Red Christmas

By Kathryn Denson

Warnings: Gore, vague mention of rape, angst galore, hints of 1xR.

This is not really a romance fic, but I mention Heero having romantic feelings for Relena. In some parts, it almost sounds like he has romantic feelings for Duo or vice versa. Although that was not my intention, I don't want to change it to make it sound different because I'm not a homophobe and I think that they are very good friends and do have strong feelings for each other, though I don't believe those strong feelings are romantic, but are brotherly.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing, though some may argue that Gundam Wing owns me.

The walls we build around us to keep out the sadness, also keep out the joy.

--Jim Rohn

December, After Colony 197

Sank Kingdom

Heero Yuy drew his coat more tightly around him, shivering. It had never gotten this cold on the colonies. The temperature was perfectly controlled, even when it snowed. When he had come to Earth for the first time, it had taken forever to get used to unpredictable temperatures, storms, wind…things a lot of Earthlings barely thought about for being so used to it, colony-dwellers were caught off-guard by.

But Heero had visited the Earth long enough to become somewhat accustomed to the frequent changes in the weather patterns. He had been warned about them before he arrived, and the better part of the past three years had been spent on Earth—first the war, then working for the Preventers.

Over the speakers, a man's deep baritone crooned, "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas, just like the ones I used to know…" He gave an involuntary shudder. The innocent words of the song may have brought back memories of snowmen and Christmas trees to most people, but Heero saw blood. Blood tarnishing the pure white snow. Dead bodies, mouths gaping open, eyes wide with horrified expressions…

He must have passed a thousand people, bundled up tightly in winter coats, cheeks rosy, smiles wide, pointing at objects in shop windows that would be the perfect gift for someone they knew. Their excitability made absolutely no sense to him. Of course, gift-exchange in general made no sense to him. After all, people could buy for themselves the gifts they wanted to receive. It would save them a lot of time in line for gift-exchanges on December 26. The whole process was strange, alien.

Then why did he buy it for her…?

He frowned at the memory of the one gift he had bothered buying for someone. He had hurt Relena's feelings when she gave him an invitation to her fifteenth birthday party. She had left the party early because of him. It had made him feel guilty…and every time he looked at her, he felt something rising up in his chest. She made his heart beat faster, his body alternately relax and tense. How she managed to melt the glacier of his soul with one little smile unnerved him and fascinated him at once. He wanted to do something for her.

Just before her sixteenth birthday, he had seen the teddy bear kit in the window of a shop. Thinking it was something she might like, he bought it, stitched together the teddy bear, and gave it to her.

Heero walked down the final street to his apartment complex. Inside, he gave himself over to the solitude of sleep, knowing it wouldn't be long before the nightmares came again.

It just wasn't right.

There was blood on the sidewalks. Blood spattered against the brick walls of buildings. Blood filled the street sewers, and blood bathed the white snow in a crimson that sickened him. It made him think of decadence. Things once good that were now immoral. Pure white stained and defiled by a violent attack. The actions of some idiot radicals.

He remembered the street well. He had grown up here. There was a row of ramshackle houses, falling apart and in great need of repair. One was in slightly better condition than the rest. It was his. His old house. But he knew that weather and wrecking balls had long ago destroyed what was left of it, and the other houses.

Still, the street wasn't quite as he remembered it. Now bodies were stacked up in high piles. Men, women, and children, slaughtered like...animals. Disgusting. He'd almost forgotten. Or tried to, anyway. This was one memory that always haunted him in his dreams.

"It was a nasty one, wasn't it?"

He knew the voice, knew that it didn't go with the setting. Though she was a friend from the colony, before the war, he had not even met her until he was ten, and that was four years after this incident he was reliving. But still, he turned to see Hitomi Funaki.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be in Osaka?"

Hitomi shook her head, staring at him without blinking or showing emotion. It was that that put people off about her. Also, she was an albino. There wasn't a natural pigment on her body. Her skin was sheet-white, elf-like, and her eyes were bale blue. Her hair was naturally a pure white, like the snow on the ground had been. It was hard to believe she was Japanese.

Looking into those pale blue eyes, he tilted his head. "You shouldn't be here. You don't even like the colony. You always said so."

She gave him a gentle smile, took a smaller step towards him. "Does it matter whether I liked it or not? I'm here, anyway."

"Why?" he asked.

She pushed the white hair behind one ear. "Well, someone has to talk you through this."

He rolled his eyes. "Great, just great, Hitomi," he muttered. "Again with the cryptic comments and vague wording."

"Oh, come on, Heero," she said, touching his arm. "Try to be a little fun, now."

Heero scowled. "This isn't the place to be fun. Why am I here, anyway?"

"Now that's what you should have been asking. Instead of why I was here." Hitomi cleared her throat carefully. "Ah, chilly."

"Then you should have brought a coat. You knew it would be cold, didn't you?"

She ignored him, stepping along the path. "Do you remember this?"

"December 24. Twelve years ago. I was six. They called it Red Christmas."

"Right. You were here then." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes, I was here," Heero said uncomfortably. He was following her with tremendous ease, but he could feel his heart pounding, could actually hear it in his head. He wanted to forget this. He was pretty sure already that this was a dream, because even with all her resources, Hitomi could not recreate all this. And she wouldn't torment him like that. For some reason, she seemed to be a common feature in his dreams. Maybe because he found comfort in the same calm that made everyone else edgy.

"Were you at the actual attack?" Hitomi asked curiously. "I mean, the shooting, the blood and all."

"Yes," Heero whispered, wanting to disappear, to awaken. He was sure this would end with him waking up in sweat. He didn't like that. He wasn't quite as calm as Hitomi, but he didn't like to totally lose his cool. These nightmares were so precise, such a direct hit at his soul. As if the ghosts were haunting him, punishing him for his sins.

But why here? Had he sinned here?

He was sure that if he had, Hitomi was about to make him remember.

"I only heard a little about it. After I arrived here, you know. But they said it was bloody. Messy. Took weeks to clean up."

"Months," Heero corrected her. When she looked back, he explained, "In March, I saw some policemen putting a newly-discovered body part in a bag. The parts were all over the place..." He felt a sudden wave of nausea overcome him when they reached the intersection between Main Street and Helm.

Hitomi leaned forward with a fascinated glow on her face. "Ooh, I see what you mean."

There was more than blood here. The fountain was filled with the arms and legs of people all ages and races, both sexes. The more or less complete bodies were in more piles about seventy-five feet away. But still more parts and entrails and brains covered the ground, spattered the sides of the close-together buildings.

"I bet you couldn't walk for days without stepping onto someone's intestine," Hitomi said somewhat cheerfully. He knew for sure that it wasn't the real Hitomi--she had too much of a respect for life to sound so cheerful. Heero wondered if he could wake up yet, but knew the answer was probably no. He wouldn't wake up until he really reached his breaking point--or surpassed it.

"Hey--look," his cousin said, interrupting his thoughts. He looked up, and saw a little boy with dark brown hair and Prussian blue eyes, blanket wrapped tightly around his tiny body, blood smeared on his face. The face was too familiar. Heero started to feel cold. "Wow, he barely has a scratch on him. How do you think he survived?"

"He ran for cover under another body," Heero whispered.

"Hm?" Hitomi looked up at him with wide curious eyes, as if encouraging him go on.

Heero opened his mouth to speak, then found himself screaming. A rapid stream of Japanese curses and pleadings. He was jumbling it all together, and wasn't even sure what he was saying. Hitomi was looking at him blankly, as if unimpressed, and then he felt a pair of hands shaking him.

"Heero! Heero, man, wake up!" Duo Maxwell cried.

"Hn…wha?" Heero grumbled.

"You were screaming just a minute ago." Duo's cobalt eyes were shiny with concern. "Did ya have a nightmare."

"No, I was screaming because I was happy," Heero said irritably, sitting up. Duo stared at him, or at his chest. Heero looked down and realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. Scars covered his body, burn scars, bullet scars, knife scars, scars from surgeries…most people had medals to show for their great battles; Heero had scars.

"Sorry," Duo mumbled, and Heero slid out of bed. Now ignoring Duo's presence, he began changing. Duo's back was to him, perhaps afraid to see Heero had more scars than he had seen before.

"Was I screaming that loudly that you could hear me?" Heero demanded, slipping a T-shirt over his head.

"Yeah. I didn't know what was going on. I thought…maybe you were being tortured or something." His head lowered. "I didn't know you were sleeping." He glanced over his shoulder to find Heero was dressed and pulling on his Preventer's jacket. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, besides the fact that I'm beginning to wish I'd never given you the key to my apartment," Heero replied.

Duo flinched. "That's a little harsh."

Heero paused in the doorway and tried to figure out why he was so angry with Duo. Because he'd woken him up? No. He'd seen the scars. It seemed silly for a moment—after all, Duo probably had scars, too, even if not as many as Heero did. The scars were a symbol of Heero's failures, his pains, his mistakes.

"I'm sorry," Heero said softly. "I didn't want anyone to see my scars."

"They don't bother me," Duo muttered. "I was just surprised. Ya didn't have to get so…pissed."

"They bother me," Heero said flatly.

Several seconds of silence passed between them. Duo was frowning at him. Heero shook his head. "Forget it. It's about time to be getting to work anyway. Aren't you coming?"

"Yeah." Duo rose and followed him out the door.

Heero leaned back against the wall of the large office he and the other Gundam pilots shared at Preventer Headquarters, listening to Duo and Quatre chat excitedly about the upcoming events.

Christmas. Defined simply in the dictionary as "a festival observed annually on December 25; the commemorative birthday of Jesus Christ." Everyone was so cheerful then…going out of there way to buy presents for others.

Heero was not planning on buying presents for his friends, and he didn't expect any. He'd told them that if they insisted upon buying him something, he'd prefer books. They were entertaining and educational, but inexpensive. He wasn't attending Relena's ball at her castle, either. It was a social event, not something he wanted to involve himself in.

Wufei seemed more cheerful than usual, Heero noted, and Trowa did, too. They were adding occasional inputs to Quatre's and Duo's conversation.

Heero, however, contented himself with leaning against the wall and listening.

He knew that he stood out most among them. He was different, though he didn't know quite why. Though it had never been officially declared, the rest looked on him as their leader. Heero was very quiet, impassive, and anti-social, but he was smart and the best pilot.

Heero's thoughts were interrupted when Duo put a Christmas CD in the computer, playing a familiar song. It wasn't one of the ones about Jesus, just about Christmas itself.

Duo picked up a pen, using it as a microphone, and sang along to the song in a deep voice. "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…"

Heero stood up, rigid, no longer relying on the wall for support. There it was again. It was memory he'd tried to suppress.

Trowa looked up and saw the look on Heero's usually emotionless face. "Heero, is something wrong?"

The others stopped to listen, worried about him as usual. They knew he'd had previous suicidal tendencies.

Heero slapped himself mentally. He shouldn't have gotten them worried. "I'm fine. I just don't like this song, that's all."

His Prussian blue eyes turned towards the clean white tiles. The bright white color blurred into another shape, though only in his mind…

Snow was on the ground, everywhere. Six-year-old Odin Lowe Jr. had never seen so much snow before. Keeping within a safe distance of his house, he ran through the snow, watching in fascination as the soles of his shoes left imprints in the snow.

He flopped on his back to the ground, moving his arms and legs to make a snow angel. After about thirty seconds, he stood up. They didn't look like very good angels to him, but they gave him an excuse to lie down in the snow.

Across the street, children were building a snowman. He waved and they waved back. Everyone seemed happy now. In a bad neighborhood where everyone was poor, it was very rare to see so many people walking around with smiles on their faces. It was even rarer in a bad neighborhood where everyone was poor and being oppressed by OZ. Odin had heard enough about OZ to decide that they were evil. His father had mentioned to him that they had hired an assassin to kill some pacifist named Heero Yuy…

The radio in his neighbor's yard was turned out loudly enough that Odin could hear the words to the song. "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas…just like the ones I used to know, where the treetops glisten and children listen…"

Loud, unfamiliar sounds rang out behind him. He turned to find huge Mobile Suits landing all around the neighborhood. Odin had seen the machines on TV…they were designed to kill people.

All the children who had been playing outside stood still and looked around, confused. Men jumped out of the Mobile Suits and rounded the children up. Odin was towards the middle of the crowd, and couldn't see over the top of the other kids' heads.

The Takashi family had a teenage daughter, probably fifteen years old, a beautiful girl. He watched two soldiers drag her off, screaming, to an alley. When she returned minutes later, tears were still streaming down her face.

"Will the hurt us, will they hurt us?" a girl next to him kept repeating over and over. Odin's eyes focused on the guns the men were carrying. They had come there for the purpose of hurting them.

The parents were taken into another crowd. A man who looked more important than the other soldiers was standing in front of them, talking. "There is a traitor among us, and we will shoot all the children if that traitor does not step out and name themselves."

A murmur rose among the crowd, but no one step forward. The man continued, "If the traitor names him or herself now, the people of this neighborhood will be spared, as well as the traitor's family. If someone else names the traitor, the neighborhood with the exception of the traitor's family will be spared. If the traitor's name is not given to us…" Probably to add dramatic effect to his words, three of the soldiers behind him cocked their guns. "Well, we must make an example of your obstinacy."

Heero found himself in the men's bathroom, vomiting over a toilet. When he stepped out, wiping his mouth off, Duo was waiting for him, frowning.

"Buddy, you are not 'okay.' Something's upsetting you and I think you should tell me what it is."

Heero passed him and washed his hands at the sink. "You think talking will make it go away?"

"No, but it'll make you feel better!" Duo objected.

"Is that why you talk so much? Because it makes you feel better? Is that your way of dealing with the death you've seen all around you, talking the ears off of everyone in your path?" Heero snapped.

Duo looked genuinely hurt. "Hey, there's no reason to be so mean."

Heero made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "Talking about a problem only lets everyone see your weakness. It doesn't make it go away."

"What do you call this, then?" Duo demanded. "Every time I try to get you to open up, you lash out at me!"

"Maybe you need to mind your own business!"

"Maybe I was only asking you about it because I cared about you!"

Heero hesitated, unable to reply to that. Duo glared at him for several seconds, then shook his head. "Forget it, man. I should have known you were a lost cause." He shoved a brightly-wrapped package into Heero's hand. "Merry Christmas," he said dully, walking out the door.

Alone on the park bench, Heero closed his eyes. His hands were folded together on his lap. There were distant sounds of children laughing and playing, girls chatting, dogs barking. None of those people having a good time came near him, perhaps afraid that his grimness would be passed on to him. I'm contagious, Heero thought. People become upset because they're around me.

Remembering the look on Duo's face hurt him. He was angry at himself for snapping at the American pilot, and he couldn't bear to think of the same thing happening to…

He looked up, sensing someone in front of him, and saw her. Violet eyes concerned, focused on only him. Light brown hair billowing in the breeze, loose for once. She had given up her Sank-styled business suits today to wear a black dress. The skirt was short, ending above her knees. Although she was wearing pantyhose and a jacket, he knew she had to be cold.

"Relena," he said. His voice came out hoarser than he had intended it to.

"Heero…" She smiled, but she looked sad. He could see the faintest hint of tears forming in her eyes, but they didn't fall. His heart sank. She was unhappy and it was his fault.

Relena sat down next to him, pushing her hair back over her shoulder. "How are you?" she asked carefully.

"Fine," he muttered, looking down.

Her voice took a sharp edge. "I'll forgive you for ignoring me since last Christmas, but I won't put up with you lying to me."

Heero was so surprised that he looked up to meet her eyes, still revealing no emotion, just studying her. She was glaring at him. "Now, I don't know what happened between you and Duo, but he's very upset. And I'm sure he didn't deserve whatever you said to him."

"He didn't," Heero admitted.

"Then why say it at all?" she asked, exasperated. "He's your friend. He was just trying to help you." When he didn't answer, she asked, "Didn't your mother ever tell you if you don't have something nice to say, you shouldn't say it at all?"

Heero's voice was soft, but the tone was harsher than he had ever used towards her before. "Don't you dare presume to know anything about my mother."

Relena looked alarmed. "I didn't mean—"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Your mother died when you were, what, about two? My mother died when I was six. I watched her die. She cried and screamed and bled, and I just laid there next to her and watched while her blood soaked my clothes."

"Heero…" She put a hand on his shoulder.

"I know…I have a tendency to be rude. I hurt people's feelings. And I don't talk a lot unless it's necessary." He looked into Relena's eyes. "Do you really want to know why I'm acting this way?"

She stared at him. "Yes."

"You're positive?" Heero pressed. "You promise you won't run away crying, that you won't look at me differently every time you see me?"

"Y-yes."

He sighed, folding his hands and unfolding them again before clasping them together so firmly his knuckles turned white. "If you really want to know…"

"I'm the traitor," a woman's voice said softly. All heads turned to Kushi Lowe, a local politician. She was a pacifist, the last person they would have expected to do something like this.

Kushi stepped forward, away from the crowd. "Kill me now, Catalonia," she said, looking fearlessly into the leader's eyes. His lip curled up and he raised the gun…

"Kushi, no!" Odin Lowe Sr. tried to pull her back. "She's lying, she's trying to protect me," he insisted to Catalonia, who looked at him with a bemused stare. "I'm the traitor, I was working on Operation Meteor, not her—please—"

"Which of them should we shoot?" one of the soldiers muttered to Catalonia.

"Shoot them all."

"All of them, sir?"

"Kill the lot of them. We can't get a straight answer—"

"Don't hurt her, please, it was only me—"

"Mommy!" Odin Jr. was hugging his mother around the legs, crying.

The shots went off and people started screaming. The bullets ripped through Kushi, and she fell on top of her six-year-old son. Blood drenched the snow as more people were shot, more people died. Odin's friend Toshio was standing next to his house, crying; a bullet went into his mouth and blew out the back of his head, splattering the bricks behind him with brains.

He watched it all under the protection of his mother's body, warm blood making his clothes and skin stick together, listening to her moan and cry. He couldn't see his father; he must have run off somewhere. Or fallen and died.

The snow was bright red. Blood was brighter than he'd seen it in the movies, more scarlet than crimson.

The firing finally stopped. "They're all dead," he heard Catalonia say, and the sound of people marching met his ears. He didn't dare to move until he knew they were gone.

A few minutes later, someone pulled his mother's body off of him. Her neck flopped around in a way he'd never seen a sleeping person's neck do. Limp, like a noodle. "Junior, it's me."

"Daddy?" Odin whispered.

"Yes, it's me."

"Where did you go? Why didn't you save Mommy?"

"She's dead, Junior. We can't save her now." His father looked down at him seriously.

"But—why? Why did they kill her?" he demanded.

"OZ is evil. They have to be stopped." He picked Odin up, giving a final glance to the body. There were real tears in his eyes. "She'd…want me to be strong," he muttered. "I'm bringing you…to a crisis center. I'll pick you up in a week or two."

"That man—"

"Catalonia. I'm leaving now to kill him, okay?"

Odin nodded shakily. "O-okay."

As they got into the car to drive to the shelter, the radio came on.

"…with every Christmas card I write. May your days be merry and bright…and may all your Christmases…"

"A whole neighborhood wiped out. My father and I were the only survivors." He paused. "It's the first Christmas I remember. Presents, Santa Claus, Jesus…they're all concepts foreign to me. I never had a real Christmas."

"Oh, Heero," Relena whispered. He could feel her hand stroking his hair.

He felt a burning in his tear ducts and knew he was going to cry. "How could I tell that to Duo? All the Christmases I've ever known have been red. I hate Christmas."

"What happened to your father?" Relena asked softly.

"He died. About two years later. He was an assassin." He shook his head. "An assassin and a pacifist. And look what they bred. An insane, confused person that doesn't know whether to be peace-minded or war-like…what am I expected to think?"

Relena held him to her and let him cry.

The End