Broken Glass
WARNINGS: Allusion of shounen-ai. Don't say I didn't warn you.
::grins nervously:: Okay, this is my first fanfic...be nice...and I warn you, there are many gaps in my knowledge about Gundam Wing. I know the characters and the main plot, but that's about it. ::shrugs hopelessly:: But angst is my specialty, and this is just a little something...
I am not claiming to be perfectly accurate about my info about the Gundams and their pilots and everything – don't own Gundam Wing, either.
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He cradled Duo's unresponsive form in tanned arms, holding the black-clad boy as close to him as possible. He still gave no sign of being either dead or alive – not cold, only faintly warm, but there was no pulse in his neck, nor any beat of his heart.
The Deathscythe pilot couldn't be dead. Not the talkative, cheery mask. Not the pain-shredded interior. Not the Duo Maxwell he had known for all these years.
It wasn't as if they had been friends all their lives – 'friendship' was hardly the word to describe it. Heero's thoughts flashed back to their first painful meeting – then the time they had spent together during the war.
The Perfect Soldier felt his eyes begin to tear as he remembered all the things he never said – the times silence settle awkwardly over both of them as Duo trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished. He remembered the glimpses of pain in the other's violet eyes when he went back to his laptop. Ignoring him. Shutting him out.
He remembered the moments when Duo would turn his head away, letting his bangs flop into his eyes as he hid his tears.
I'm sorry, 02. All the times he could've added one little bit of sunshine to Duo's darkened dawn, thinking that the braided baka should know better by now to try and talk to him. He turned out the lively American's never-ending stream of words. The happy, carefree mask that covered the real Duo Maxwell hadn't cared – but sometimes the mask slipped. He had seen shards of the hurt within – and it hadn't mattered to him.
He'd assumed the other pilot had dealt with his pain as he himself did. But Duo had never been trained to be a perfect solder – he had never been forced to become an emotionless killing machine. He was still Shinigami, but at the core of Shinigami was the soul of a human being.
He'd grown to love Duo Maxwell like the brother he'd never had – no. More than a brother. He hadn't realized the extent of his own feelings until it had been too late. Too late to do anything. Too late to tell Duo how much he meant to him.
The boy could be a complete baka at times, yes, but the love was still there. It had been years they'd worked together, slowly accepting each other's habits and mannerisms until it was ingrained in their very bones. Life without Duo would be empty. He'd have to go back to his former, dull, almost mechanical attitude.
He didn't want to admit it, but Duo had forced him to accept human nature. Heero Yuy was still the Perfect Soldier, but it was a perfection that contained human qualities. Would that change now that Duo was as good as gone? Would he become once again cold and unfeeling?
Duo was the only one to ever have cracked his icy exterior, shattered his glass armor. And now Duo was dying – no vital signs. He was becoming colder, cold as the ice that he himself had melted.
Heero knelt and laid his one-time partner on the snow-brushed ground. He gently swept Duo's auburn hair away from his elfin face – and then he saw it. The cross. The white cross Duo had always worn. It slid off of his neck and into the snow – the chain had broken somehow.
Heero stared dumbly at the spot where it had fallen for several moments, then dug it out of the snow, the fluffy substance turning to water and running down his hands in rivulets. This was the symbol of Duo's religion – what he believed in above all else. Maybe...maybe it could help. He closed his right hand into a fist around the cross and held onto Duo's cold wrist. If Duo Maxwell – the chatterbox, the joker – could believe, then so could Heero Yuy, the Perfect Solder.
Please, he thought. If there is anyone up there...
Was there a higher being in the clouds, watching over Duo?
He believes. Why just let him go so easily?
No answer.
Gods, don't let him die...don't let him die... This was what Duo had called 'praying' – he said someone was supposed to be listening.
And still there was silence.
He twisted the links in the chain back together and fastened the cross back around the auburn-haired pilot's neck. "Duo...don't leave me..."
And then there was light.
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Well, if there's anyone reading this right now who likes it...drop a review, please!!!