Chapter 1: Duo Maxwell

It's been a year now since Heero Yuy just decided to get up and go missing.

I remember it so clearly, much more clearly than I want to. It's not just that it's painful, but I'm certainly at fault, even if I'm not sure why. It all ties back to that night with Heero, the enigma boy; the one no one knew, really, but me.

I would like to write a novel about Heero someday. The dialogue would consist of mostly '...'s and 'Hn's, but between the lines would be a story of courage and a soul doomed to destroy.

Yeah, I can be poetic if I want to. My own book would have more in it than you would think. If Heero wrote it, it would most likely go somewhat like, "Was too much of a stupid person to live. Had nice hair until his own Gundam fell on him." His ideas of my capabilities weren't exactly high. But, that almost sounds critical of him. You shouldn't criticize the dead...

He had this habit of staying up late at night, just sitting on his bed, doing nothing. Probably he was looking out the window, but there are no stars visible with all the pollution around here, and the moon was never visible from our room. What he saw out there was a total mystery. In the beginning, I almost thought—hoped—that it was me he was looking at, watching in the slight light that was just cast by the smog-filled air. Night after night, I lost precious sleep with my head turned just so, eyes shut as smooth as they could be, praying that it was me he was looking at, and that he should be given something worthwhile to see.

It was nearly a month before I stopped and looked, really looked, at myself in the mirror over his bed. After that I simply turned my head away when he was awake. My sleeping times did not improve.

But anyway, Heero—that's such a stupid name. Did you realize that we're all numbers in different Earth languages? We fit our Gundams, too. Pretty cool, huh? Well, okay, it's a bit cheesy. I mean, Duo—that's Spanish, right? I'm American! Trowa means three in... something... but 'Trowa' sound kind of like three anyway. Quatre is four, also in Spanish... no... French? French. Or maybe Portuguese. I can never remember. But definitely not Arabian. Wu Fei, well, who knows? Maybe his name really is in Chinese. Sounds a bit like it, right?

Languages are really not my thing.

But Heero! The name makes him sound like a sandwich (a really good sandwich, but a sandwich nonetheless) and whatever he is, it's not a sandwich. A bird, maybe. Like the one in that poem, the 'Nevermore' one. A crow, maybe? Ah, raven. He really is the kind of person that would hang around some poor guy's window and just say one word. Except his word would be "...", not something cool like "nevermore".

Yeah, so I'm rambling again. I don't normally. I only do it when it's too painful to think. And Heero... is a painful subject.

Back to that night. Heero was sitting on his bed again. He had been unusually quiet that day (as in, not even saying 'hn' when I spoke to him, because Heero is never a chatterbox anyway) but sometimes he was just like that, naturally. There was something about him right then, though; something that seemed sad. Heero wasn't usually sad—just angry, or cold, or violent. As I said, I know him better than most and I can tell you, he was sad.

So, he was looking out the window like usual. And then, he stood up. I could sense him moving around the room as if looking for something. This was definitely becoming not his usual, and I almost opened my eyes, but something told me not to. I've found through experience that trusting my instincts is a good thing, so I just waited, silent.

At last he came over to me, and... it was strange. He knelt down and pressed his cheek against mine...

It was wet.

I couldn't understand it. Maybe he had gotten a cut earlier and it was bleeding? That was about as smart as my mind was working. I couldn't think at all; not with him that close, not with his breath in my ear. He held there, as if he wanted me to wake him up, talk him out of whatever was going on, but my instincts said, "Stay silent."

I will never listen to my instincts again.

After a while he stood, then climbed up onto my bed, feet braced on the pillow. He was doing something with the window, maybe getting a better view. Like I said, I wasn't thinking at all, but I couldn't resist: I let my head fall to the side, let my lips brush his cold, cold skin. He paused—had he felt that?—then as the pressure lifted off my bed, it hit me, hard. I knew what he was doing. Now I raised my head, now I opened my eyes... but it was too late. Heero was gone. Gone. And I had done nothing to stop him.

The others didn't seem that worried when they heard the next morning. Sometimes I almost got the feeling that they didn't care about the pilot, but that certainly wasn't true. I know Quatre seemed to see something worthwhile in him, and the way Trowa looked at him definitely made me want to beat him up some, and if Wufei had any thoughts whatsoever, he probably liked the kid. But really, it was me that cared most. Don't ask me why. There's just something about him that screams, hold me, love me, this is a mask, take it off. I used to hate those kinds of people...

I don't hate him.

In fact, I love him. But that's a secret. You get killed for thinking things like that.

Especially when it's about Mr. #1 Sandwich Yuy.

So, today was the year anniversary of his disappearance. We knew a month after he was gone that he was dead. There was a report of an OZ base blown to the sky, then... nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. There was no rational hope of him being alive.

I'm not a very rational person.

Which was why, of all the million and one better places I could think of being, I was at the house of the Foreign Minister herself.

Relena Peacecraft.

Now, of course you agree with me that Heero's an awful name, but Peacecraft? How bad do you get?

Anyway.

After awhile of waiting, a butler opened the door and gave my clothes a critical look. I looked just fine: cool white tee and the usual black pants (okay, so the pants were about a half size too small, but nothing too noticeable, right?). It took me some time to convince him that yes, I was a Gundam pilot, and no, I wasn't going to assassinate Relena (oddly enough, I'll bet that if it was Heero that showed up the door, he'd be let in without an hesitation. Oh, Heero...) but finally I was admitted to see her. She seemed to have grown up a lot; she was what, 18 now? 19?

It occurred to me that I didn't know how old I was. It was vaguely disturbing.

Anyway, I got served tea, and these cookie things that looked wonderful but tasted awful. Finally, she inquired on why the heck I had come.

"I just wanted to know if anyone gave you the news about Heero," I said slowly.

She looked oddly eager. "Yes? What about him? Did he finally decide?"

"Decide... what?" I looked at her blankly.

A secret little smile was my only answer. "Never mind that. Well?"

"Relena... he's... dead." It was hard to choke it out. Saying those words out loud it gave reality a finality that seemed almost wrong. We had never spoken it... never let it be true...

Her cup crashed to the ground and she shrieked, staring at me, stark white. "What?! What do you mean he's dead? Since when?"

I looked down. "I... I thought you might have known... or I'd have come sooner. It's been almost a year now..."

The words were painful enough to say, but I was really, really not expecting the harsh blow to my cheek. I've been in hundreds of fights and came out grinning every time, but there's just something about being slapped by a girl that completely destroys you. I stared up at her furious face.

"Duo Maxwell! I should have guessed that you'd do something so awful like that! I cannot believe your gall! I don't want to see your face here again!" Her voice was deafening, and scary. I didn't understand this at all.

"If he's been dead for a year, then who did I just see last week, hmm? Next time, at least have your lies make sense!"

Last week. Last week. I saw him last week. She was on the last word when I was already out the door, running. Running. Relena doesn't lie. Heero was alive...

Alive...

Alive...

There was hope after all.

There was hope...

So, what do you think? It's a little fast, maybe, but it's looking promising. Do you like it? Let me know. Do you see something entirely vital you just have to tell me about? Let me know that, too.