Seasons
Chapter One: Nightmare
Duo awoke sweating, breathing hard, tangled in his sheets.
He lay in bed for a few moments, catching his breath. When his heart rate had returned to normal, he rolled onto his side and glanced at the clock. 5:28 AM. His subconscious had let him oversleep tonight.
With a sigh, he carefully stood up and walked to his closet to get dressed. Weeks of practice had allowed him to do so almost silently so as not to wake Hilde. He tiptoed into the hall, holding his breath out of habit as he passed Hilde's room. Only as he glanced inside and saw her carefully made bed did he remember she had left even earlier on a business trip.
He made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to get some breakfast. Not willing to risk his chances attempting to cook anything, he settled for some cereal. He barely tasted it as he thought back to all the mornings spent like this; how many had it been? Too many, he was sure--it couldn't be normal to wake up like this, at such an ungodly hour, every day for weeks on end.
The first few times he had woken up, he had distracted himself by futilely attempting to go back to sleep. After a week or so, however, he had had to accept that once he woke up, sleep wasn't going to come back, and he had been forced to dwell on the reason for his interrupted sleep until the artificial lights of the L2 Colony went on.
It had started early January. After coming back in December from fighting again, he had been relieved, tired, happy. He had thought it was finally over. The Gundams were gone for good, the war was over, he could stop fighting, he could enjoy life, he was ready to adjust, to be normal.
Yet the nightmares had started less than a month after the end of the Gundams, night after night, never offering him a reprieve. They weren't always the same, of course. Sometimes he dreamt of war happening again in the future. Sometimes, like tonight, he dreamt of vague memories--Heero self-destructing, Hilde wounded on Peacemillion, all the memories of grief and anxiety he had collected. Often, he dreamt of the Zero system. But one nightmare haunted him more often than the rest.
It would start like a memory of a battle. He would be in Deathscythe against a fair number of mobile suits, high on adrenaline, with nothing in his mind but sheer rage. It was better that way, of course; no room for terror, guilt, mourning, only the mission. At last, there would be one mobile suit left. He would raise his scythe to it--it was time for Shinigami to claim another prize. He would swing.
And in that moment, he would feel too clearly the terror of his foe, would see through his enemy's eyes the symbol of death coming closer, feel the heat of the weapon as it shattered his mobile suit, hear his own screams echoing in his head, feel his body ripped to shreds. And then he would wake up, unable to comfort himself by saying it was only a dream, because it wasn't--it was real, had always been real, would always be real, and nothing could change that.
Duo stood up and put his bowl in the sink; he would wash it later. He looked out the window at the lightening sky, mimicking a sunrise, and thought of the other pilots. As far as Duo knew, Trowa was still with his circus troupe, Wufei was with the Preventers, and Quatre was working on L4, frequently making front page news. Duo didn't know where Heero was. None of them had spoken since December.
It saddened him to think that all they had been through together, all the pain and battles and even joyous victory, at the end, was all worth nothing to them. After all that, could they still be just fellow pilots, barely even allies, certainly not friends?
Apparently, yes. Duo sighed and headed to the living room. Maybe he would listen to some music, the Beatles perhaps, to relax himself. As he left the kitchen, he thought again of his nightmare, now a vivid memory, and almost collapsed to his knees.
'Why can't you leave me alone, dammit?' he raged silently. 'Why can't I leave it alone?'
* * *
Heero couldn't remember, later, whether it was the smoke or the yelling that woke him up. Either way, as he lay on his back with his eyes watering from the smoke, he realized he had no desire to get up.
He debated with himself for a while. It would be so easy; he could just lie there and let the smoke fill his lungs until he asphyxiated. He wouldn't even be conscious to feel the flame consume him. What was there to hold him back? Faces flashed in his mind—sandy hair and gentle smile; emerald eyes hidden under unruly bangs; cheerful grin and crazy braid; scowling jet-black eyes; golden hair, intense blue eyes—he pushed those thoughts away. He could only burden them by staying.
That was what it all came down to, in the end. It would be best for everyone if he let the fire take him. Maybe it was a sign.
Heero wondered vaguely if asphyxiation was very painful. Perhaps he should open his door, let the smoke in, make it quicker. From the direction of the voices, it seemed everyone else was already out of the building. If he opened the door, no one would get hurt.
He decided to keep the door closed. Maybe he could go to sleep, and just never wake up. He closed his eyes, but the screams outside were too loud to let him sleep. He could hear relief mingled with pain and panic. One woman seemed more anguished then the rest. Through the ever-louder crackle of flames, he could make out some of her words—she wanted to go back inside and get what she had left.
This irritated Heero. She was safe, no one was hurt, and this woman was willing to risk, if not lose, her life for material possessions? Was she really that shallow?
Just then, another sound reached his ears, a thin, high-pitched wail—a baby. Suddenly, the woman's plight made sense. Without thinking, he sprang out of bed and raced out of his room, barely noticing the scalding doorknob.
In the hallway, the smoke burned his eyes and throat. Instinctively, he pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth. After concentrating a bit, he could make out the direction of the baby's cries—it was upstairs. He ran to the stairwell and up the stairs, two at a time.
Heero paused briefly to locate the baby's room, then hurried to it. As long as the baby was still crying, that meant it had a chance. The screams grew louder as he neared it.
The baby was yelling in its crib when he arrived, its tiny face red with exertion. Heero swiftly picked it up and held it firmly, ignoring its pitiful kicks. He returned to the stairwell in time to see the stair collapse. Cursing under his breath, he searched desperately for another way out. He couldn't jump out a window four stories high, not with a baby in his arms. His only alternative was to climb down, but could he do it?
There was no time to think. He climbed over the railing and lowered himself gently. He let go for a second, grabbed on to the bottom, let his legs dangle, swung them, and leaped to the next for. He sighed in relief. One down, two to go.
The baby's cries were weakening. Heero looked at it and saw its face was turning pale. It's lungs can't handle the smoke, Heero realized. At this rate, it'll die. He looked out the window. Three floors. Could he make it?
The baby coughed, and Heero made his decision. He remembered a tree outside his room, and headed back. He fumbled with the windowsill, trying to unlatch it with one hand. At last he opened it. Using his bed to raise himself, he climbed out the window and stood precariously on the ledge. He reached with his free hand, but even the nearest branch was too far.
He could hear the floor collapsing behind him. Slowly, painstakingly, he took off his jersey, struggling to hold the baby. When it was off, he reached again to the branches, using his shirt as a lasso. It made it to the branch. He jumped as the ledge he had been standing on crumbled, swung his legs around the trunk, and pulled himself to sit on a sturdy branch. He then climbed down slowly, wishing he had worn shoes to sleep.
When he had made it to solid ground, he wanted nothing more then to sit and rest his weary body, but he had to find the baby's mother. He scanned the crowd, and located her.
She was doubled over in sobs. Her husband was trying to comfort her while fighting down his own tears.
"Honey, I'm sorry, but I couldn't let you stay, you would've died, I'm so sorry—"
SMACK! She slapped him across the face.
Heero tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, ma'am, is this your baby?"
She looked at him as if he were her savior, an angel sent from heaven, eyes wide open in gratitude and shock. Crying from joy now, she took the baby from him, and tried in vain to stutter her thanks.
He gave her a small smile. "Think nothing of it," he said before walking away. He put his tattered shirt back on and wondered where to go. He didn't think long before deciding on the nearest bank, and then a shoe store.
It wasn't until much later that he truly realized he hadn't died.
* * *
"Hey, Jude," Duo sang. "Don't make it bad, take a sad so-o-ong, and make it—"
RIIING! RIIING!
Duo paused his CD player and ran into the kitchen to pick up the phone. "Hello, who's there?"
"Duo?"
Duo breathed in sharply. He hadn't heard that voice in weeks, but there was no mistaking it. "Heero?"
"Yeah."
"Well, hey! How've you been?"
"Fine, I guess. And you?"
Duo remembered briefly his restless nights and haunting dreams, but, as he always did during the day, he ignored it. "I'm good. So, what's up?"
"My building burned down."
He said it so matter-of-factly that Duo was more shocked than he might have been otherwise. "Oh, man, I'm sorry, Heero."
"It's okay. No one was hurt."
"But all your stuff is gone."
"I didn't have anything irreplaceable."
"Well, that's good, I guess." Silence. "So, where're you going to stay?"
"I don't know."
"Stay here!"
"Huh?"
"Come and stay with me. That's why you called, isn't it?"
Heero paused. "I don't know."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know why I called. I felt I needed to call someone, and you were the first person I thought of."
"How'd you find my number?"
"Phone book."
"Oh. Right." Duo gave an embarrassed laugh. "So, you going to come or what?"
"What?"
"Ah, come on, Heero! Please? It'll be fun!"
"Won't Hilde mind?"
"She's on a business trip. Come on, please?"
"Okay," Heero said, as if he were the one doing the favor.
"Great! Call me as soon as you get your tickets so I can meet you at the airport, okay?"
"Alright. And—thank you."
"No prob! After all, what are friends for? Well, see ya!"
"Good-bye."
CLICK! They hung up.
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Notes: Well, what did you think? Feedback is greatly appreciated [translation: PLEASE E-MAIL ME! I'M BEGGING YOU!] and can be sent to romancherubX@aol.com.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all related characters are property of Sontsu Agency, Bandai Studios and TV Asahi. The fic "Seasons" is copyright Cassandra Lupos 2001, please don't post it anywhere without asking. Oh, yes, I didn't write the lyrics Duo was singing, they were from the Beatles song "Hey Jude," and the Beatles wrote them.