Like a Disease

by philalethia

Trowa explaining his and Duo’s relationship. And Duo’s demise. Death, blood, weirdness, and a different take on the ‘Maxwell curse’ idea. 3x2

Disclaimer: I don't have anything to with Gundam Wing or any of the characters in it. I just borrowed them to make this fic possible.

Warnings: weirdness, supernatural happenings, Trowa POV, yaoi, blood, death, AU(?)

Review/Email: Hell yes.

Additional: Inspired by a scene from Revolutionary Girl Utena: The Movie.

* * * * *

"You don't believe me."

"How can I? What you're saying is preposterous."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"I suppose that if I were you, I would say the same thing. But…you weren't there, Heero. You didn't see what I saw. You didn't…didn't watch him die."

"No, I didn't." Sigh. "Explain it to me then. Tell me what you saw."

"I just did."

"Tell me again. I want to hear it again."

"All right. I'll tell you from the beginning."

* * * * *

I don't remember the precise moment when I first met Duo Maxwell, probably because back then he was no one important. Just another pilot.

I remember the first safe house the five of us shared. That was when I first began to notice him.

He annoyed me at first. He was so chipper, so talkative. I didn't understand how someone could be so carefree in the middle of a war.

But then he cornered me one night. We were the only two there.

"You don't say much, do you, Trowa?" he asked, his eyes glittering brightly. I remember staring into them impassively and thinking of heaven.

Wufei often says that Duo babbles continually about "nothing of importance" and everyone tends to agree with him. But the odd thing is, looking back I realize now that he spoke no more than the rest of us.

Duo spoke more fervidly than us though. He spoke with more emphasis and passion than anyone I've ever met before. His words hold power; they echo in one's mind, each time sounding slightly different until suddenly hidden implications are heard and explanations are given. We've all mused over something that he has said, normally a one-sentence statement that has little significant meaning. But there is something about the way he says it, so we obsessive over his words. Before long we've determined every single thought he had in his brain while saying that statement.

Then we say he rambles, because we're all afraid to admit that he affects us in strange ways.

I first noticed this that night alone with him. He hardly spoke and yet it seemed as though he never stopped. All I could hear was his voice.

"You know," he said softly, staring at me out of the corner of his eye, "you really should stop trying to be Heero. It really doesn't suit you."

I turned to fully glare at him. "I'm not trying to be Heero."

"Really?"

"Yes," I said, now plainly seething although I couldn't quite explain why. Then more quietly I added, "I'm nothing like Heero."

"No," he agreed. "No, you're not." He left the room abruptly. His door upstairs shut sharply; the noise made chills flitter through my spine.

I spent two hours that night staring at his closed door, listening to the seemingly unnatural silence and trying to imagine what he was doing at the moment.

By the next morning, I was painfully aware that something had changed between us. Of course, I couldn't fathom exactly what.

I remember that our eyes met at breakfast. Duo's eyes had always been violet, a bright purple that seemed entirely magical to me. But that morning they were darker, deeper, more of an indigo. Those eyes will haunt me for years to come. Even now I can still see them when I close my own eyes.

I want to say that we became friends, but that wouldn't be true. Whatever bond we'd formed overnight was not friendship. Quatre is my friend. I enjoy his company. I feel that I can tell him anything. Duo is nothing like Quatre, at least to me. Sometimes he would stare blankly at me with his indigo eyes and I would find myself staring back, unable to look away, unable to concentrate on anything but that deep blue and the strange feeling that he could see every secret that I had. Sometimes in the middle of our staring contests, his lip would quirk upwards slightly almost as if he knew something that I didn't.

Like he could see something that no one else had the power to see.

And I didn't like it. I didn't like the way my skin burned when we touched or the way he could always make me smile. I hated that he could get through the shell that I had built around myself.

So no, we weren't friends. Not at first, anyway. Friendship would come later, after the war.

It would come when I mentioned to Duo that I was going to take a break from the circus.

"You can live with me," he responded lightly. "I was just thinking that I need to get a roommate. We can move in together. If you'd like, that is."

I told him that I'd think about it.

"Do you want to?" Quatre asked me when I told him.

"No."

"You're lying," he said sternly, frowning at an invisible speck of dirt on his shoe. "I know that you are."

"I am not," I insisted.

"Yes you are." He paused to dust off his feet before sighing softly. "You may be able to hide from yourself, but you can't hide from me. You never could. I know you too well for that."

In the end I accepted Duo's invitation and moved in a week later. I didn't really have all that many personal items, so packing and unpacking hardly took much time. For that I was grateful, because I didn't have to endure for very long Duo watching my progress silently from my open door.

That was one of Duo's characteristics that I picked up on fairly quickly: he is a particularly observant person. He tended to watch my every move and then attempt to test his observations by predicting what I would do next. It was like a game. Sometimes I wondered if Duo didn't treat his whole life as though it was a game.

I realize now that it was all he could do.

He loved to cook. He insisted adamantly on preparing dinner each night and would pout if he did not get his way. His food was surprisingly good, although painfully American. I told him this once, and in response he attempted to make chicken teriyaki. It resembled soft cat food and tasted of a mix between barbeque sauce and what I imagine Clorox must taste like. I ate it anyway and told him it was wonderful. He beamed proudly and we ate it every Thursday.

I used to positively dread Thursdays. Now I'd give anything to have another one just like they used to be.

Duo also loved movies. He spent most of his spare time watching them and had a variety of favorites. I had tried to join him a few times but none of them interested me. Strange hairy creatures with big ears ranting about magic and 'forces' and such reminded me too much of Wufei. And kings having an argument about swallows and coconuts while riding an invisible horse just disturbs me.

"C'mon, Trowa," he said one night, tugging playfully on my arm. "Let's watch a movie."

"Duo," I told him pointedly, "I don't enjoy your movies. I refuse to watch any more of them."

"But Trowa, you'll like this one. I swear." He stuck his bottom lip out and made himself tear up.

My resolve crumbled almost immediately.

"What movie is it?"

He brightened instantly and resumed pulling me into the living room. "The Ghost and the Darkness. You'll like it. It has action and lions and almost no humor at all."

Duo forced me onto the sofa and plopped down next to me, practically sitting in my lap. He fumbled for the remote and started the movie. Not once during the entire film did he remove his hand from my arm.

I also might mention that The Ghost and the Darkness is my all-time favorite movie.

From that moment on, every night became a film fest. He showed me everything from Mary Poppins - which he declared to be the funniest movie ever - to Gia - which he said was the "most beautiful motion picture ever created". He forced me to watch Star Wars again, this time explaining it to me scene by scene so that I could fully "enjoy the magic". Duo cried during The Fox and the Hound. I cried during Tuesdays with Morrie. We both cried during The Cure. It was a wonderful sense of closeness that I'd never felt before.

After about a month I had seen every movie that Duo had, so we went through and watched them all over again. Eventually I became bored of them all. I could recite every single line from One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest if I cared to. But neither of us could bring ourselves to change the nightly tradition.

So we would start one each night and use it as a sort of background music while we did something else. I read, and Duo painted his nails.

I don't quite remember when he began to paint his nails. One morning I came into the kitchen to find them colored black. I grew used to it and never thought all that much about it. Until I first saw him do it, that is.

"I don't understand," I told him one night in the middle of Lestat's 'death' in Interview with the Vampire.

Duo paused briefly to glance at me before he returned to removing the polish from his thumb. "What don't you understand? I've already explained this scene to you."

I shook my head and gestured toward the array of nail care products in front of him. "No, I mean I don't understand why you do that. It's such a feminine thing."

"Is it?" he asked with a grin. "I don't see how. It's not like I'm wearing pink. A lot of guys paint their nails black."

"I've never seen any."

"Well, now you have." He shook the tiny bottle of lacquer and unscrewed the top.

A horrid smell filled my nose as I silently watched him apply the black polish in careful strokes. It seemed to be almost like an art. I watched with rapt fascination.

When he was finished he leaned back against the chair and stared at me coolly. "I have an idea," he said after a moment. "Why don't you let me paint yours?"

The look on my face must have been comical because Duo laughed warmly before beginning to blow on his nails lightly.

"Why not?" he asked between breaths. "I bet you'd look good with nail polish. I bet you'll look even sexier than I do." He winked and I felt my cheeks flush.

He took my hands in his and gently pulled me closer to him. "Relax," he murmured, "I'm not going to hurt you."

The brush touched my nail; it was cold, pleasantly cold. I closed my eyes and focused on the coldness and the circular motions his thumb made on my palm.

"I tried to get the other guys to let me do this," he commented thoughtfully. "They wouldn't let me. Quatre essentially said it wasn't his style. Wufei just glared at me. Heero said he didn't trust me."

"I trust you," I whispered, imagining the frown on his lips turning into a smile.

"I know. Thank you."

The brushes stopped and I felt his breath blowing on my fingers. I opened my eyes and blinked at the sight of my now black nails.

"I told you that you'd look sexy."

My gaze flickered up to him before I returned it to my hand, which was still being held by his. I stared at them, seeing how odd they looked together. I remember thinking that that moment would make a beautiful painting. If I had any artistic talent it would have been made into one.

Duo shifted his arm to closely examine my thumbnail and, in the process, revealed a jagged tan scar on his wrist.

I frowned at it, horrible thoughts running through my head. "What happened?" I asked, feeling sick and tired and unable to take my eyes off of it.

"Hmm?" He followed my gaze and shrugged when he saw where it lead. "I have a lot of scars," he said simply.

"Show me." Those two words tumbled out of my mouth before I could prevent them.

And he did.

He slid up the legs of his jeans and ran his fingers across the faded cigarette burns. He showed me the gnarled gunshot wound on his upper arm and the barely visible knife wound on his hip.

With each scar there was a story, and with each story there were side stories and background stories.

Duo revealed his whole life to me that night. He told me about Solo, the Church, and all the awful things he had to do for money.

I listened attentively, occasionally reaching over to touch his arm gently, to remind him that I was still there. When he was finished, I showed him my scars and told him my story. I told him about the real Trowa Barton and about the mercenaries, the ones who hated me, the ones who didn't mind me, the ones who touched me.

When I was through, I couldn't look at him so I turned my head and watched the television screen, where Louis was burning the theatre. I heard him sigh heavily.

"I wasn't going to show you this," he said, pushing away from me slightly. "But now, I think that I probably should."

I reeled around quickly and watched as he slipped off his shirt, moving so that he was facing away from me - so that I could see his back adequately.

I gasped loudly in horror.

Duo's back was nearly flawless, except for two large, gaping pink cuts lying parallel to each other. They protruded slightly, from swelling I assumed.

"It's very hard…living on L2," he muttered.

I wanted to say You got this from L2, but I didn't. I couldn't form any words. I could only stare in shock at the pink gashes that looked both old and fresh at the same time.

My hands moved on their own, reaching out to touch one of the scars with my newly painted fingertips. Duo shivered at the contact and I yanked it back.

Then I started to tremble. "Duo," I whispered, just as tiny red beads dripped from the scar.

"Hm?" He glanced behind him, where blood began to slide out of them both slowly. "Oh. Don't worry. They do that sometimes." He waved his hand vaguely.

My fingers brushed across the bleeding gashes once again, and I brought them back to examine them. His blood stained my fingers; only it didn't really look like blood. It glittered as though there were tiny stars embedded in it. I'd never seen anyone bleed like that before.

"Shouldn't you see a doctor?" I asked. "You could have an infection or-"

"I already did," he murmured. "G sent me to one when he first saw them. They couldn't explain it, said if I felt funny or anything, to come back. I feel fine. Don't worry about it."

By then the bleeding had stopped, and the redness on his back and my fingers had dried up to nothing. There were no signs that he's even bled.

I frowned in concern and reached out to touch them again. Then I leaned forward with my whole body to press a tiny kiss to each scar. Duo sighed in content and leaned into my arms.

I called Quatre the next day.

"So let me get this straight," he said, sitting up in his chair and fiddling with something that I couldn't see over the vidscreen. "They just started to bleed?"

"Yes," I said, exasperated. As if I hadn't already explained it four times.

"And Duo didn't seem to care?"

"No, he said that they always did it."

"Hm." Quatre folded his hands under his chin. "And he did go to a doctor?"

"Yes. They couldn't find anything wrong."

He pondered this for a minute or two before he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe you should call Sally. It could be a wound that got infected and never healed, so he got used to it over the years or something. I don't know. I'm not a doctor."

"But you still think that something's wrong, right?" After all, that was why I called: to confirm that I wasn't overreacting, as Duo claimed.

Quatre shrugged again but I could see the concern in his eyes.

"People don't just bleed spontaneously!" I shouted, feeling like throwing the vidscreen against the wall in frustration.

"I know that," he answered, calm and collected as usual. "But I refuse to get worked up when nothing has been proven yet. Call Sally. See what she says, then call me again and tell me."

I nodded and rubbed my forehead.

"You're really worried, aren't you?"

My head snapped up as I glared angrily at my best friend. "Of course I'm worried! What else would I be?"

"You really care for him. I've never seen you show so much emotion openly before."

I debated getting up and pacing but decided it would accomplish nothing. "I'd behave like this if any of you were fucking bleeding for no reason!"

Quatre's eyes widened almost comically. "Maybe you would be concerned, but you wouldn't scream."

I sighed in defeat and sank into the chair.

"You're in love with him," he said simply.

I laughed; I couldn't help it. "Of course I am. Isn't everyone?" I met his gaze bravely. "It's impossible to know Duo and not fall in love with him."

Quatre bit his bottom lip and looked away. "Yes," he agreed, sounding very meek and faraway. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

He paused briefly before he let his eyes meet mine again. "But you're different than the rest of us." His voice was much stronger suddenly. "He's in love with you, too."

That last sentence would haunt me for days to come - as well as Quatre's parting words, "Tell him".

I tried to convince Duo to see a doctor, knowing full well that if I contacted Sally without his consent he would throw a fit. But he wanted none of it.

"Jesus," he declared angrily. "If I'd have know you'd react like this I wouldn't have shown you."

We spent all of the next few days fighting. Finally after a week or so, we both calmed down enough to sit on the couch and have a civil conversation.

"Look," he said, rubbing his hands harshly across his jeans. "I know that you're worried, although I honestly don't understand why-"

"Why?" I interrupted. "Your back has two huge slices that have been bleeding for years, and you don't know why I'm worried."

"I told you; it's no big deal."

My voice rose suddenly, causing both of us to start. "Yes, it is-"

Duo raised his hands in protest. "Let's not fight, okay? I don't want to fight with you."

I closed my eyes and nodded. I didn't want to argue either. I always hated arguing with him.

"I'm fine," he said - it had become his mantra those days - and I felt his hands clasp my shoulders gently for effect. "I really am. Trust me."

"I do trust you." Didn't he know that I did? It seemed to me that he had to have known. I trusted him with my life. "I'm just…I'm worried."

I wondered vaguely what had happened to me. A year ago I would never have been doing that, openly admitting that I was worried about Duo's well being. So much had changed. I decided at that moment, Why not change it a little more?

I leaned into him slightly. "I love you," I murmured into his shoulder.

He tensed instantly and wretched himself away from me. "No," he stuttered. "No. Y-you can't."

"I do." Quatre's words came back to me abruptly. "You love me, too. I know that you do." I reached out to touch his cheek, an action that Catherine claimed has the power to make a person 'melt'.

"It doesn't matter." His arms flailed as he tumbled off the couch in order to escape my hand. "You can't love me. Bad things happen to those who love me."

I wanted to laugh for some reason. "It doesn't matter. I don't care. I love you." I found that I loved saying it; I wanted to say it forever.

Duo shook his head frantically. "You don't understand. You can't understand. My love is like poison. It can kill so many people."

I slipped my arm around his back. I was tempted to trace the gashes on his back, but I refrained. And to my surprise, he didn't push away.

"Solo loved me," Duo continued. "I loved him and I told him, and…" he trailed off, sliding his arm around my waist. "So many bad things can happen. So many bad things already have…"

I shook my head and leaned back to look him in the eyes. They were wide and frightened, like a caged animal. Then I kissed him.

The world stopped, or maybe it started to spin even faster. I couldn't tell. I didn't notice. The only thing that existed was us, me and him, and the way his lips moved against mine. His hand gripped my arm blindly and I gasped. His touch was like fire. It burned; it hurt. I wanted more.

He pulled away, keeping his eyes closed. "You don't want it. It's like a disease."

"Give it to me," I murmured.

Duo's eyes reopened, burning indigo holes into mine. "I love you," he whispered, pulling me into him again.

We didn't speak much that night. Most of it was inarticulate moans and whimpers that, really, spoke for themselves.

But before I had drifted off to sleep, Duo had leaned in close, brushing his lips against my forehead. "I love you," he said softly, barely even audible.

I couldn't form words. I was too exhausted.

"It's starting, you know," he continued. "I'm sorry."

I woke up the next morning with the most intense headache I'd ever had. It pounded throughout my entire body. My arms stung, as though they'd been burned by a hot poker, but I could find nothing upon examining them.

Duo woke up, stood hesitantly, and promptly fell onto the floor. I gasped and helped him up. After he reassured me that he was all right, he stumbled into the bathroom.

He returned a few minutes later, hobbling unsteadily to the bed. "I've gained 51 pounds," he declared.

"What?" I asked. "When?" He certainly didn't look like he'd gained weight. If anything, I would have guessed that he lost weight.

"Last night," was his easy response.

I could only stare at him in absolute shock. "You gained 51 pounds overnight?"

"Mmhm."

"Okay," I said, scanning the room for the vidphone. "Okay, I'm calling Sally."

"No!" He grabbed my arm, wobbling a little in the process. "No. I'm fine. It's all right."

"You are gaining weight - so much, so quickly that you can't walk properly - and bleeding spontaneously. That does not constitute as being all right to me."

"You're different than me," Duo said with a small grin. "You know, I remember Solo going through this."

Solo.

My mind flew into a rabid panic. Solo went through this; Solo isn't alive to tell about it. "You're going to die." My voice was weak and pained.

He sobered quickly before giving me a sad smile. "We all have to die, Trowa. It's inevitable." With a sigh he reached his hand to my cheek. "Look, when something is wrong with me I'm the first to know. Trust me, I'm fine."

My mind screamed no. I wanted to open my mouth and tell him just that. But all that would come out was a strangled "yes". With a definite frown I tried again. "Yes." I couldn't understand it. I'd lost the ability to speak my mind.

"Good," he said, cocking his head to the side. "Good." Duo ran his hand over his braid, which was in disarray, with barely concealed relief. "I love you." Then he kissed me, and I completely lost the ability to think.

Everything went downhill after that. Duo finally became used to the extra 51 pounds and resumed walking stably, but that was the only improvement. I started to feel strange. I had episodes sometimes, where everything would get a hazy, red tint and I found it difficult to breathe. Duo was in no better shape. He was tired constantly, and the gashes on his back bled so much I was sure that it was loss of blood that made him so weak.

I finally convinced him to see a doctor. But it was hardly any help. The man poked and prodded them until there was blood all across the examining table. He did test after test, and still he found nothing. Duo was put on medication for an infection and given cream to put on the cuts.

The doctor examined me also and once again found no reason for concern, at least physically. He put me on a mild tranquilizer and gave me the name of a good psychiatrist in the area.

The tranquilizers gave me nightmares, about death and demons. I woke up screaming each time. I flushed the pills after a week. Surprisingly the nightmares didn't stop.

Two days after Duo began applying the cream, his two scars swelled to an enormous size. They were triangular in shape and stuck out against his shirts so much that he appeared to be a hunchback. I threw his cream away, but like my nightmares, his lumps remained.

Then it happened.

I had a nightmare one night. It was about Duo. He was in severe pain; his stomach had been torn open.

I awoke to screaming. It took me several minutes to realize that it wasn't mine. I looked over to find Duo curled into a tight ball, his head against his knees and back facing the ceiling. His entire body was covered in blood, and I could see that his gashes were being ripped apart by some invisible force.

I pressed my hands against the bloody stumps, trying to stop the bleeding. Duo started at the contact, his screaming momentarily ceased. His blood glittered on my fingers and dripped down my arms. It looked like Catherine's fingernail polish. I felt sick, helpless, and ultimately scared as hell.

"I'm going to call an ambulance," I told his trembling form, unable to keep the frantic tinge out of my voice.

"Don't leave me," he choked out, sounding equally panicked. His indigo eyes peered up at me wildly, before his whole body shuddered and more shimmering blood gushed out. He resumed his screaming.

So I stayed, throwing my arms around him, as though my embrace could ease his pain. I think that, to some extent, it did.

After a minute or so, Duo suddenly threw me off of him. "It's happening," he said, obviously struggling to speak. "Hold me like this." He wrapped his legs around my waist and buried his face in my shoulder.

Then he screamed bloody terror.

And I held him through it all. I held him because it was the only thing that I could do. I held him as his nails dug into my arms. I held him as he began to cry and babble incoherent thoughts. I held him as he convulsed and panted. He reminded me of what I imagine a woman giving birth looks like.

I suppose that in a way, that's similar to what he was.

Two black masses emerged from his back, and I could only blink and stare as they trembled and rose above his head. Duo's breathing became less erratic and his screams decreased to whimpers. I continued to hold him, feeling his heartbeat and unable to take my eyes from these new forms.

Duo gave birth to wings that night, huge black wings that dripped blood all over the bed and the two of us.

I was sure that I was still dreaming. I had to be. But it all felt so real. His nails on my arms, his breath against my neck, his blood staining my clothes. It was real. I was awake.

I was awake, and my lover now had wings.

Duo was tired - understandably so - and quickly heading towards sleep. I wanted to keep him conscious, to ask him all the questions that were surging through my brain. He spoke before I could.

"I told you," he said softly, sounding so unlike himself. But then again, did I really know him anymore, this creature with wings? "I told all of you, but you never believed me."

He paused to cough and the wings above him shivered before folding down across his back, pressing against the open cuts and making him moan in pain.

"I always told you that I was the God of Death," he continued. His eyes began to close. "You never did believe me."

"How could I?" I asked, but Duo was already asleep.

I laid him on his stomach and watched him sleep for the rest of the night. He looked peaceful, and I couldn't see how it was possible. He had been through quite possibly the most painful thing ever, and yet at that moment he looked more relaxed than I'd ever seen him.

I'd be lying if I said that I was calm about it all. I was - as Duo would say - scared shitless. I was shaking. So many different thoughts were flying through my head at the same time. I was so jumbled.

But despite that, I couldn't stop touching the wings. I couldn't deny that they were beautiful, supernatural and almost fairytale-like. So I touched them to reaffirm that they existed, that I had not hallucinated it all. I let my fingers brush the swollen red area where the wings met his skin. He groaned in his sleep each time so I stopped, not wanting to cause him pain. I ran my fingers across the multiple feathers. They were smooth, soft, and so utterly alive. I could actually feel Duo's heartbeat more prominently in them. I wondered if maybe his heart was buried deep inside those feathers. I think I spent most of the night subconsciously searching for it.

"Everything's changed," he told me when he woke up. He was braiding his hair, staring into my eyes in the mirror.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me.

"I warned you. Don't even say that I didn't."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did." Duo sighed and tied the end of the braid with a hair tie. "I told you that bad things happened when I fell in love. You didn't believe me. You never believe me, do you?"

I felt overwhelmed. "How the hell could I have expected this?"

He shrugged and struggled to place his hair on his back without it getting caught in the feathers. "You wouldn't have believed me even if I told you. You have to see something like this to accept it as true."

"And what exactly is 'this'? You never did tell me."

"Yes, I did. I'm the God of Death. I told you that."

"Yes," I said, feeling silly and still wondering if perhaps I was dreaming. "But what does that mean?" I couldn't believe that I was having such a conversation. I couldn't believe that I hadn't mentally broken down yet. I was sure, however, that it was coming.

Then Duo began to speak. About things that I already knew, except with new twists. Everything that seemed so strange before suddenly made sense, and everything that made sense before became strange. I don't think I breathed until he was finished; I didn't want to miss a single thing that he said.

I felt worse when he was done. I was lost, confused, afraid, and cursing myself for ever falling in love with him at all.

He smiled at me in the mirror, and I wanted to hit him.

"Why are you so happy?" I shouted, clenching my fists and grinding my teeth. I didn't understand. Why wasn't he as miserable as I was?

"Because," he answered, looking wistful. "Because I've waited for this moment for so long, as long as I can remember."

Duo inhaled deeply, and his wings extended to their full size above his body. He closed his eyes as they stretched. I wanted to look away; I should have looked away. But I couldn't. I found myself wanting to touch them again. I think I did. I'm not really sure.

"I feel more alive right now than I've ever felt before," he said longingly, and his wings fluttered suddenly, causing a chill to go through my body. "Don't worry. Things will change, and it may get a little weird for a while. But," his eyes reopened, "it'll all get better in the end."

He was more jovial after that, which was really the exact opposite of what I'd expected. Despite what he said, I still fully believed that he would quickly become miserable. So I waited for it, but it never came.

He was confined to the house, for obvious reasons. We couldn't hide the wings, and people would not take too well to them. He rarely ate, and I honestly don't think that he ever slept. In fact, he rarely did anything besides watching movies and trying to coax me into bed with him.

That was another thing that changed drastically: the sex. It was more intense, more passionate. Each time felt as though it would be our last, although I couldn't explain why it felt that way. It was difficult to hold him like I did before, but I did it anyway. In a way, it was better; I felt that in bed it was all right to touch his wings at all possible moments. And he seemed to enjoy it. The wings made him more expressive, as if that was possible. Duo had to always be on top of me, which I was perfectly fine with. When he came he would throw his head back and his wings would spread and tremble along with his body.

I think that I watched his wings more than I did him. I was enthralled by them.

I couldn't understand why something so pristine made him look so dirty. It could have been the black, but I think he would have looked the same with white.

Life was perfect then, I think. It sounds funny. But it was. I was happy. He was happy. We both knew everything about each other; there were no secrets. We trusted each other. We were in love. We were happy.

And then it changed.

There was a plague on L2, right around where we lived. I remember thinking Another one? and not being able to believe it. But the proof was all there. Television stations devoted whole days to covering it.

I watched nearly every night as more and more children died. I saw their dead bodies being buried in mass graves. I saw people burn their spouses. I'd never seen such a thing in my life.

Then Duo started to get sick. He coughed constantly and complained that he felt like shit. I urged him to see a doctor.

"It's inevitable," he told me. "I warned you."

Yes, he did. He warned me but I didn't want to believe it back then. Now it was happening. I didn't call a doctor; I didn't get any help or try to prevent it. I just held him - the same as I did before - held him as he got sicker and sicker.

After a week, he could hardly breathe. His skin was covered with red rashes. His feathers had begun to fall out in large clumps. Our apartment was covered with them. He actually began to cough up blood. It took every ounce of my strength not to call the hospital and have them send an ambulance.

I could feel him dying. I felt as though I was going through it with him. Each day I could feel a little bit more of his soul leaving me.

"Everything's changed," Duo told me one evening with his head in my lap.

I stroked what was left of his wings, grimacing as four fell onto the floor. "You've said that before."

"I know." His voice was hoarse, and he paused to cough heavily. Specks of blood stained my jeans, and I had to choke back tears. "Sorry," he muttered, reaching a shaky hand to wipe them away.

"It's all right." I touched his cheek gently. "Tonight's the night, isn't it?"

His eyes closed and inhaled deeply. "Yes," he breathed. "I think it is." He paused and gave me a weak smile. "Don't worry though. I killed a lion with my hands once, you know."

I tried to smile at the reference to The Ghost and the Darkness - my favorite movie. My favorite movie that he introduced me to. "What am I supposed to do?" I asked, just as a small tear slid down my cheek. I blinked the following ones away. I would not cry. Duo asked me not to cry.

"Nothing. Just hold me."

I put my arms around his tiny frame and held him for hours. It was dawn before he spoke again. And when he did, I felt empty and horrible at how pained he sounded.

"Trowa. I love you."

I pressed him closer to me. "I love you too."

Duo gasped and began to convulse violently. I sobbed into his hair as I felt the last of his soul leave and his last deep breath on my neck. I found myself waiting for him to inhale again. He never did.

Words can't describe what I felt then. I can't possible convey to you how awful it was.

When he finally stilled, I opened my eyes and watched in horror as his beautiful black wings shriveled before disappearing into the darkness of the room. I touched his back, but my questing fingers encountered nothing but perfect, unscarred skin.

With a sob, I buried my face into his cold neck, tears now flowing freely down my face.

* * * * *

"…You think I'm crazy."

"No, I don't. I think you're sick. I think you're sick with grief. You just had a traumatic experience-"

"No. No, you're wrong."

"Duo died, Trowa. Not because he was an angel of death. He died from an outbreak of the L2 plague-"

"He caused that plague, Heero. Don't you see?"

Pause. "I think maybe you should see someone, Trowa."

"Why? Because you can't believe what's right in front of you?"

"No, because what you just told me is inconceivable."

"Is it really, Heero? He always used to say that he was Shinigami. Maybe he really was. Maybe he knew something that no one else did."

* * * * *

You don't want it.

"Trowa? Are you all right? You're being very quiet this evening."

Bright aqua eyes stare at me. I wonder if he realizes how pure he looks, how innocent, how white. Alive.

"I'm fine, Quatre, just a little tired."

"Maybe you'd better go on to bed then," he says cheerfully. "You have to go to the doctor tomorrow, remember. You want to be rested for that." I can hear his voice waver on 'doctor'.

They still think I'm crazy.

It's like a disease.

"I really miss him," I mutter softly, but loud enough for him to hear clearly.

He looks gentle and compassionate at my admission. "I know, but it'll get better."

Yes, it probably will.

I nod and turn to leave.

Give it to me.

My head is pounding agonizingly. I suspect that that's normal. The constant coldness, too.

I slide off my clothes and wrap my arms around myself as another torrent of chills overwhelms me.

Closing my eyes, I wonder idly how long it will take to get over him. The sooner I can move past this, the sooner I can fall in love again. And the sooner I fall in love again, the sooner I can see Duo again.

As I think this, two twin rivers of blood stream out of the newly formed pink gashes on my back.

I love you.