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"9"Written By: L.
Valensi
Rating: R Warnings: Suspense/Romance, hefty amount of gratuitous
violence; some abuse; lots of minor OCs & general term-invention Summary: The story is set in A.C. 205, little
less than ten years since the series ended in Endless Waltz. It centers
around the new life of Spoilers: Everything; Set Post-Mariemaia
Sleep, Don’t Weep -- -- Sleep, don’t weep, my sweet love -- A.C. 205 – Lagrange Two: North Hospital Nine hours after the incident at the Containment Complex, Duo was put under surveillance in the psych floor of north L2’s hospital and has been there ever since. The Vice Foreign Minister Relena Peacecraft is speaking a speech inaudible to the comatose Duo on the television, absolving him of his crimes by forgetting to mention his exact involvement in what they’re now calling the “L2 Network Conflict of A.C. 205.” “It will go down in history as a day when peace triumphed once more against the powers of greed and violence,” she says, sparkling in her cream-colored uniform on a stage spanning the great hole that was the Graveyard. When she raises her hand and gives a victorious wave, the crowds clap and holler like ecstatic creatures escaping a burning forest. They clap until their hands bleed hope back into the ground of L2, lasting almost thirty minutes. She leaves the stage and then soon after the animals are gone, leaving only a residue of optimism. The locks on Duo’s door give in, but he doesn’t move an inch. It’s Hilde, carrying a thick, ochre notebook and a blood-red rose (Duo’s classic favorite, despite its kitsch—he used to say to Hilde about red roses, “It’s a reprehensible preference—I think. I like things I’m not so sure about.”). At that memory, she’s able to smile when she walks in, but all her memories lose their taste when she sees Duo. She removes the wilted flowers on Duo’s glass bedside table and replaces them with the new one she’s brought. She spends time arranging it in different directions, in actuality trying to think of what to say—trying to consummate in language the elephant in the room. But she finds what’s left between them has been irredeemably lost. After a while, she seats herself next to Duo’s cadaverous body and places her warm, calloused hands over his. “I’m not sorry, Duo,” She says quietly. “When I first approached Volans, I thought retrieving the Gundam head would be simple because I assumed you would have done anything to get me back if you knew I’d just been taken. But as time passed, I realized that wasn’t the case. It became crystal clear the day I heard you had gone to him for help. That day, I realized your mission was no longer to save me or the life that you say you loved. But, of course, you were much too blind to see that yourself. So you destroyed your old life by refusing to give up Wing Zero, slowly but surely; I only helped you on your way. “I’m not sorry about what I’ve done to you or to the people you loved. I’m not sorry for the innocent lives I claimed. I’m not sorry that I betrayed you and ruined what you believed to be the perfect life for you. I regret none of it.” She smiles brightly at Duo as tears run obstinately down her reddened cheeks, impassioned with sincerity. “I made my choices knowing fully what I was sacrificing, Duo. I did what I thought was right… for you, for me—for everyone. I want to show you what it is to live again, Duo. I saw it dimming in your eyes the longer we were together, pursuing a kind of life that would have never made you as happy as you could be. And I would have doomed myself to the same fate had I let it go on, out of sheer stupidity. So I stopped fooling myself and realized you’d never love me the way I deserve to be loved. “Don’t blame Relena Peacecraft for this. She was hardly involved, except in the end, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop you myself, even with Volans behind me, if it got to that point. I kept it a secret to protect the rest of the colony and the ESUN itself. I kept it a secret for you. But I could only predict how far you’d go. And it so happens that I know you better than you know yourself, after all...” She removes herself from Duo’s side, feeling somewhat like a rootless tree as she glides to the door, for once unburdened with her own internal war. She wipes her eyes dry, donning a pair of opaque sunglasses in order to hide the scarlet misery in her eyes. She places her hand on the door but doesn’t open it. “I have no right to ask anything from you, but in spite of that, I want you to do something for me before I step out of your life forever,” A pause. “Don’t run away this time, Duo. Don’t let him go,” She says with a wan smile, away from where Duo can see. “Then perhaps all of this would be worth something for you in the end.” She leaves without another word, and the only sound to comfort Duo is the din of pundits discussing the latest speech given by the Minister and the faint barking of the dogs outside his titanium-barred window. -- When Duo awakes soundlessly in the morning, his blurry eyes form the image of Heero Yuy in white bent above him, cleansing his wounds. His body, still numb from the anesthetic, is unable to react. All he feels is his heart rate increasing rapidly due to a deep-seated resentment that has finally released itself from its self-built prison in Duo’s psyche. But as his vision clears, he realizes it’s not Heero, but just a resident nurse. He’s accompanied by another nurse, busily preparing a stretcher for Duo in order to change his bedding. “Good morning, Mr. Solo,” greets the handsome nurse erroneously as he removes Duo’s bandages. Duo responds with nothing more than the same vacant look he’s had for the past thirty-six hours. He looks down at the nurse’s hands nimbly unraveling his bandages, which are indurated with blood, pus, and congealed medicines. It’s as if the nurse is peeling layers of coconut skins from Duo’s body, and the more he removes the worse Duo feels. And, like a coconut, there’s nothing inside him but air and fluids—and with nothing inside him left, he can’t fight back. Duo closes his eyes and lets himself be ably handled up and down from his position, on and off his bed, in and out of his clothes. By the end of their routine, Duo feels stripped of his own skin and clinically spotless. He imagines himself as Christ lying prostrate on Mary’s lap, like the sculpture named Pietà he’d seen in a book Solo’d stolen from a library and given to him as a throwaway present. “A crazy kid like you’d probly like this,” Solo’d said. After he moved into the Maxwell Church, he showed Sister Helen and Father Maxwell the portrait of the sculpture and asked them what it was about. “What’s wrong with him?” Duo asked, pointing at Jesus. “He’s like a big baby or somethin’, layin’ on that woman’s lap like that.” Sister Helen blushed, unsure of what to say. She looked at Father Maxwell, who was softly laughing. “Well, you see, Duo…” She began uncertainly. “This is Christ as he died for our sins, Duo,” Father Maxwell said comfortingly. “Mary, his mother, is grieving his passing in prayer.” “Why the heck is she praying and holding him like that?” Duo asked, irritated at the woman’s oddity. “He’s got to be too heavy for a woman to carry like that and pray at the same time! She should just put him down and then pray.” Sister Helen’s face turned embarrassingly redder than before at Duo’s hapless comments, afraid of Father Maxwell’s reaction, but the old priest merely grinned in amusement. He closed Duo’s book and bent down to face the young, baby-faced orphan boy. “You know what Jesus used to say to people who carried heavy things?” “No,” Duo replied succinctly, confidently. “What kind of heavy things are we talkin’ ‘bout?” “Oh, just about anything heavy—for instance, people who carry big sacks of bricks or wood to build houses for their families, or parents who carry their children on their backs while they work. But it’s not just the physical kind of heaviness that Jesus talks about.” “What other kinda heavy stuff is there?” “Well, the heart can be heavy sometimes too. And also your mind. When you’ve experienced many things in your life, you will understand just how much weight your mind and heart can carry.” “They can’t really carry that much, right?” He queries petulantly, kicking his feet on the church’s floorboards. “They’re so small. They’d break real easy, I bet.” Father Maxwell smiled sincerely, making Duo’s eyes light up when he saw him do so. He liked it when Father Maxwell smiled at him like that because it made him feel wanted. “You’re absolutely correct, Duo,” Father Maxwell said. “That’s precisely why Jesus used to tell those who came to him something I will now tell you, but you have to promise to remember it for as long as you live. Will you do that, Duo?” “Sure!” Duo exclaimed without hesitation as he was curious about this Jesus fellow and all his shenanigans. “He said to them, ‘Come to me all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.’” For the rest of that day, and all the days after the Tragedy, Duo practiced committing the words to memory as if they were Father Maxwell’s words, not Jesus’. Whenever he repeated the words in his head, they were able to bring him back time and time again from the depths of his unfathomable pathos. But, currently, he doesn’t know if they will be able to do it this time. These memories calm him until the nurses leave him and he feels safe enough to open his eyes in the solitude. But as his eyes adjust to dawn’s soothing light, his hearts hardens at the image that forms in front of him. “Good morning, Duo,” says Heero Yuy, in the flesh. Duo’s lungs freeze and his breath stops temporarily at his recognizance of his ex-partner’s face and voice. Duo sits still and stares at the wall behind Heero, unwilling to face the other man ever again. He doesn’t budge even as Heero walks over to the chair by his bedside and seats himself next to him. “I… came to tell you that the Wing Zero has been eliminated once and for all,” Heero says comfortingly, reminding Duo of Father Maxwell, but it’s obvious that the Heero’s voice isn’t used to it. “Our technology has progressed to the point where our reserve of anti-war weaponry was enough to disintegrate even Gundanium alloy in space.” After that, Heero becomes silent for a prolonged period of time, staring at Duo’s deathlike pallor and how well it fades into his grey room. The words he’d practiced on the space shuttle are lingering in his throat and mind, collecting dust as they remain unsaid. The pause grows steadily pregnant between them, each minute threatening to deliver his deepest thoughts and concerns for Duo like accidental babies between an unwed couple. “I…” Heero begins, and once again feels that unusual pang return in his chest. He ignores it for the necessity of the situation. “I also came here to… to thank you, Duo, for… everything.” In the end, Heero’s words falter wretchedly, managing to elicit a bitter, mordant laugh from Duo, who’s had just about enough from the Principal of Peace. “I’m sure I’ve said it before,” Duo drawls in an uncharacteristically corrosive manner, “But I’m pretty serious, especially now, when I say fuck you, Heero Yuy.” Heero narrows his eyes, slightly enraged by Duo’s reaction. He gets up and puts his arms on both sides of Duo’s bed so as to force the other man to face him eye to eye. Duo stares back glibly. “What do you want from me?” Heero asks heatedly. “I want you to get out of my life!” Duo answers with equivalent ardor, grabbing Heero by his pristine ivory tie and bringing him close to his face. “Who do you think you are to me that you can go around saying whatever the hell you want to me without expecting any repercussions? I’ve told you repeatedly that I don’t want you near me, but you never fucking listened! You just kept shoving yourself back into my life when there was no room for you to be there! I just wanted your help, but you just had to come in and make me suffer all this love bullshit again and for what? For what? For fucking nothing. You said you would never leave and you fucking left me for your precious fucking princess again. And now that I’m trying to escape from my misery, you come waltzing in like your royal fucking highness just to prove to me how worthless my existence is?” Duo gasps for breath after his torrid declaration, loosening his grip on Heero, but instantly finds himself drawn into a cautious, delicate kiss that ends almost as soon as it began. Duo gazes perplexedly, angrily at Heero and identifies the look on the other’s face as one between amusement and empathy. He feels Heero’s fingers charily curl in his unbraided hair and he is shocked into repose. “You’re not as fragile I as thought you were,” Heero murmurs, “All this pain inside of you and you’re still able to function, still able to feel anger, hate, love... You’re still able to retain your humanity in the face of incomprehensible chaos. You think every ounce of pain you lock into your glass house will only break you in the end, but nothing ever truly has. So perhaps you’re not as fragile as you think you are. Perhaps you’re not a glass house after all.” Heero’s mouth is still sitting on Duo’s lips, infrequently nuzzling forward and forcing Duo’s eyes to close in compliance. “You’re wrong,” Duo replies breathily. “I’m damaged beyond repair. I’m not a glass house; I’m a broken mirror. There’s not a mechanic in the world who could salvage the shit heap that is Duo Maxwell.” “We’ll see about that,” Heero says. He pushes Duo back with his lips, this time forcefully opening Duo up to himself—to a future denied and now unlocked. Tears pool in Duo’s tightly-shut eyes against his will, drenching his cheeks and making their way down Heero’s neck. In his mind’s eye, Duo can feel Sister Helen kissing his forehead, telling him, sleep, don’t weep, my love. They move to breath and Heero leans into his ear and whispers with all the gravity he can muster, “This time, Duo, please count on me.” -- A.C. 207 – Lagrange Two: The Graveyard Duo Maxwell can’t pinpoint exactly when he’d started smoking—but those days are long gone now, what with the hundred-fifty kids he’s got running around in what the papers advertise as “The Maxwell Boarding School for Orphans.” His kids, despite his protests, boastfully refer to it as their Graveyard. He swivels on his chair, tapping his foot lightly on the floor. “So, you’ll all be here tomorrow to celebrate the school’s opening, right?” He says towards a video-receiver on the wall. Quatre’s pearly whites beam with excitement, while Trowa and Wufei linger in the background, amused. They all nod in one way or another and Quatre spends the next five minutes showering Duo with praise fit for a king. He gives them the time and place for dinner and they part with joy, until tomorrow. Duo gets up from behind his cherry oak desk, which is littered with colorful toys, stacks of papers, books, and a dozen fresh white roses in a glass vase. From behind a leather-bound copy of Yukio Mishima’s The Sailor Who Fell From Grace With the Sea peeks the corner of a gold-gilded photo of Heero Yuy with him lingering in the background. He walks outside to the front of his office, standing in front of a window that spans nearly the entire width of the façade, to survey the children during their daily recess. The mild afternoon sun glimmers against his loose, softly fluttering chestnut hair and the crisp whiteness of his headmaster’s uniform. White was a color that Duo initially dreaded, but since then he’s learned to adapt better to certain changes in his rather tumultuous life. As he observes the smiles on the children’s faces while they run around and acknowledge him with disciplined bows and unbounded happiness, Duo’s heart skips a beat. This happens almost every time he takes the time to recognize his own satisfaction with life and existence. There are times where he forgets his happiness and remembers how quickly such a mercurial thing is relinquished and replaced with pain, especially when he sees Hilde stand side-by-side with the Vice Foreign Minister on the television, but… “No braid,” says Heero Yuy’s familiar, comforting voice beside him, followed with a furtive squeeze of his hand. Duo turns to him and smiles fondly. …Right now, this is all that matters, Duo thinks. THE END
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