Title: Hard Days
Author: Fluff
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Pairing: eventual 2 x 3
Warnings: Some vague spoilers
Summary: Duo decides he can no longer be left alone with his memories. He calls on an old acquaintance to relive a life he both misses and regrets.
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to its lawful owners.
Hard Days
Chapter 4
By Fluff
"What's your favourite passage?" Trowa and Duo were still lounging around in Duo's bed, wrapped comfortably in the blankets, staring dutifully at a shabby looking bible.
"'And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works'," Duo replied softly, caressing the cover of the book. "Revelations 20... I forget which lines. I've carried those words with me for a long, long time."
"The God of Death, was it?" Trowa mimicked Duo's touch on the book, and their fingers touched briefly. "You were always comfortable with judging them?" Duo knew to whom Trowa was referring: Those countless, faceless soldiers who stood against the Gundams, prepared to die...
"I didn't judge them," Duo said bitterly, wrapping his arms around his knees. "I couldn't. Judgment is not my domain; punishment is. I leave the whole Heaven-Hell-Purgatory thing to Him." He pointed one finger weakly to the ceiling. He hated where this conversation was going.
"You still believe in God?"
"Yeah, I do. It's Sister Helen's God, so it's my God, too. I always put my faith in her, so in a roundabout way, I always put my faith in Him."
"Do you attend?" Trowa asked quietly, sensing Duo's uneasiness.
"Every Sunday, without fail. And it's funny, you know, because everyone else in that church looks so damned happy to be there."
"But it doesn't make you happy." Duo could have sworn Trowa got closer to him without even moving.
"Fuck, no. I hate going to church. But I do it, and I sit through it, and I pray and pray. Never seems to make a difference, though."
"Maybe you don't let it." Trowa looked to the ceiling, squinting, perhaps trying to make out a celestial silhouette on the plaster. "Maybe you really have lost your faith, and you won't admit it."
"What do you believe?" Duo asked, following Trowa's gaze, trying desperately to steer the conversation away from himself.
"I believe... in myself. I believe I have the power over my own destiny." A ghost of a smile passed over Trowa's lips. "I believe the only person who can rightly judge me is myself. I wouldn't dare even think of what would happen if someone else judged me." A barely perceptible shiver stole up Trowa's spine. "I don't believe in Hell for that very reason. I don't want to be scared to die."
To say Duo was floored would be a grave understatement: He was actually frightened, and perhaps a little sad.
"You're not afraid to die? Seriously?"
"Why is that so surprising?" Trowa asked, turning to look at Duo thoughtfully. "We were soldiers, risking our lives with every battle. You can't seriously tell me that a man afraid to die would be victorious. To fear death is to fear conflict itself. You'd freeze up and fail."
"I'm afraid to die," Duo said in a small voice, meeting Trowa's gaze. "I always have been. I'll never be ready to let go of what I've managed to keep." A strange, hollow silence fell over the two men, and both looked very scared. Finally, it was Duo to break the silence.
"You should be very afraid of dying, Trowa, if only for the fact that you'd piss me off so much, I'd hunt you down in the afterlife and make you regret it." Trowa laughed in response, his tension ebbing away with the light sound.
"You'd mourn me, Duo? That seems like a strange thing for you do to. I can't picture it."
"I'm always in mourning, my friend," Duo said darkly, picking up the bible. "I mourn all those I couldn't save. I mourn all the hard days that pass me by without any personal victory over the bad memories and regrets." Duo stared hard at Trowa, solemnly holding up the book. "I'd mourn you with the best of 'em." Trowa took the book from Duo's hand and flipped to a random page.
"'Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends'. John 15:13," Trowa read breathlessly.
"Don't believe in destiny, huh?"
"Oh, shut up."
Duo took Trowa to church. It was an awkward event. Trowa didn't understand why he had to keep standing, and the murmurs of 'amen' were starting to get on his nerves. Every now and again, however, Duo would give his hand a reassuring squeeze, as if to say, "It'll be over soon. Just a few more minutes..."
And finally, it was over. As the two men milled out of the small church, an old woman ambled up to them.
"Ah, Monsieur Maxwell, I see we have a new friend," she said cheerfully, clasping Trowa's hands in a warm gesture. "Welcome to our little village. Did you enjoy the service?"
"Very much so, thank you," he replied, looking uncomfortable at her friendliness.
"You must come by the atelier so I may show you the true beauty of our town!" the woman said. "I paint the loveliness of this place, and you do not know splendour until you have put your eyes on my paintings." Trowa looked helplessly to Duo for any sort of assistance.
"Suzanna here is an artist," Duo stated. "She has these awesome pictures of the ocean in the summer. You'd probably really like them, Trowa."
"Then perhaps we will pay you a visit later in the week, Suzanna," Trowa said slowly to the old woman. "Expect us close to the weekend."
"Lovely! I didn't get your name, young man."
"Trowa Barton, ma'am."
"Then, my Monsieurs Maxwell and Barton will grace me with their goodness! I look forward to it." And with a grand hug for each, Suzanna walked away, leaving two very flustered men in her wake.
"So you're staying the week," Duo said flatly, still looking after the old woman.
"If you'll have me."
"Of course."
Duo wracked his brain, trying very hard to figure out when exactly Trowa Barton had become something important in his life. He let the hot water from the showerhead stream over him while he gazed at the tiles, lost in thought.
Trowa Barton was his friend. And he was turning out to be a very good friend. Duo had never thought of Trowa as stupid, but his academic authority on certain things was certainly surprising. Surprising, and nice.
Their conversations over the past few days had ranged from politics to religion to cooking tips. It was comfortable between the two of them, so comfortable that Duo was beginning to feel unnerved. When Trowa was compassionate or affectionate in his words or reassuring hands on his person, Duo couldn't fathom the idea of who he had thought this man actually was.
It made him angry to think on his previous assumptions.
Turning the water off, Duo stepped gingerly from the shower, wrapping his long hair up in a towel. As he wiped the steam off the mirror and began to shave, he thought of intimate little questions to ask Trowa.
"What is your best memory? What did you think of me back then? What's your favourite colour? What was the greatest love of your life?"
Duo didn't know if he would answer any of these questions. Hell, Duo didn't even know if he could ask them. He felt guilty for all he knew of Trowa thus far: He almost believed he had forced the other man to confess the little details of his life that he would prefer remain private.
Then again, the thought of making Trowa do something he didn't want to do seemed impossible. Except, Catherine had...
Duo was angry every time he thought of Trowa taking medication. He knew that Trowa was stronger than pills, and he secretly resented Catherine for all her worrying and mothering.
A soft knock on the door broke Duo out of his reverie.
"I'm back," Trowa announced, having just returned from the market. "I'll start dinner." After a long discussion earlier in the day about where to eat, a choice of either the pub or the café, Trowa had decided that he would cook, and Duo would like it.
"Be out in a sec!" Duo called through the door, though he was certain Trowa had already gone to the kitchen. He stared at himself in the mirror, clean and shaven, and hated what he saw. Duo had never considered himself attractive by any means, contrary to what some admirers had said of him. Usually, Duo avoided mirrors altogether. But, the thought of cohabiting with a man who always looked so nicely put together drove Duo to actually care a bit about his appearance.
Care, but not like.
"You're surprised," Trowa laughed, taking a sip of dark ale.
"You never came across as domestic," Duo said, taking another bite of Trowa's marvelous dinner. "Do you sew? 'Cause I have this shirt..."
"I will not sew your shirt," Trowa said indignantly, feigning offense. "What do I look like, your housekeeper?"
"No. If you were my housekeeper, we'd be able to see the floor and wouldn't have to eat on the pull-out."
"Too true." Trowa took a bite of food, chewed thoughtfully, then asked, "What does a housekeeper earn these days, anyway?"
"Free room and board," Duo sneered jokingly.
"Ah, right." Trowa rolled his eyes and picked up a book lying close to the bed. "There."
"Shabby!"
"Good thing I have a career to fall back on."
"I'll say."
The conversation continued on much like this throughout the course of the meal, and when both men were finished and the dishes were cleared away, they laid back on the bed together with their mead.
"What are your nightmares like?" Duo asked conversationally, feeling foggily happy after his third pint.
"Oh, they're here and there," Trowa replied, sipping his fourth. "It's mostly stuff I'm remembering. Blowing up Deathscythe is one of them. I never did apologize for that, did I?"
"Nope. But you're not actually sorry, are you?"
"Not really. I did what I had to."
"Yeah," Duo agreed, a bit disappointed. "I hated you for that." He looked at Trowa miserably. "I loved that Gundam."
"I know. But you got it back."
"Wasn't the same," Duo said, a pout tugging at his lips. "But whatever, I don't want to talk about that. We're talking about you and how messed up your dreams are."
"Right. Well, I have this one reoccurring one where I'm just floating in nothing, cold and in pain. When I talk, there's no sound. And I scream. A lot." Trowa drained the last of his drink, and got up for another. When he returned, Duo looked at him thoughtfully.
"Is that when Quatre blew you up?"
"That would be it," Trowa replied dourly. "I forgave him for that all too easily, I think. Can't stay mad at Quatre." Had Duo been completely sober, he would have caught the bitterness in Trowa's voice.
"And you never slept with him?"
"No, I never did. Didn't even kiss him, though he once asked me to. Poor guy, looked like the ground had been pulled out from under him when I said no."
"Why'd you say no?"
"It's Quatre, right? You can't taint someone like him." Duo nodded gravely, then got up to refill his own drink. Settled again on the bed, he asked, "Had it not been Quatre, would you have kissed him?"
"I don't know. Depends on who it was, I guess. Not-Quatre is a fairly broad range."
"Would you have kissed... Heero?"
"Not if he held a gun to my head and whispered sweet nothings into my ear."
"Wufei?"
"Wufei wouldn't ask that. He's too proud."
"Me?" Duo hid behind his tall glass as Trowa stared at him, wide-eyed.
"I can't imagine why you would ask me to kiss you," he said after a length. Duo shrugged meekly.
"Kisses make people feel better," Duo replied in a tiny voice. He stared into his drink, as if looking for an escape.
"We've had too much to drink," Trowa said. "I think we should go to sleep."
"I think so," Duo said, his cheeks burning. He set his glass on the floor and crawled under the comforter, his back to Trowa. He heard the other man get up to turn off the floorlamp, then felt the bed sink and a cool rush of air as Trowa got under the covers.
"Good-night, Duo," he said. His voice was close.
"Good-night." Duo's stomach jumped as he felt warm breath pass over his ear, then his cheek. He nearly screamed and ran for high heaven when a dry pair of lips settled on his briefly. There was nothing to the world for that one second where lips met and parted - there was no cold, no wind, no bad memories, no good ones... There was only that slight touch, and then nothing, as Duo settled into an uneasy sleep, one full of floating corpses drinking ale, and thin lips smiling at him.