Disclaimer: Ashen, despite her most fervent wishes, does not own and does not have any relation to Gundam Wing and its affliates. Ashen is not making any profit from writing this, nor does she have permission to.

Pairings: 1x2x1, probable mentions of 3x4

Summary: Duo's exhausted, overworking himself to the point of death – and he welcomes it all with open arms. But then he finds mysterious drawings appearing, showing him what he'd lost, and he begins to rethink his life...

A Thousand Words

Four

True friends stab you in the front. – Oscar Wilde

He made a little bet with himself, standing in front of his office door on Monday morning. See Duo in this corner, ladies and gentlemen, full of confidence, as steady as they come, look at him, I wouldn't like to take him on, not me, not with those odds! But ah – here we have a brave soul, what a cocky little lad, from the land of dee-nial, he won't let the winning streak of our Duo go unchallenged, what a plucky guy, let's cheer for, yes, Other-Duo, people! C'mon, give it up!

Fingers moved. The knob turned. The door opened…

Revealing an office bare of any traces of white sketching paper.

OH that was a good one! En-tire-ly unexpected, all – Other-Duo's a black horse, that's what he is! Duo's down, people – the question is, is he getting up?

What…? He'd been so sure – after going to so much trouble, after finding a hot dinner on his kitchen table every night since one week ago – no one, no one, would just… stop. Two Mondays had seen drawings, why not today? Why trace his history – why follow him around – why all that time spent, and just… he scanned the office again.

Nothing.

Really nothing.

Aaaand we have a winner! What a show! What a fight! Other-Duo, everyone, our new champion!

He was going insane, he was sure of it. What he wasn't sure of was if that feeling simmering in him was relief or disappointment. He wasn't sure he wanted to know, either. No, wait, scratch that – he was sure he didn't want to know. He didn't need to, either. It wasn't worth bothering with, the important thing was that he was safe now, alone again and what that made him feel didn't matter at all dammit and he could get on with work in peace. Relative peace. It didn't matter how or why or anything now.

Will there still be dinner tonight? a plaintive voice asked inside him. Appalled at himself, Duo realized that he'd gotten used to the warm, filling food. Used to it, to an impossible act of kindness that he didn't deserve. He firmly told himself that whether there was food or not tonight didn't matter. He should be wary of the food, not so – so foolishly accepting. Someone was breaking into his house nightly, for god's sake! He was sure he should be feeling horrified at the thought, but he couldn't bring himself to. It wasn't as if anything was stolen anyway.

He knew how weak he was being, but decided that he didn't need to care. As long as he wasn't dead – who was he to question someone else's case of Chronic Food-Leaving Disease?

Besides, that same voice in his head told him that the perpetrator could only be one of four people, and he would trust them with his life. He had no proof, no wish to prove it as long as the person remained out of sight. He would let it continue, if only because he couldn't dredge up the courage to confront them head on.

Coward.

Yes.

Stepping quietly into the office he shut the door behind him, shut all thoughts and all feelings, such unimportant things, shut them all out in the hallway and his life and went to his desk. Chair, briefcase, papers. Table, files, papers. Tray, in-and-out, papers. Paper, it was all bloody paper, he spared a thought for the millions of dead trees but couldn't bring himself to care so much about the trees as the bloody person who had thought of the idea in the first place. Whoever it was must have hated trees to the core, sat there and glared at the leaves and bark and asked himself okay, what can I do to kill trees in a way that people will love me for it and not mob me like they should, and come up with I am a genius! Paper, that's it!, but still, hatred was no excuse to kill people. Trees.

He should know.

Maybe he should hate the person who came after the first tree-hater and thought, Who cares if we have computers, I hate trees and I'm going to come up with some stupid law that insists that paperwork must come in both hard and soft copies.

When he got to hell, he would spend eternity searching for those two, and kill them very, very slowly. Probably he'd have to wait his turn in a line of trees, though, and trees and other assorted humans who'd been subjected to… bureaucracy. And then had been driven insane and did frownable things and got sent to hell.

There was a moment where his brain stopped working, and then Duo hit himself on the forehead.

What the hell am I thinking?

A night with no sleep at all apparently screwed up the brain and made it fire random synapses of insanity. Damn the idiot who'd tried to cheat him. He ought to seek him out, man-to-man, personal business, not work business at all, oh no, just wanted to have a little chat with you, Mr Barker, nice and friendly. All said through a smile that had teeth.

Sighing, he pushed that idea out of his head and focused blearily on the self-multiplying pieces of documents on his table. This was really work for accountants, firms that specialized in this sort of thing and all the legal court procedures that followed, but he didn't want to spend the money when, with time and lots of patience – ha, patience, but he would find some if it killed him – he could do it himself and use the money for better purposes.

He made it a point to donate a significant amount of money to orphanages every few months, after all, and he'd hate to fall short of the money he'd sent before.

Working through his lunch break, absent-mindedly gnawing on a ration bar around the time, only made a small dent in the stack of paperwork and absolutely no headway in Mr Barker's documents. He didn't have enough evidence to prove the man's deceit, he just knew, but I have a very bad feeling about him wouldn't cut it in public. It would only have worked in the war, where you learnt to rely on your instincts and your teammates did, too, because every one of them knew that you knew people way better than they did, even Quatre who was the expert in diplomacy, because diplomacy was for the high-ups. Duo knew the streets and the common man, and they trusted his judgement, trusted him…

He cut that line of thought off harshly. It led to dangerous places.

The next time he looked up from his desk, the clock said six; since when had it rolled around to six? He hadn't noticed the sky growing dark, the sound of movement outside growing softer… he looked up just in time to catch the door opening slightly and a pair of eyes peer through.

His secretary blinked when she saw that her employer was looking back at her. "Mr Adams? Everyone's gone home… you should pack up, sir, and do the same. If I may say so, sir, you look quite tired. I could help you pack your briefcase while you go splash a little water on your face? It's not safe to go around at night half-asleep."

He had to admit that she was probably right… not that he was worried about security, but he was worried about missing his stop and wasting even more time. "Thank you, Ms Jones… that would be helpful," he said quietly, giving her a tired smile. "Could you put this stack in the briefcase… this file, too, and this one. Leave the rest neatly piled on the desk."

"Of course, Mr Adams."

When he came out of the bathroom, his desk was neat and his briefcase already padlocked shut. He'd hired Ms Jones because she hadn't had much previous experience, and that was always bad to other employers, but he'd seen potential and her competency had proved to be solid. She offered the briefcase to him with a smile, and he took it with murmured thanks. Locking the office door behind him, he accompanied her on her round around the office, making small talk as they double-checked everything, and turned off the lights. He asked her about the little vacation she was taking for the rest of the week with her boyfriend, and she practically glowed as she talked about what they would do. He has to smile at her excitement, and thought wistfully about when he had last felt something so… light.

"You should take a break yourself, Mr Adams. It'll do you good," she said suddenly, breaking off mid-ramble as they left the lift, on their way out of the building.

He laughed, caught off-guard. Normally she was quiet, but it seemed that her anticipation was causing her personality to show tonight. "I've too much to do right now, but thank you for the concern."

She gave him a surprisingly bright smile with a sort of… satisfaction? "Well then, when your workload lessens, remember to treasure that time. Good night, Mr Adams!" she called as she ran to her boyfriend's waiting car. Bemused, he watched as she waved at him as the car drove away before turning to walk to the bus stop.

He made a little bet with himself, standing in front of his apartment door on Monday evening. Taking a deep breath, he reached out. Fingers moved. The knob turned. The door… opened.

It hadn't been locked.

Unwittingly, a treacherous tendril of something he refused to name curled in his stomach. He went in on automatic, locked the door on automatic, and his feet moved automatically in the direction of the kitchen; he wasn't aware that his pace had quickened, his stride lengthened in his haste. He came to an abrupt stop just inside the doorway to the kitchen.

Lagsane tonight, his mind noted smugly. I like lagsane.

Suddenly all strength seemed to go out of his legs. Duo leaned hard against the doorframe, staring at the innocuous set-up on the table – the same folded paper bag, the same take out container, the same little note from Carrie giving him little anecdotes about her day and admonishing him to take care of himself. The same little note… written on good quality sketching paper.

He hasn't forgotten me.

Immediately on the heels of that thought was, Why are you so relieved? You're not supposed to rely on anyone anymore, remember? What happens when one day, inevitably, he – whoever it is – does?

I'll deal with it when that day comes. For now – I'm just grateful for the food.

And that little voice went, Liar. He ignored it.

Pushing himself away from the frame, he put his briefcase on the tabletop and took a fork out from a drawer, pulling a chair out and sitting down. He opened the container, and the smell of the food made his stomach clench. He was now eating one proper meal a day and his body looked forward to it.

Absently he pulled the briefcase over and entered the combination to unlock the padlock as he ate. Letting the lid fall open he found –

Duo choked. Swearing, tears came to his eyes as he coughed, fork dropping from his hand. When he'd gotten his breath back and his eyesight had cleared, he grabbed the briefcase, dinner forgotten, and frantically checked all the pockets. His search yielded nothing except what he'd seen before – namely, nothing. No files, no official-looking brain-numbing documents, no paper except – except – his mind finally caught up to what his eyes had noticed and his fingers had felt.

Sketching paper.

A note, written on sketching paper in his secretary's hand, and underneath…

He opened the note, avoiding looking at what was underneath it. He refused to acknowledge it. He was doing a lot of that nowadays.

Hello Mr Adams! I'm sorry for the presumption on my part, but your friend was so earnest and we at the office all know how hard you've been working, and we've always thought it was a shame you had to take all that work onto yourself. He said it was a surprise for you, we've never seen him before but he knew a lot about you and he had Mr Jaggers with him so we thought it should be fine. The two of them are going to work on your documents so you can get some much-needed rest! Please do. You look like a panda. Those Chinese ones that eat bamboo. Oh, and the drawing's from him too.

Sincerely, Kelly Jones

P.S. He swore me to secrecy on who he was and how he looked like, so don't try asking. When I asked him why, he said that this is what friends do. I wish I had a friend like that – I could go on vacation all the time!

He re-read the note again, and then put it carefully back into the briefcase. He shut the lid, pushed the case away, and turned back to his rapidly cooling dinner. The food tasted wonderful, but every bite reminded him of what he'd refused to look at. When he finished the last bit, he stared into the empty container and swore under his breath to himself.

Who was he trying to fool?

With jerky, abrupt movements, furious at himself, he flung open the briefcase and snatched the roll of paper from it. He pulled off the red rubber band and threw it somewhere, and then yanked the roll open.

And promptly dropped it from nerveless fingers.

He stared at the paper on the table, which had rolled itself back up, but he didn't need to see the picture drawn on it to remember what it was of. The style was the same, the person drawn impossibly real, and Duo could have almost felt fingers touching his shoulder, hesitant and tentative and terribly sad, as their owner reached out to him with that look on his face, the one that spoke of heartache and worry and helplessness, the look that bared his soul and cast shadows in his bright eyes and made Duo feel like an utter bastard.

Quatre, in a black and white that made his misery all the more stark, and his deep love for the people he called family all the more plain.

He'd never been able to resist the blond with that look, and that outstretched hand had always led to him being enveloped in a full, real hug that shared strength between two weary brothers. The last time he'd felt that hug –

People always blame others for bad things, Duo. You can't take him seriously –

Yes I can, he was right, dammit –

He was not. Dying people always say things they don't mean, they panic –

I rather think they're entitled to! They're dying!

Not because of anyone –

Not anyone, no, you're right. Because of me.

Duo –

Because of me.

The words stopped there. His throat refused to emit another sound, his eyes stung, his fists clenched and he roughly pushed away the hand on his shoulder, and then Quatre made a low sound of anguish and suddenly he was wrapped in a tight hug and Quatre was murmuring fiercely, each word full of hurting, and he couldn't hold back anymore. Trapped in that embrace, he gave in to that strength and let the tears go, listening to those whispered words.

Not you, Duo. Not you. Don't ever think that way.

But he knew Quatre was wrong.

He stared at that paper for what felt like forever, trembling. And then, as if in a dream, he fumbled for his mobile phone and dialled.

Once, twice…

"Hello?"

He froze. Couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, couldn't… anything.

"Um, hello? Who is this?"

He could almost see the half-curious, half-impatient set of smiling lips. Could almost see the eyebrows drawn together. He could hear the murmur of voices in the background, and remembered that it was around dinnertime there, too.

Who is it, love?

I don't know, there's no one speaking.

Maybe something's wrong with the connection?

Maybe it's a wrong number.

Trowa. Then Quatre, then Trowa again and then Wufei… he could hear their voices. He could see them sitting at the head of that ridiculously long table in the Winner dining room – or maybe they'd gone for informality today, and ate in the kitchen, though of course the kitchen standards were roughly equivalent to that of a restaurant, in Quatre's mansion. He could see Trowa's raised eyebrow, Wufei's dismissive shrug.

"Hello? I think there might be something wrong with the connection, since I can't hear you… or you might have called a wrong number. This is Quatre, by the way. Does that help? Um."

He closed his eyes, and it was that day again, his words stuck in his throat, unable to voice what he wanted to say, though he didn't really have anything to say. It had all been said. What else was there?

Suddenly he painfully, achingly wanted a hug. And what was worse was that he didn't want it to be from Quatre; he wanted it from a familiar set of arms, a wonderfully familiar body with unbelievable strength that always cradled him so carefully despite the fact that either of them could kill with their bare hands. A familiarity that had been the hardest to forget. He wanted… he wanted –

Heero.

A wave of loneliness and desperation washed over him, leaving his chest feeling too-tight and his eyes blurring.

On the other side of the line, there was a sharply drawn breath.

Quatre? Quat-love, what's wrong?

Winner, are you alright?

There was the sound of chairs scraping the floor, pushed back from a table.

Quatre. Look at me.

Trowa, he's bone white –

The voices grew louder, approaching the phone, but then suddenly fell silent. And then, a voice catching, stumbling, tripping over itself, breaking –

"Duo?"

He should never have let the picture affect him so much. He should never have given in to his weakness. He should never have called. He should cut the line now.

He clutched the phone tighter in his fingers, and didn't say a word.

"Duo. I… don't know what to say. I miss you. We all miss you. Not only the four of us, but everyone else, too. No one blames you. We want you back. Please…" Quatre's voice was a whisper. "Please come back.

"Come home."

A sob escaped Duo's throat, and he pulled the phone away from his ear, jabbed wildly at the button that would cut off the connection and got it on the third try, and then dropped the thing on the table. He swayed on his feet, staring at it and the drawing next to it, fighting the almost overpowering urge to call back, to give up his life of the past six months and return. He managed to fight it down, but that took all his strength, and after he staggered over to the kitchen wall, he slid down to curl into himself, put his head in his hands and cried.

Sometimes it really does take all your strength to stay strong, and not give in to the tears. Sometimes all you can do is hold yourself together until you get to a safe place, an alone place, where you can cry with abandon. Sometimes what you want scares the shit out of you.

Whee. Poor Duo. (:

Exams are O-VER. Thank you all for waiting! This here is a nice long chapter to thank you properly and to make up for the wait.

And thank you verymuch for reading.

Ashen Skies
"On the other side of the line, there was a sharply drawn breath."