A/N: Killing this Writer's Block through sheer force, haha~
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing.
Warnings: AU. DARK – please don't read if you think any of the following subject matter could hurt you: depictions of abuse, sexual assault, stalking, murder, sadism (not the fun kind).
Pairings: 1x2. Implications of others.
Abyss
The problem with townhouses is the thin walls.
It hadn't been a problem a couple weeks ago, when the shared wall had them on one side and empty space on the other. But for roughly $1700 a month, that previously vacant space had taken on a new occupant that kept his front lawn nicely mowed and took his trash bin to the curb every Thursday night. It's not a big change, to be honest – but that never stops Alex from complaining about it.
The problem with Alex is that he complains about everything.
Alex doesn't like the next-door neighbor. He doesn't like climbing the stairs up to the front door. He doesn't like the leaky kitchen sink, doesn't like the color of the dishes Duo had bought last week, doesn't like the taste of the meals Duo's made, doesn't like the way Duo looks at him when Alex says he doesn't like something.
Duo doesn't let it get to him. So he listens and nods along to what Alex says, and tinkers with the kitchen sink every now and then, and buys different colored plates and bowls, and orders take-out when his cooking isn't up to par with Alex's tastes. Duo doesn't know what looks Alex is referring to and worries about that sometimes, but Alex usually fixes that himself by hitting Duo so hard that he sees stars.
Duo doesn't understand why Alex hates their neighbor so much though. Duo catches glimpses of him: a handsome man, lithe with muscle, dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes. He's quiet, barely a sound from next door, the only clue he's even alive being the occasional slam of his front door when he leaves or returns home.
Duo rather likes him.
Come to think of it, that's probably why Alex hates him so much.
"First eye blind, second eye blind,
Third eye open, far and wide-
First eye blind, second eye blind,
Third eye open, far and wide-"
It was a silly game played between the five of them. They didn't have much else to do, though, and all the smaller kids were playing with the few toys the orphanage had on hand. They were the bigger kids, too old to play in the sandbox but too young to leave the yard – so they idled in the corner, next to the rusted wire fence atop a thin patch of grass.
The words are repeated, the tone light and whimsical; the chant is hypnotic and eagerness bubbles in Duo's throat. He circles his four friends who have their hands plastered over their eyes, evaluating one and then the next before he settles on the one with the slight frame topped with dark hair.
Duo claps one hand on that frail shoulder, leaning over to whisper in one ear. "Tell me the future that you find~!" he croons, and then he's whirling around and dashing off. The sound of his hard footfalls is broken only by his giggles, which costs him his chance of victory when he's tackled from behind and pinned to the ground.
He does not begrudge his friend the victory.
"My third eye sees you!" Hilde proclaims with vicious glee. "Duo, in your future – you'll be gobbled up by monsters!"
It starts with an apple.
The fruit in question rolls to a stop by Duo's feet from where he stands in their shared driveway. It's one of the many things that come spilling out from the ripped bag held in his neighbor's hands, and Duo picks it up along with what else he can: a few more apples, a canister of unsalted nuts, a can of soup, and a small bottle of cooking oil.
"Sorry," his neighbor says. His tone is low, deep and sultry, and it sends a pleasing tingle down Duo's spine. Duo plasters a grin on his face in response, friendliness radiating from his expression.
"No worries," Duo waves off. "The apples are probably gonna be bruised, though."
His neighbor nods in agreement. Duo can tell he's not an expressive man, there's a hardly a twitch in that impassive face – but his Prussian blue eyes are soft when they focus on Duo's own violet pair.
"Let me help," Duo says. There's no choice, really – his neighbor can't carry it all alone, given he's already holding on to three non-ripped grocery bags. The man pauses but soon nods once more, and Duo follows him up the familiar-but-different set of stairs and through the front door.
"I'm Duo, by the way," Duo says as he steps over the threshold.
His neighbor looks back at him. "Heero," he replies.
Heero doesn't complain. He's not particularly talkative either, but he likes to listen; it's been awhile since Duo has had such a receptive audience so he starts to spend a lot of time at Heero's place. Alex doesn't really notice as he's usually at a friend's place, and by the time he returns home late at night, Duo has tucked himself into bed after making sure to leave dinner packed away in the fridge for a quick reheat.
Another thing about Heero is that he's a great cook. He says he's used to making large meals because he used to live with roommates, however, and he always makes too much and has to deal with the leftovers. So it's only natural that he invites Duo over for dinner; Duo spends most of his evenings sharing a meal with the quiet man who lives next door now.
After dinner, if Alex isn't likely to return home early, Duo sits with Heero in his living room and they watch movies together, or they play games on Heero's PlayStation, or they just talk. Sometimes – only sometimes, Duo reminds himself more and more often – Heero will sit too close, not quite touching but almost. Duo tells himself it means nothing, fastens his eyes on to something past Heero's shoulder and pretends there's no meaning in it when Heero's fingers lightly brush across the fresh or fading bruises on Duo's skin.
Duo's good at lying to himself. He's had a lot of practice: he tells himself that Alex won't hit him tonight. He tells himself that it's his fault when Alex does. He tells himself that sneaking over to his neighbor's house is nothing strange. He tells himself that Heero is only a friend.
Duo tells himself that Heero is a good man.
"Coffee or tea?" Duo asks.
Heero looks uncomfortable seated on his couch, but Duo is just pleased he can even tell through that non-expression. For his part, Heero's eyes scan the cluttered living room before he moves back up onto his feet and towards the kitchenette, where Duo is holding a mug and looking at Heero expectantly.
"You have tea?" Heero returns in mild surprise.
Duo is not. He always drinks coffee when offered beverages at Heero's place, never one for tea in any situation. Heero is a coffee drinker himself as well, but he indulges in the occasional cup of oolong tea when Wufei stops by for a visit.
Wufei is an interesting man. He's not very expressive either but occasionally his lips curl when he sees Duo's bruised face and his hands tremble like he's stopping himself from lashing out. Wufei is a friend from work, according to Heero, and the reason Heero even keeps oolong tea at his home.
Duo understands that. It's the same reason he keeps tea in his own home, too, after all.
Heero acquiesces to coffee, and Duo is pouring it into the mug as Heero wanders the living room. He goes past the teddy bear on the bookshelf without a second glance, instead stopping before the coffee table where a couple of framed photographs meet his eyes. Heero picks up the one that has both Duo and Alex framed inside: Alex has his arm wrapped around Duo's waist and Duo's non-bruised face is beaming at the camera.
"He should just disappear," Heero says after a moment.
Duo stirs a teaspoon of sugar into the man's drink and says nothing.
But he smiles.
Heero's place is sparsely furnished, at least in comparison to Duo's – but then again, Duo's place only seems so cluttered because Alex leaves his stuff anywhere he pleases. Duo had only recently moved in a few months ago, and even now, he had few belongings to call his own. Everything in the home was Alex's: his TV, his computer, his food and bed and couch. It was always Alex, Alex, Alex.
This is why Heero's place is so refreshing to Duo. Nothing here belongs to Alex, but just the same, Heero does not make a point of saying it is his alone. Duo was welcome to the food, to the TV, to the games and the couch. Heero didn't nag at him for burning the food, didn't reprimand him for accidentally dropping a plate, didn't insult him because his braid was untidy or his "look" wasn't what Heero wanted to see.
Duo tells himself that Heero is a good man.
He tells himself that the figure he sees out of the corner of his eyes when he's out around town is a stranger. He tells himself that it's raccoons picking through his garbage bin. He tells himself that he didn't see Heero sneaking pictures through the open blinds of his windows late at night. He tells himself that Heero is only a friend.
Duo is not that good at lying to others.
"We shouldn't," Duo says. His voice is quiet, but not from fear or pain; the split lip he'd received from Alex's punch days ago has already healed, after all. There was no need to whisper when it doesn't hurt. But there is pain there, as Heero cradles Duo's face in his hands like he's something precious. A different sort of pain, one that twists at Duo's heart, too good to be real.
"We should," Heero replies.
Heero is a good man.
Duo's smile is swallowed as Heero's lips meet his own.
"You're a whore!"
Spittle splashes across Duo's exposed skin. His whole body hurts, bloodied and bruised, but Alex hasn't managed to break anything – a good sign. Duo had been worried when he'd smelled alcohol on his boyfriend's breath, but Mueller was always more of an alcoholic than Alex. He probably just hadn't wanted to share his stock, leaving Alex in a terrible mood.
"You- You don't even fuckin' try anymore, you piece of shit," Alex spat. It's the fifth time he's said it in the past half hour, but both reason and restraint have been far removed from Duo's enraged boyfriend since the very beginning. "Takeout for weeks now, and you think- you think I don't notice the way that fucker next door looks at you? Huh?"
If Alex makes a mocking expression – he usually does – Duo doesn't see it, curled up as he is on the floor. Alex doesn't care, stepping past Duo's crumpled form to bang on the wall shared between their place and Heero's. Duo knows it is only because the of the thin walls that the sound has any impact; Alex tends to confuse his cruelty for strength.
"Do you hear me, you fucker?!" Alex yells at the wall, fists slamming against wood and plaster. "You wanna fuck this slut, huh? Bet you do, you- fucking fuck fuck motherfucker!"
There's more obscenities thrown in there, more hits rained against the wall. Duo doesn't have the energy to tell him that Heero's not even home right now. Duo knows Heero's at work, knows that Heero is probably sitting cozy in his office, trading words with Wufei over cups of coffee and tea. Heero has no time to deal with Alex's temper tantrums.
Alex never realizes that. He pulls Duo up by his hair, slamming him against the wall and ripping off his jeans. Duo's eyes hazily focus past Alex's shoulders and to the bookshelf against the opposite wall, where a single platinum blond teddy bear sits on the shelf and watches the scene laid bare before it. It's beady black eyes bore into Duo's own.
Duo tells himself it's not a camera.
Duo enjoys playing games. It reminds him of days long past, of the orphanage he grew up in and the friends he'd made there. The games he played have changed over time, but the thrill of excitement from the first game to the last has stayed the same. Perhaps he was meant to chase that excitement for the rest of his life.
"What kind of games did you play when you were little?" Duo asks. "Not video games. I mean – playground games?" He's seated atop the kitchen counter as Heero moves about preparing dinner; the dark-haired man stated it was his turn to cook tonight and had picked Duo up and set him on the counter, like an ornament to admire.
(Or a tool to be used later.)
Heero shrugs off-handedly. "The same ones everyone did. Red light-green light, flag football, tag… I got a broken nose playing Red Rover once," he replies. He's speared a chicken filet with the knife he's holding, checking to see if it's cooked through. It's chicken marsala tonight; Duo's never been able to make it correctly for Alex, adding too much wine or oregano. Heero's been checking the recipe on his phone religiously every few minutes so Duo doubts he'll make the same mistake.
Heero's like that: precise and methodical, thorough to the last detail. Duo appreciates that, even if he has no desire to emulate it – Duo's always appreciated a bit of mess. "What was your favorite?" Duo asks.
Heero's frying the mushrooms now, but he glances over to show Duo he's putting thought behind his words. Even if Heero doesn't realize it, with all the time they spend together, he becomes easier for Duo to read. The realization spreads warmth through Duo's chest.
"Hide and seek," Heero says.
Duo can see that: little Heero, crouched in the bushes, obscured from view. Heero, tucked into corners, darting into alleyways, always out of view but never out of mind.
"My friends and I used to play a game called 'Third Eye'," Duo reminisces. "My friend's older sister made it up. It was like a bastardized version of duck-duck-goose and tag: everyone stood in a circle, covering their eyes like this."
Duo places his hands over his eyes as he continues. "If you're It, you walk around the circle saying the set phrase: 'first eye blind, second eye blind, third eye open, far and wide!' You keep saying it until you pick someone, then you touch their shoulder and tell them 'tell me the future that you find~!' You gotta run away to the other side of the field – we played on a small playground, usually – and then back to take over their spot in the circle."
Duo had been the quickest on his feet, so he was only ever caught when he felt like it. "You win if you reach it, but if the person you picked catches you before you do – then they get to predict your future." Kids could get creative with the right incentive and predicting horrifying outcomes had been half the fun of the game later on. "I remember one time I lost, and my friend said I'd get eaten by monsters."
Heero gently grasps Duo's hands and pulls them down. Duo is smiling, he's sure of it – but the expression on Heero's face looks more troubled than anything. Duo wonders what part of his reminiscence has put it there.
"That doesn't have to be your future," Heero tells him. He's tracing the bruises on Duo's face, placing a light kiss to one fading black eye. His gentle hands trail from Duo's cheeks to the slender curve of his throat, brushing past the healing fingernail-shaped cuts on his neck and sweeping down his arms.
Duo leans forward, draping his arms around Heero's shoulders. He nuzzles the side of Heero's face, lips ghosting over the shell of the other man's ear. "Tell me a different one then?" he suggests.
"You're somewhere safe and warm," Heero starts after a moment. His voice is low as he speaks into Duo's ear; his hands are stroking up and down Duo's thighs, the tenderness of his touch almost maddening. "You know you belong there. You're taken care of. You lack for nothing."
Duo tells himself Heero is a good man.
Heero's bedroom smells of fresh laundry with a hint of lemon. Duo knows objectively it's the cleaning product the man uses on nearly every surface of his home, but Duo likes to imagine that it's because Heero secretly bakes and has a fondness for lemon tarts. It's an endearing image.
Heero does not taste like lemons though; he currently tastes like the cinnamon rolls they'd eaten an hour ago, and it lingers against Duo's lips and tongue pleasantly. Duo wonders if his lips taste the same, if his neck and collarbone taste the same, if the trail of Heero's fevered kisses left on Duo's skin taste the same.
Heero's fingers are in Duo's hair, massaging his scalp gently in almost absent ministrations. Their bodies are tangled together, sticky and slow to cool, but there's no rush to separate. Heero's mouth is sucking on that one spot on Duo's neck that sends shocks of pleasure down his spine, but it's a languid sort of pleasure that only draws a moan from Duo's throat.
Duo no longer says anything about what they should or shouldn't do. He doesn't tell Heero to stop – indeed, Duo feels like he will die if Heero ever stops, so he pulls the man closer to him so that heated skin meets heated skin in a near-unbearable pleasure.
The bruises on Duo's back and limbs will fade, along with the cuts and scratches.
And so, too, will the kiss mark Heero leaves on his throat.
Alex is the type to hoot and holler when it's just him, but when he has his friends to back him up, his false bravado turns real even when confronted by Heero's cold eyes. Duo knows this is because Alex is sure nothing can hurt him while Mueller and Clark are around, a confidence boost Alex only needs when he's facing someone that isn't Duo.
Mueller is rolling a joint while reclined on their couch, eyes glancing between Alex and Heero with a slow half-smile. Clark is holding Heero in an armlock, although the latter was half-slumped over from the earlier assault on his person. The three were not a particularly sharp group but they more than made up for it in sheer muscle power and antagonism. If they couldn't outsmart something, they beat the shit out of it until terror made them even.
"Not so tough, are you, Yuy?" Alex is sneering at the man. "You're a real piece of shit."
Alex pivots and stalks over to Duo. He's leaned against the wall, shaking horribly and swallowing the blood in his throat from where he'd accidentally bitten his lip when Alex's punch leveled him to the floor. Alex had taken time between raining blows on Heero's form to throw his most detested dishware at Duo's crumpled form, so he's forced to step through a graveyard of porcelain shards to reach the braided male.
"And you fuckin' slut!" Alex screams at him, grabbing Duo by the neck. He forces him to stand on surprisingly steady legs, then slams him against the wall. "I know you've been fucking him! I know!"
Duo doesn't say anything. Neither does Heero, but his gaze sharpens and curdles the blood of those who fall under it.
"You're a fucking idiot!" Alex screeches, slamming Duo against the wall two more times. The movement causes the shelves to dislodge from their stands, and assorted knick-knacks fall to the floor – the teddy bear among them. "Did you know this fuck's been stalking you? I saw him loitering outside your work weeks ago, you dumb fuck! He probably moved in next door just because you're here!"
Alex throws Duo to the ground. "And we've been to his place too! He's got pictures of you – there has to be hundreds of them, like he's set to making a fucking shrine for you!" he sneers.
Duo doesn't say there's actually 82 pictures of him in Heero's home, packed away in a locked metal toolkit Heero keeps under his bed. Duo doesn't say he'd seen Heero outside his work months ago, that he's actually the reason Duo had decided to change jobs and agreed to move in with Alex.
There's a lot Duo doesn't say.
But he smiles.
The unexpected reaction causes Alex to pause in confusion. Duo picks up a porcelain blue shard from the shattered dishware Alex so hates, turning and rising in one fluid movement that was so at odds with his beaten appearance. He brings the jagged edge of his impromptu weapon against his boyfriend's throat, feeling flesh give way and liquid red warmth spray against his knuckles. Alex chokes on his next few words, hands wrapping around his own throat as blood flows between his desperate fingers.
There is no helping him – he will be silent now.
Heero jerks out of Clark's hold and elbows the taller man in the throat, knocking him to the ground to choke on his own trachea. Mueller has shot to his feet with a strangled yelp, wide eyes glancing between the two in mounting horror. Duo likes that look on his face, pleasure shuddering down his spine as he moves forward with predatory grace.
"No- Wait, stop, please-" Mueller starts to beg, hands held out in a pleading motion. Duo pays him no mind, ignores his words and his actions as he drags the plate shard across his throat and watches as Mueller clutches at the wound futilely. Duo stares down into the pools of blood seeping into furred body of the teddy bear, hears the pounding of his own excited heartbeat in his ears.
Alex's and Mueller's choked, gasping breaths are drowned in red.
They are not the first.
Duo hears the click and he turns to look.
Heero stares back at him, the barrel of his gun aimed at Duo. His expression is cold, his hand is steady; the mission has stripped what little emotion Heero has away from him in this moment.
They are not the first, and they will not be the last.
"Duo Maxwell, you are under arrest," Heero begins. Training has sharpened his words into stone, no room for argument. The blood is sticky between Duo's fingers from where he holds the porcelain shard aloft, and he looks at it in wonder as Heero continues on. "For the murder of Alex Moore and Aries Mueller."
Duo turns fully to face Heero. The man is no less beautiful than the first time Duo saw him, even though his eyes are no longer warm. Heat has always been fleeting where Duo is concerned – the men who hold him are often left cold in the aftermath, and Duo finds a sense of comfort even in the chill.
"There should be another nineteen names in there," Duo says. "Detective Yuy."
Heero's lips twitch down into a scowl. "Feel free to list them," he replies coolly.
Duo doesn't say anything.
A moment passes, then another – and then the front door creaks open. From the look in Heero's eyes, it's clear he's expecting backup. Wufei should have been waiting in a parked car just down the street.
Quatre steps through the doorway.
He's smiling brightly, even as he steps through pools of blood and shattered porcelain. That hasn't changed in all the years Duo has known him, but it's the expectation that defines Quatre now: his blue eyes only glance over Heero in passing as he moves through the room. He goes to the teddy bear still lying on the floor, unmindful of the blood soaking into the fur that so matches his own shade.
Heero's expression is stormy but the point of his gun is now aimed between them to better keep them in sight. Despite the unexpected turn, Heero keeps his composure – because Heero is always precise and methodical, thorough to the last detail.
And then Trowa slams an elbow into the side of Heero's head.
"My third eyes sees you!" Hilde proclaims with vicious glee. "Duo, in your future – you'll be gobbled up by monsters!"
Cathy's scandalized gasp catches their attention, and by the time they turn to face her, the older girl has her hands on her hips. "That's a mean fortune!" she says in admonishment. Hilde wilts a bit at the chiding but the other two boys still standing in the circle don't look perturbed in the least.
"It's fine, isn't it?" Quatre interjects, ever the mediator. The smile on his face is sugary sweet. He's a kind boy who lives nearby, initially drawn into their group by the boy at his side.
Trowa is already nodding, looking back at his sister calmly. "If it's Duo, he'll be fine," the green-eyed boy points out in an even tone.
Duo nods in cheerful agreement, picking himself up from the ground. "Monsters are nothing!" he says in defiance. "I'll just become an even bigger monster and eat them first!"
Quatre's eyes light up in excitement and Trowa smiles.
Heero falls to the ground, gun flying from his hold to slide across the floor and through puddles of blood. Duo picks it up from where it lands by his feet, reminded fleetingly of bruised red apples at the sight of metal shining through the red under the fluorescence.
Trowa pins Heero to the ground with deft precision; the detective's earlier bout of feigned weakness all but forgotten under Trowa's knowing hands. Heero is left bucking and glowering from underneath him but Trowa's face shows no concern for this, and his green eyes instead rise to lock onto the two men standing across from him.
Quatre comes up behind Duo, clasping one hand on his shoulder and mouth brushing against the shell of his ear as he speaks. "You can take your time," the blonde says, one hand sliding across Duo's shoulder blades and down his spine. "Eat your fill."
Duo does not need to be told a second time.
Quatre's eyes do not leave Duo's blood-splattered form. His eyes fall into that half-lidded state he takes on when he's enticed by what he sees; Duo is used to seeing that look on both Trowa's and Quatre's faces when they play back the videos they get from the teddy bear. Duo watches sometimes – not the video, but their faces as they watch it.
They look beautiful in those moments.
Their eyes are riveted to the screen as Duo's figure is splashed across it: Duo, beaten and bruised and ravaged, one monster after another taking their turn to eat him bit by bloody bit.
And, bit by bit, Duo taking another bite back.
"Wufei?" he asks his friend.
Quatre's tone is wistful and saccharine as he replies: "He was a good man."
Heero bucks on the floor, fury etched across his handsome features. "Murderers," he spits, the most honest he's ever been.
Duo smiles. "Monsters," he corrects, and then advances forward.
END.
If you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.
A/N: I think I'm writing 2x3x4 wrong and yet.
Gist: Duo's a serial killer (usually of abusive assholes like Alex and company) but doesn't bat an eye at killing a "good man" like Heero. Heero's actually an 'undercover' cop who suspects Duo of being a serial killer – so his "stalking" is actually investigating, and Wufei was his partner who kind of helps him. (Guys, your mission was totally not approved by your boss, and now look what happened!) Duo figured all that out months ago when he first noticed Heero, so he's just been playing along the entire time. Quatre and Trowa are Duo's childhood friends who totally aide him in his crimes, assisting when necessary and stalking him at all times because they're in love with each other but like in the worst way possible. I left the ending open so feel free to enjoy that bit of hope.
Please be kind and drop a review.