Enjoy!
A Rose By Any Other Name
The soft, pink petal floated gently on the wind as it made its slow decent, spiralling down and buffered on unseen currents. It kissed the spring touched grass with such lightness that the blades beneath it barely splayed.
"He loves me"
The dreary dampness of winter had given way, and the few parks that had somehow managed to survive the constant battering of the war were being flooded by those who the warmth and freshness of the surroundings inspired a feigned hope of resolution.
It was also a hot spot for young lovers.
Another petal joined the resting place of the previous one.
"He loves me not"
Not far from where the petals lay, two teenage boys participated in this pretence of a respite. The laughter of one rose above the wave of content mummers, causing his partner to give him a shove, resulting in the other boy burning as crimson as the invisible blood that stained his hands - that stained all their hands.
The owner of the bubbly laugh, was also the keeper of a mass of long hair, which, now temporarily free from the constraint and rigours of necessity, was pulled back in a simple ponytail as opposed to the braid those who knew him where more accustomed to. Wispy strands framed the heart shaped face, accentuating the angry scowl that was now seemingly carved into the young mans face. It was so different from the carefree expression that only moments ago seemed to have taken up permanent residence.
It was the hair that whipped against the other boy as the angry one stormed off. The darker boy stood in apparent shock
Petal number three landed slightly away from the other two.
"He loves me"
Memories of past moments were whispered in the wind. The late evening, the recollecting, the tears ... just as one thread of reminiscence was weaved, it was whisked away as soon as the breeze died for a moment.
But one thread seemed to be spun in with all others, it's presence casting the light onto which all others where seen.
How could anyone forget their imprisonment?
A mission gone wrong. War ridden on it's darkest form, betrayal and deceit, had stormed in and clasped them between it's claws. Warning from the pilots still located at base had come far too late, they will still attempting to undercover which of the five Doctors had been responsible for the uttermost deception.
Three forbidden to leave the base for fear of being accused of desertion or worse, two swallowed by the bleakness of despair. A torrent of emotions rose from where they had been buried deep since the encounter. Utter fear, stubbiness, denial. Hopelessness. The cell he had been kept in for three weeks had been little more than a glorified storing cupboard. Even at his own height he hadn't been able to stand up full stretch, the width of the cell was barely enough to crouch, let alone sit.
Comfortability, it had seemed, had not been one of his hosts main concerns.
Once a day the roof of the cell was slid open, and a stale serving of bread was dropped in, occasionally accompanied by a small flask of water. It was the water he treasured most, he had learnt to survive for long periods of time without food, but without water one had little hope for survival.
There was no other contact with the outer world. No questioning, no demands made.
He felt as though he had been locked in a cupboard and someone had swallowed the key, intent on leaving him there for eternity. However it was he who was the key, and he was in the dark, uncompromising belly of his enemy.
The isolation coupled with the darkness was a perfect breeding ground for once buried ghosts to force down the so carefully built up walls of denial. Every nightmare, every demon, chose to bombard him with the horrors of his past, to inflict on him the most potent of soul destroyers on him - the truth.
Three weeks. It was three weeks before the door to his personally designed hell was opened. A bright flash instantly flooded his senses, causing him to reel back. Alternative shades of gray and brilliant white continued to provide a flash show as he struggled to gain some sense of ~being~. He collapsed to the cool, cement floor, his legs unaccustomed to the room to move. Giving up on trying to regain any form of painless sight, he clenched his eyes shut. He let whoever grabbed him drag him to his feet and have drag, half carry him to some unknown destination. He offered no resistance - his mind had long since shut down.
It could have been mere moments before he regained some form - minute as it was, of coherency, it may have been hours. Time was simply irrelevant. The blazing pain that accompanied the use of his eyes had faded to a dull roar, and the lights had morphed into outlines that reminded him of hand figure shadows on a white sheet.
He was still in the same clothes he had spent the last three weeks in, as a result he reeked of crude combination of sweat, urine and other, unnameable odours.
Sound for the first time began to assaulted his senses, and he felt the overriding urge to press his palms firmly against his ears. Pounding, banging, screeching - everything seemed too loud, to be closing around him. He couldn't distinguish between the different sounds, couldn't tell how close they where, couldn't tell where they were coming from, it was smothering him, smothering him even more than the darkness, smothering him even more than the demons, smothering him even more ...
He let out a scream, however it came out as little more than a gargled cry. His voice had long since been possessed by his prison. The noise, instead of dimming, erupted at his attempted speech. He began to sob softly and unashamably - pride to had fallen victim to circumstance.
In one brief moment of absolute clarity, he heard the banging of what sounded like a hammer, and then he was dragged back to his feet once again.
The room he was deposited in this time was a godsend in comparison to his previous residence. He could make out the shape of a bed, a sink, and Gods, was that a ...
It was amazing how the sight of a mere toilet could inspire the smallest flicker of hope in a soul that had admitted defeat.
If the toilet had provided a twisted sense of hope, the figure that greeted him only moments later was enough to cause a mini revolution. Even his blurred vision was not enough hide the long braid that was attached to the shadow thrown in.
"Duo?" he somehow managed to force out in nothing more than the whisper his voice allowed him.
What followed would forever be engraved painfully on his heart.
They had fallen into each other arms, the desperation to cling to something ~real~ overpowering any other thoughts. The tears had started to flow in earnest then, staining both their cheeks. The need to touch something warm, something good, soon took over, and their hands started wandering over the others body, each in silent wonder that the other was truly there, that they were no longer alone.
The need to connect with something living after for so long courting death, was all consuming. Clothes where sacrificed, passionate kisses exchanged. To simply ~feel~ after all this time, be it lust, desire or simply a warped sense of safety was paramount.
For one of them, it was a desperate release of tension and a way of rationalising the horror, for the other it was the fulfilment of a long time wish, one he had never dreamed possible ...
The light wind held the fourth petal up slightly, before it plunged on a kamakuzi path to the ground.
"He loves me not"
They were released the next day, and Duo had thrown himself straight into the arms of his 'saviour', who for once had acknowledged the bond between them. It wasn't until they had both physically recovered that it had been explained to them that they had been ambushed not by Oz, but by their own people - the rebels they aided and fought alongside. Officially, someone with power had determined that he and Duo were double agents, and deliberately set them up. The dreaded enemy had not been the soldiers under the thumb of Treize, the monsters who had submitted him to a fate worse than any Oz torture session where the handful of people he had let himself trust, to become associated with.
He had been betrayed by his own weakness, by Duo and now his cause. The only person who knew how he was feeling was seeking comfort in another mans bed. He was alone.
Of course, while Heero could physically provide Duo with the solace he needed, he couldn't understand on an emotional level, and it was only time before Duo had sought him out.
"He loves me"
What had begun as mutual comfort on a verbal level has soon become physical, behind the unaware back of Heero. They became companions of the night, often not daring to sleep until they had reached such a stage of exhaustion that the nightmares could be evaded. They sobbed secretly on each others shoulders, hidden from the pitying glances of the other pilots, cursed their holders and had sex.
It was strangely therapeutic
As Duo and Heero slipped further apart, he began to believe the whispered endearments that Duo used, and slowly, painstakenly, began to open his own heart up to him return.
Emotionally, they recovered slowly. Once they had reached some form of individual stability and found that they could exist without the constant presence of the other, Duo was straight back in the arms of Heero.
"He loves me not"
The bright spring day was slowly giving way to the crispness of dusk, the dimming rays already starting to blanket the park with a rosy hue. The dark haired companion had given chase to his partner after only a moments hesitation, and they now seemed to be engaged in a verbal battle royal. Too far away to hear, to blurred to lip read, the contents of the argument was still clear to anyone who knew the two boys well. The dark haired one suddenly broke off, and with an almost vulnerable look on his face, cupped the other boys face gently with his hands. An unspoken message flickered between them, and even from his place behind the aging oak tree, Wufei could see the pure love reflecting in Duo's eyes - a look that had never been directed at him. One that never would be.
The last petal slowly floated downwards as the two leant in to kiss. A sudden gust of wind caught hold of the delicate petal and whisked it high in the air, before roughly flitting it away, far from his sight.
"He loves me"
fini.
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