Disclaimer: ok, i don't own these characters, ok? OK? good.
~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~
Duo sat silently on the dark covers on his bed. The artificial sunlight was fading from the 'sky' that loomed over his shabby apartment. 'Back home again' he thought to himself, gazing out at the dirty city streets of L2. He didn't know why he always returned here, it always had the same result, nearly landing him in the hospital. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing scars laddered from his wrist to the soft skin at the inside of his elbow, some were dark, more recent, and some looked years old. He toyed slightly withthe small razorblade he held between his fingers.
A vision of shadow, a young boy with dark hair, only just nearing what should be the best time of his life, and he was already prepaired to end it. 'Nobody's going to stop me this time." he thought with a small smirk. He pulled a sheet of paper from the bedside table, and began to write.
Dear Heero, by the time this reaches your hands, there won't be anyone to send a reply to. But then, you'll already know that, this is an I'm Sorry,
for words I never said
for never letting you know the real me
for not saying this in person
for loving you
The young boy, really a man now, sealed the paper in an envelope, and gently pushed it into a larger envelope, with a few other sheets of paper. He took a deep breath, whispering to himself, "Nobody will stop you." over and over again, until it became a little chant. He picked up the blade, it's cold metal reflecting in the deep violet of his eyes. He bit his lip softly, as he drew the sharp razor across his tender flesh. A few small drops of rich blood welled to the surface, as the neatly severed veins released themselves to the air. He hissed as he raded the blade to the other hand, and watched in morbid fascination as his life began to drain into the black bedspread. He called upon all his courage, and cut the other wrist, from the inside of his elbow, in a neat slice right to his wrist. "There." he said to the unlistening air, 'I did it.' the thought afterwards.
Duo Maxwell's rich amethyst eyes took on the glazed, glassy look, as he stared upwards with the look of one who is about to leave this world, without a second thought. "No regrets." he chanted softly to hiself, until his strength and voice failed him. He felt nothing, as his nerves died slowly, and small beads of sweat dotted his pale brow, from gasping for much needed oxygen. He did not struggle, as he felt the last of his strength leave him.
Heero sat beside Quatre on the day of the funeral, and while the young Arabian sobbed into the shoulder of his best friend, Trowa, Heero did not change his expression. A preist said some kind words about how he had protected the colonies, and how he grew up too fast. Typical. Even Trowa looked near tears, while Wufei sat quietly, saying a soft prayer for the young Shinigami. They walked up to the coffin, deep oak with black satin, 'Duo would have liked it," Heero thought to himself. Quatre went first, he gazed down at the young pilot.
"Oh Duo, couldn't you see how much we needed you?" the blonde said, attempting to dab away another rush of tears from his baby blue eyes. He looked at his best friend, who was also gazing down at the small body. "Why is he so cold?" Quatre wept into his shoulder, "He can't be, he needs his cross, where's his cross?" he was nearing hysteria, as Trowa led him from the hall, knowing that the sensitive boy couldn't bear to look at his friend's corpse for long. Heero lightly touched the cold hand, whispering to the no longer hearing ears of his friend, and fellow pilot, "He's right Duo, we do need you," was all he said, before following the other two from the hall.
The reading of the will. The four remaining pilots sat in their usual order, Trowa, Quatre, Heero, Wufei, but they were all too aware of the gaping space between Quatre and Heero. The spot that belonged only to the braided baka that now lay cold as ice in a dark wooden box. The minister stood at the front of the small meeting room, holding the envelope of papers on his desk. "This is the will of the late Duo Maxwell," he began, in a soft voice, and began reading the will.
'Well guys, i guess this is finally it, your all listening to me. Quatre, well kid, I know you'll turn out just as well as you can, you have that innocent and zest for life, NEVER let anyone take that from you. To you, I bequeath my journal, I've been keeping it since i was just a kid.'
The minister handed the sobbing boy a dog-eared black notebook, filled with Duo's uneven scroll. This sent him into a new fit of tears, and had to leave the room for a moment. When he returned, her leaned heavily against Trowa, his eyes red and swollen from crying for so long. After everyone was sitting, the man continued.
'Trowa, you have to learn to show some emotion, and even though you might not believe me in life, take it froma dead guy, Quatre loves you man, and don't ever forget it. To you, I give you my good luck, and my Harley. Maybe now you can be more on timethan i ever was.'
the minister tossed him a pair of keys from his pocket, Trowa cought them nimbly, and wrapped his arms around the younger blonde again. Wufei recieved Duo's gun, with the message that he was to 'promote justice, for both me and Merian.'
'Well, i guess that just leaves one person, eh Heero? Well, to you I bequeath the packet in this envelope, open it when you have some time, and never forget.' The preist drew a small manilla envelope from his pouch and handed it to the forlorn boy.
Late that night, Heero by Duo's coffin, it was to be burried the next morning at dawn. He still had not cried one tear. The artificial sun was beginning to set again, the close to another day, and the end of his friend's life. He reached into the pocket of his loose jean jacket, and pulled out the envelope addressed to him. The first thing that caught his eye, as he cut open the seal, was Duo's gold cross lying at the bottom of the small sachet. He gently lifted the beautiful article from the bag, and gazed at it sadly, the setting sun casting shadows over his face, from the stained glass windows in the church. He drew the folded paper from the envelope, nd scanned his deep prussian blue eyes over the script.
He stood from his seat below the small table the coffin was set on, and opened the lid, revealing the cold, dead corpse of his best friend. For the first time that he could remember, Heero began to cry. He clutched at the cold hand, sobbing against the clammy flesh, and yelling, "WHY??? I needed you godammit! I loved you, you can't be GONE!" he yelled till his voice was hoarse and scratched painfully against his throat. He turned the stiff hand gently, revealing the slices on the delicate wrists. "Why....I needed you...I loved you...and left me..." he wailed, curling up beside the altar, still lit with candles. He cried himself to sleep that night, and many nights after.
--5 Years Later--
"Daddy?" yelled a child's voice from down the hall. Heero Yuy sat up at his desk, where he had fallen asleep, just as his four year old son had burst through the door. "What is it Maxwell?" the ex-pilot asked pulling his dark haired son into his lap. 'Tell me about Uncle Duo again?" he said, looking up at his father with big blue eyes. Heero had adopted a war orphan from a small cathedral, when he was only a year old. 'I told you, I'll always love you, and I promise you Duo, I'll give this boy a better life than people gave you.'
~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~
Duo sat silently on the dark covers on his bed. The artificial sunlight was fading from the 'sky' that loomed over his shabby apartment. 'Back home again' he thought to himself, gazing out at the dirty city streets of L2. He didn't know why he always returned here, it always had the same result, nearly landing him in the hospital. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, revealing scars laddered from his wrist to the soft skin at the inside of his elbow, some were dark, more recent, and some looked years old. He toyed slightly withthe small razorblade he held between his fingers.
A vision of shadow, a young boy with dark hair, only just nearing what should be the best time of his life, and he was already prepaired to end it. 'Nobody's going to stop me this time." he thought with a small smirk. He pulled a sheet of paper from the bedside table, and began to write.
Dear Heero, by the time this reaches your hands, there won't be anyone to send a reply to. But then, you'll already know that, this is an I'm Sorry,
for words I never said
for never letting you know the real me
for not saying this in person
for loving you
The young boy, really a man now, sealed the paper in an envelope, and gently pushed it into a larger envelope, with a few other sheets of paper. He took a deep breath, whispering to himself, "Nobody will stop you." over and over again, until it became a little chant. He picked up the blade, it's cold metal reflecting in the deep violet of his eyes. He bit his lip softly, as he drew the sharp razor across his tender flesh. A few small drops of rich blood welled to the surface, as the neatly severed veins released themselves to the air. He hissed as he raded the blade to the other hand, and watched in morbid fascination as his life began to drain into the black bedspread. He called upon all his courage, and cut the other wrist, from the inside of his elbow, in a neat slice right to his wrist. "There." he said to the unlistening air, 'I did it.' the thought afterwards.
Duo Maxwell's rich amethyst eyes took on the glazed, glassy look, as he stared upwards with the look of one who is about to leave this world, without a second thought. "No regrets." he chanted softly to hiself, until his strength and voice failed him. He felt nothing, as his nerves died slowly, and small beads of sweat dotted his pale brow, from gasping for much needed oxygen. He did not struggle, as he felt the last of his strength leave him.
Heero sat beside Quatre on the day of the funeral, and while the young Arabian sobbed into the shoulder of his best friend, Trowa, Heero did not change his expression. A preist said some kind words about how he had protected the colonies, and how he grew up too fast. Typical. Even Trowa looked near tears, while Wufei sat quietly, saying a soft prayer for the young Shinigami. They walked up to the coffin, deep oak with black satin, 'Duo would have liked it," Heero thought to himself. Quatre went first, he gazed down at the young pilot.
"Oh Duo, couldn't you see how much we needed you?" the blonde said, attempting to dab away another rush of tears from his baby blue eyes. He looked at his best friend, who was also gazing down at the small body. "Why is he so cold?" Quatre wept into his shoulder, "He can't be, he needs his cross, where's his cross?" he was nearing hysteria, as Trowa led him from the hall, knowing that the sensitive boy couldn't bear to look at his friend's corpse for long. Heero lightly touched the cold hand, whispering to the no longer hearing ears of his friend, and fellow pilot, "He's right Duo, we do need you," was all he said, before following the other two from the hall.
The reading of the will. The four remaining pilots sat in their usual order, Trowa, Quatre, Heero, Wufei, but they were all too aware of the gaping space between Quatre and Heero. The spot that belonged only to the braided baka that now lay cold as ice in a dark wooden box. The minister stood at the front of the small meeting room, holding the envelope of papers on his desk. "This is the will of the late Duo Maxwell," he began, in a soft voice, and began reading the will.
'Well guys, i guess this is finally it, your all listening to me. Quatre, well kid, I know you'll turn out just as well as you can, you have that innocent and zest for life, NEVER let anyone take that from you. To you, I bequeath my journal, I've been keeping it since i was just a kid.'
The minister handed the sobbing boy a dog-eared black notebook, filled with Duo's uneven scroll. This sent him into a new fit of tears, and had to leave the room for a moment. When he returned, her leaned heavily against Trowa, his eyes red and swollen from crying for so long. After everyone was sitting, the man continued.
'Trowa, you have to learn to show some emotion, and even though you might not believe me in life, take it froma dead guy, Quatre loves you man, and don't ever forget it. To you, I give you my good luck, and my Harley. Maybe now you can be more on timethan i ever was.'
the minister tossed him a pair of keys from his pocket, Trowa cought them nimbly, and wrapped his arms around the younger blonde again. Wufei recieved Duo's gun, with the message that he was to 'promote justice, for both me and Merian.'
'Well, i guess that just leaves one person, eh Heero? Well, to you I bequeath the packet in this envelope, open it when you have some time, and never forget.' The preist drew a small manilla envelope from his pouch and handed it to the forlorn boy.
Late that night, Heero by Duo's coffin, it was to be burried the next morning at dawn. He still had not cried one tear. The artificial sun was beginning to set again, the close to another day, and the end of his friend's life. He reached into the pocket of his loose jean jacket, and pulled out the envelope addressed to him. The first thing that caught his eye, as he cut open the seal, was Duo's gold cross lying at the bottom of the small sachet. He gently lifted the beautiful article from the bag, and gazed at it sadly, the setting sun casting shadows over his face, from the stained glass windows in the church. He drew the folded paper from the envelope, nd scanned his deep prussian blue eyes over the script.
He stood from his seat below the small table the coffin was set on, and opened the lid, revealing the cold, dead corpse of his best friend. For the first time that he could remember, Heero began to cry. He clutched at the cold hand, sobbing against the clammy flesh, and yelling, "WHY??? I needed you godammit! I loved you, you can't be GONE!" he yelled till his voice was hoarse and scratched painfully against his throat. He turned the stiff hand gently, revealing the slices on the delicate wrists. "Why....I needed you...I loved you...and left me..." he wailed, curling up beside the altar, still lit with candles. He cried himself to sleep that night, and many nights after.
--5 Years Later--
"Daddy?" yelled a child's voice from down the hall. Heero Yuy sat up at his desk, where he had fallen asleep, just as his four year old son had burst through the door. "What is it Maxwell?" the ex-pilot asked pulling his dark haired son into his lap. 'Tell me about Uncle Duo again?" he said, looking up at his father with big blue eyes. Heero had adopted a war orphan from a small cathedral, when he was only a year old. 'I told you, I'll always love you, and I promise you Duo, I'll give this boy a better life than people gave you.'