterly; "They was gonna use me and ma Gundam as God damned propaganda," he muttered and struggled to stand up on shaky legs. He used the wall behind him for support, dragging himself up slowly. If he was going to be executed anyway, he will die standing on his own two feet. "If I'm gonna die, then this seems like da best way ta go," he assured Heero with half a smile. There was no resentment or sarcasm in his voice, just plain acceptance. He knew what their orders were; Heero was merely doing what he would have done in his place. OZ could never be allowed to use him as a damn publicity stunt. Odds of escaping together were slim to none, so there was only one viable option: he should be silenced, right here, right now. Duo raised his head up proudly and closed his eyes. "Go ahead 'n shoot me," he mumbled behind closed eyes, feeling the aim of Heero's pistol on him as though the barrel was actually pressed against his forehead. Silence pounded in his ears as he waited for the shot that would end his life. He could actually feel Heero's finger begin pulling the trigger. He clenched his closed eyes shut even tighter. This was it. The God of Death was about to claim him too. He was going home, joining his victims and loved ones in the afterlife. Seconds passed, but nothing happened. Confused, Duo opened his eyes. There was a wounded look in his eyes as he gazed up at his executioner. Was Heero actually hesitating? That was insulting! He wasn't afraid of facing his own demise. Or perhaps Heero was hesitating because he was aiming a gun at a fellow pilot? No, that was unlikely. Even Duo was smart enough to know that their acquaintance was negligible. Surely the Perfect Soldier knew better than to let their wobbly alliance get in the way of their mission. "Hey, you're gonna do it, right?" Duo asked, offended by Heero's hesitancy. He didn't want Heero's pity. He knew what he was signing up for when he had joined the Resistance. It was either fight for freedom for all Colony citizens or fight for scraps on the streets. The choice had been an easy one. "If that is what you want," Heero finally spoke and his low, quiet voice vibrated through Duo like small electric charges. Hearing Heero's voice was a rare occurrence. The teenage soldier never spoke much and even when he did, his steady tone was always just above a whisper, leaving an awe-inspiring impression that one was in the presence of greatness. The young man's temperance had the power to stir the hearts of those few fortunate souls who had heard him speak and lived to tell about it. Duo was flooded with a familiar sense of appreciation. He was one of less than a handful of people Heero graced with the sound of his voice - and that was no small achievement. He watched, speechless, as the young soldier lowered his weapon down and turned to the door again. "Your right arm is still operational, right?" It was more of a statement than a question; Heero never asked questions. He tossed his pistol towards Duo without even looking his way; as expected, his aim was perfect. Duo caught it swiftly; his arm flew up to catch the gun by pure reflex. He gaped at Heero as the boy walked over to secure the rifle belonging to the soldier he had neutralized earlier. Dazed, he watched Heero hoist the rifle's strap over his shoulder and walk back into the cell, towards him. Was he dreaming, or had Heero just gone against regulations and spared his life? No, Duo realized as he felt Heero take his useless left arm and wrap it around his strong shoulders, allowing Duo to lean on him for support; Heero just saved ma life. I'll be damned, he thought to himself as Heero sneaked his muscular arm around his waist and helped him limp out of the cell; it looks like I actually made a friend in this God damned world. Duo couldn't help but smile. He caught Heero's disapproving glance and hurried to wipe the silly grin off his face. Heero guided him to the doorway, where he stopped and peeked out into the hallway, looking left and right to ensure that their route was still secured. "So where's your Gundam?" Duo asked just to break his comrade's heavy silence. The young soldier was so focused on his mission that it was beginning to make Duo feel uneasy, like he was being carried around as a piece of cargo. "On Earth," Heero whispered a brisk reply, "It would be too conspicuous in space. Then I would get caught like you did." "Well excuse me!" Duo muttered with a sarcastic tone that emphasized his light Southern accent. He rolled his eyes at Heero's cold arrogance. "So, smartass, how do ya plan on gettin' us outta here?" "I came here to kill you," Heero informed him matter-of-factly as he scanned the corridor one last time before heading out. "I haven't devised an escape plan yet." "Brilliant," Duo scolded haughtily; "You never thought about how to get your own damn ass outta here?" he grumbled cynically and watched Heero pull out a long, slim device out of his pocket. "What if we both get caught?" "Then it's as simple as silencing two mouths," Heero replied coldly as he pressed the trigger on a long-range detonator. An explosion could be heard from somewhere nearby. The metallic walls around them shook violently. Alarms wailed and red sirens flashed as the base switched to tactical alert. As havoc spread through the facility, Heero expertly slipped them past security, carrying Duo by keeping his arm wrapped around the wounded pilot's torso as they floated through the corridors in near zero-gravity. They reached a dead end at the end of a corridor, which was blocked by metal bars. Without a word, Heero let go of Duo, leaving him to float next to him, and reached for the bars. His muscular arms flexed with much effort as he worked to bend two bars enough to make room to squeeze through. He groaned quietly under the strain, his knuckles turning white as his grip around the bars tightened. They actually budged. Duo gaped in disbelief. Heero didn't wait for him to come out of his daze and slipped an arm around him again, hoisting him back up. Duo placed his injured left arm around Heero's firm shoulders for additional support. "It's always the quiet ones who're the flashiest," he muttered to himself as Heero guided them to safety. Thanks to Heero's sharp tactical mind and ingenuity, they made it out in one piece. In his wretched state, Duo had been of little use. He could barely hold his gun properly and so at some point Heero snatched it away from him and shoved the portable detonator into his hand instead. Duo was in charge of activating the explosives Heero had strategically placed around the cargo-bay. OZ soldiers ran around frantically in an effort to stop the fires from spreading, while Heero carried Duo towards the Mobile Suits hangar. By then, the Wing pilot had devised an escape plan. The hangar was full of menacing man-operated Leo Mobile Suits and Mobile Dolls which operated on artificial intelligence. In a brilliant move, Heero put on an OZ spacesuit and fired at a Mobile Doll, fooling the automatic fighting machine to target people dressed in such suits. The Dolls activated one by one and charged their weapons, responding to the danger Heero had posed. By the time the automatons came to life, the young pilot had slipped out of the suit and left it on the hangar's floor. Spacesuit-clad soldiers charged into the hangar and were immediately targeted by the massive Dolls. In the chaos that soon developed, Heero hacked into the hangar's catapult system and launched two unmanned Leo suits into space. The Mobile Dolls detected them as a secondary threat and turned to attack the Leo suits as well, including the unmanned units still standing in the hangar. All the while, Duo sat behind a few crates in the far end of the hangar, watching in awe as Heero duped the automatic Mobile Suits to turn on their makers and annihilate the base. Flames burst all around him as the hangar filled with gunfire and secondary explosions. Soon Heero emerged from within the flames and smoke, coming back for him. He had commandeered a space shuttle and hurried to carry Duo inside before the hangar collapsed on top of them. They escaped undetected, leaving the C-102 OZ base in shambles. For a quiet, aloof and stealthy guy, Heero sure had a flare for the dramatic. The shuttle was designated for transporting and deploying OZ troops; it was small and narrow. Other than the two cockpit chairs, there were two opposite rows of seats for the soldiers, one at each side of the shuttle, separated by a small gap. Duo now lay on one row, his eyes closed and his incapacitated arm draped over his abdomen. Heero had given him something for the pain; a sedative he had found in a first-aid kit. It made Duo a little woozy and so he lay still, allowing his beaten and injured body some rest after their whole extravaganza at the OZ base. Although only half-conscious, Duo forced his tired eyes to flutter open. His vision was assaulted by the shuttle's harsh white light. He gazed numbly at the metal walls around him before slowly shifting his gaze to the front of the shuttle. The shuttle had an open cockpit, inseparable from the rest of the interior. Heero was sitting on the pilot's chair, working the controls. Duo observed the way Heero's hands flew expertly over the consoles. Once he was done setting the helm, he raised a hand up to conceal a wide yawn. In a rare display of his humanity - most likely believing that Duo was asleep - Heero stretched his arms up above his head, then behind his back, drawing his shoulder blades closer with a quiet groan. Duo could hear his bones crack as pressure was relieved. He watched silently as the young pilot bent his head forward while bringing his chin toward his chest and then backwards, until he was looking up, stretching his neck muscles. He then moved his head gently from side to side, pressing an ear to his shoulder. He raised a hand to rub the back of his neck, easing the soreness. Duo observed him guiltily. Heero must have gone through quite a rough ride coming for him, not to mention all those crazy stunts he had pulled to get them out of that OZ base. Heero had done the impossible for him; he had literally walked through fire for him. He had done it with great poise and zero hesitation; all for the sake of a no-good-L2-trash who had recklessly botched up his mission and risked everything they were fighting for. He should have been silenced or at least punished for his shortcomings, but instead Heero had chosen to breach protocol. It was ironic that the only person to show him compassion since childhood was a boy he often accused of lacking any trace of humanity. He didn't deserve Heero's grace, but he was thankful for it. With much effort, Duo pushed his aching body up to a sitting position. Very quietly, he stood up and pushed off the wall, gaining a slow momentum. Zero gravity allowed him to hover soundlessly towards the pilot's chair. He approached Heero while the teenage pilot continued his neck exercises. He grabbed the back of the pilot's chair to stop his momentum and placed a hand on Heero's shoulder. He could feel the other boy tense rigidly at his friendly touch; he had surprised him. Heero ceased his exercises and resumed tending the shuttle's helm and navigation controls. The tired look in his eyes was replaced by a familiar stoic expression. "Maybe you should get some shuteye," Duo offered in a raspy, fatigued voice. Due to his broken nose, he sounded like he had a terrible cold. "I can take over for a while." "I'm fine," Heero insisted and shrugged Duo's hand off his shoulder. "Lie down," he ordered; "It'll be a while before I can get you to a doctor." "I feel better now." Duo ignored his request and took a seat in the co-pilot's chair instead. "That's only because I gave you a sedative," Heero spoke evenly; "You're bleeding internally. Moving about will only aggravate your injuries further." "Better that than havin' ya fall asleep on the wheel 'n run us into some meteor or sumthin'," Duo muttered and stifled his own yawn. "When's the last time you slept?" Heero gazed numbly at the controls; he did not reply and continued to adjust their heading. By the looks of his haggard, grime-streaked features it wasn't hard to see that the young pilot was utterly exhausted. Duo sighed dramatically. "We're outta danger, alright? There's no need for you to act all superhuman anymore. Shit man, I didn't even see ya have a drink of water. You walked out of a damn fire. At least have a few sips!" Heero still wouldn't offer any response as he worked the controls silently. Annoyed with him, Duo pushed himself out of the seat and hovered down back. He returned with a silver sports bottle Heero had given him earlier. He threw it at Heero and the young pilot caught it in a swift motion. He didn't say a word and opened the cap to draw a few sips of water from the straw; his other hand was tending the controls the whole while. "Jesus, I swear you turn me into a damn worrywart!" Duo grumbled with a stuffy voice that only highlighted his usually faint Southern accent. He reached a hand up to rub his broken nose and tested it carefully, applying light pressure to see how much it would hurt. His damaged nose was very tender and he let go of it, sighing dejectedly. "I am not the one who was in need of rescuing," Heero reminded him flatly. "See, that why we make such a great team!" Duo grinned jestingly; "I make sure you don't forget to do all those little things that keep us humans alive, and you make sure I don't get ma ass whooped by them Ozzies!" "Hn," Heero let out an unintelligible acknowledgement of Duo's joke. He resumed drinking the water quietly. They sat in silence for a while, gazing out at the stars out the windshield. Duo wondered why people still bothered calling the front window of a shuttle 'windshield' if there was no wind in space. Heero suddenly moved to leave his chair. Duo looked up to see him use the chair as leverage to lift himself up in the air. He turned to follow him with his gaze. "So where are we headed anyway?" "A hospital on L-One," Heero replied quietly as he drifted slowly to the back of the shuttle. "Doctor J instructed me to go there if I'm ever in dire need for medical assistance during the operation." "Hey man, I wouldn't call this dire," Duo protested in defense of his ego, gesturing down at his battered body. "Regardless," Heero argued as he approached the row of seats opposite to the ones Duo had lain on; "you can recuperate there." "Sure man, whatever. As long as I dun haffta meet that freaky doc of yours. The last thing I need is to end up as brainwashed as you, soldier-boy." Heero ignored his light insult, as he always did. He settled on a chair at the far end of the row. Duo watched silently as the boy took off his filthy light-blue turtleneck shirt. The fabric had been scorched by the fire; it was streaked with blood and soot and it reeked of sweat and smoke. Duo's shabby black clothes weren't any less for wear; his clothes were soaked with blood, though the bloodstains were hardly detectable on the black material. Shirtless, Heero balled his dirty blue shirt into an improvised pillow to cushion his head as he lay down on his back and closed his eyes tiredly. Duo remained in the co-pilot chair, observing Heero's naked torso silently. The young teenager's body was covered with hideous scars, fresh traces of severe burns and deep slashes which had been inflicted on his flesh not too long ago. There was a large healing scab on his upper left arm, a fading-red trace of a recent and nasty-looking injury. "That from that sick stunt you pulled in Siberia?" Duo dared to ask. The last time he had seen Heero, two months ago, they were both about to be deployed to stop two enemy convoys in Siberia; each was sent to ambush a different group of enemy transports. Before dispatch, Duo had begged Heero not to do anything stupid. He knew that if he wasn't around to keep an eye on him, the heedless teen would turn to the extreme. And he had. When things got messy and OZ had gained the upper hand, Heero had chosen a foolish and unbelievably reckless last resort. He had initiated the self-destruct protocol, destroying his Gundam to avoid its capture. The problem was - that he had activated the self-detonation sequence while still aboard the damn thing. "I knew you'd do something stupid," Duo grumbled. Now that they were out of danger, he could finally give Heero a piece of his mind. He had to get it into that thick head of his that life wasn't something one should throw away so easily. Life sucked, sure, but giving it up meant succumbing to the sadistic forces at work. Fighting for survival was like spitting in God's face, just in case he existed and therefore enjoyed torturing everybody. Appreciating the lives they've been given was the only resistance they could truly offer. "Da fuck were you thinking anyway? That was suicide!" Heero remained quiet and placed his uninjured right arm over his eyes, shielding them from the shuttle's bright white light. He ignored Duo. "Dammit, Heero, I was worried sick, yanno? I was sure you were dead. I fucking grieved for you!" Heero took his arm off his face and fixed his blue eyes on Duo. His expression seemed somewhat perplexed by the other pilot's concern. "I survived," he stated simply; somewhat ruefully, as though disappointed. "Yeah, by pure dumb luck," Duo grunted petulantly. Heero simply didn't get it. He held so little regard for his life that he probably couldn't understand why anyone would mourn for him. Duo sighed. "Where were you all this time anyway? In that hospital we're goin' to?" "No," Heero exhaled jadedly. He covered his eyes with his arm again; obviously uninterested in further conversation. "Then how come I haffta go there if you didn't, and you were a goner," Duo protested grumpily. "Because it is the safest place for you to be right now," Heero muttered while keeping his eyes covered; "You can't stay with me, you're a liability." "Gee, and here I thought I was your friend." "You are," Heero confessed quietly; as straight forward as always. He put his arm down gently and shifted his glance to look up at Duo again. He didn't say anything more, but the suddenly soft, honest gleam in his usually harsh blue eyes told Duo all he that needed to know: while Heero didn't place much value on his own life, he did cherish his. Heero didn't want him to get hurt; he cared for him as a friend. Duo beamed, feeling proud for some reason. "Thanks Heero, you're my best pal too," he responded in kind; "I'm sorry I wasn't there for ya in Siberia," he added with a humble smile as he decided to return the favor; he needed Heero to know that he also mattered, at least to him. "And I'm glad you made it out alive." The young pilot looked away meekly. Without a word, he turned to lie on his side, facing the shuttle wall and away from Duo's penetrating gaze. He placed one arm under his improvised cushion and leaned on the other one, cradling his head in his arms in an attempt to get as comfortable as he possibly could on the hard row of chairs he was lying on. Duo observed his fellow pilot as he fell into a deep, exhausted, slumber. Something told him that Heero would have never let his guard down like that if it weren't for him being near. He smiled gently and turned back to the controls. He skimmed over the display panels until he found the autopilot function. The computer would alert him if anything of interest happens. He turned it on and leaned back into the co-pilot seat. He crossed his hands over his chest, leaned his head back and closed his aching eyes. He fell asleep with a smile still tugging at his chapped lips.
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