Note: Mild blood warning (as you may gather from the title). Not really anything to take notice of unless you're hyper-hypersensitive. Also, there's an implied September 11th reference, again, nothing to worry about unless you're very sensitive, but some people may want to be warned.

Seasons

Chapter Eleven: Blood

Duo was running through space, amidst mangled corpses and charred limbs. Starlight glinted on scraps of metal, the remains of his opponents. He could see the scythe… the explosion…

"What's wrong, Duo?"

Duo stopped short. "Q-Quatre?" The blonde was standing before him, smiling kindly.

"Of course it's me, Duo," he said. "Why are you upset? You know what to do."

Yes, he did know what to do. Duo nodded, accepting the sick reality. He gripped the dagger, running his finger along the cold steel before raising it in preparation. He took a deep breath and plunged the weapon into Quatre's side, ripping warm flesh and unleashing blood.

Quatre's smile turned cruel. The skin melted off his face, revealing a skull--a death's head. Duo reeled from the stench of decay. The skull moved its jaws in a parody of speech.

"Yes, you did what you had to do," it mocked, speaking at once with Quatre's voice and a myriad of other voices: young and old, male and female, wicked and innocent, even Duo's own. "You always did what you had to do, your duty. So lucky for you that your duty involved slaughter of innocents, death of your friends, mass destruction and murderous bloodshed. So lucky your duty has always led you to exactly what you wanted to do."

Duo shook his head, trembling with his entire body. He moaned, wordlessly at first before repeating one desperate syllable.

"No… No, no, no. No, no, no, no no no no no no NO! No! No!"

"No!"

Duo sat upright in his bed, sweating and gasping for breath. The dream replayed itself in his mind, and powerful nausea struck him. He threw off his damp sheet, ran to the bathroom, and vomited in the toilet. He flushed with a shaking hand.

Oh, God, the dream had been so… he could still hear the terrible voice, all the horrifying voices… and Quatre. He had killed Quatre. He had killed--oh, God, he had pierced that warm softness, brought down the sickle of death on yet another life, twisted his harsh dagger, spilled the blood… the blood, oh, God, Quatre's blood was all over his hands, the sticky, malodorous crimson, staining his fingers, he had to wash it off, had to…. He turned on the hot water and thrust his hands under the faucet.

The water was so pure, but he could still see the blood, Quatre's blood… he scrubbed his hands together in a fury, anxious to rid himself of the blood…

The water burned. He drew back, hurriedly turning it off.

The steam had fogged the mirror. As it receded, Duo could see his haggard reflection. He gave a quietly hysterical laugh. "You're losing it, Maxwell," he whispered to the mirror, a despairing smile on his face. "You're really losing it."

* * *

In the three weeks since Heero had come to stay with Duo, he had taken to doing little and saying even less. He worked efficiently for Duo when he had to; other than that, he would sit for hours without moving, trying not to think. It was easier sometimes if he turned on the television, staring at it without focusing his eyes. He watched the news indifferently, changing the channel if the Vice Foreign Minister appeared. He scarcely ate, and he took long, dreamless naps. At first, he spoke to Duo occasionally, but as time wore on, he ceased speaking entirely.

Duo, on the other hand, was very active. He went at his work determined and almost angry. When he was not working, he often went for long walks. He despised silence and would play loud music for hours at a time. He listened to groups from the 1960s, particularly the Beatles, the 1970s, and the turn of that century; he switched from mellow tunes to heavy metal.

He liked renting movies; occasionally he would get sleazy comedies, but he was developing a preference for war movies. He watched them intently, and as soon as they ended he would fill up the silences with restless chatter.

"Those Romans," he'd say, "they used to watch people, the gladiators, kill each other for fun. They got pleasure out of it--can you imagine? Watching them, and the lions against the slaves and the Christians and all, they liked seeing the jaws close down--and the floor was sand, to absorb the blood, but it must have been all over, not just blood, but substance, organs and--it must have smelled awful, sitting in the front."

Or, "When they dropped the bomb, Hiroshima and all, the effects lasted for years. It was so effective, the war didn't last too long after that, so you'd think that nowadays…. But there were people in the hospitals for years, with their fingernails and their hair growing like crazy, and all sorts of things wrong with their skin, from the radiation. So maybe that's why no one used nuclear weapons in our--too many consequences…. It's worse than destruction, because with destruction you move on and fix things, but with radiation you just have to wait for the victims to die."

Or, "Six million Jews, Heero… six million Jews, and Polish people and homosexuals and gypsies and all sorts of people. Except they wouldn't just kill them, in the concentration camps, they'd work them to death…. Sick, sick people. And it wasn't just the victims, it was the soldiers trying to stop it and even the Germans who didn't know what was going on, brainwashed by the media."

Or, "They used to use horses in wars. My God… and it used to be about fighting people face to face, sticking your sword right into them, and the bayonet charge… even with muskets and rifles and guns, it was still just people…. I guess wars have become more humane, huh? Just levers and buttons… and no horses, right?"

Or, "Terrorists, they called us. But we never kidnapped anyone, never crashed planes into… we kept, or tried to keep civilians out of it. And after a while, people knew it was coming, no surprises. But they weren't supposed to, that's not what they… the people in charge, what they wanted. The wanted us to be terrorists. But how could anyone want that, after--?" He stopped, a distant look in his eyes, before going out for a walk.

Heero watched and heard it all as he did everything else: passive. In spite of himself, however, he could feel something stirring beneath his frozen exterior: shifting feelings of concern. He tried to ignore it and push it away, but he couldn't ignore what was right in front of his eyes. He knew Duo slept few hours a night at best; he hesitated more and more before going to bed. He ate no more than Heero did, but was never still, always moving. His eyes were tired and constantly shadowed by dark rings like bruises, standing out against his pale skin. He was getting paler, and it was especially noticeable against his dark clothes. He was skinnier, too; his cheeks were drawn, and bones jutted out at his collar and shoulders.

Duo had just returned from a walk when Heero spoke to him. "Duo, I…" he began. The words struggled to get out of his throat; he hadn't spoken for over a week. He tried again. "Duo, I'm worried about you."

"Why, you can talk after all!" Duo mocked.

"I mean it," Heero continued. Speech was flowing more easily now. "I really am worried."

Duo laughed, but Heero thought he could detect nervousness. "You? Worry about me? Why the hell would you worry about me?"

"I just--you don't sleep," said Heero.

"I sleep!" Duo said defensively.

"Not enough," Heero insisted. "You barely eat."

"What, you think I'm anorexic or something?" Duo demanded.

"No, I think…" Heero stopped. "I don't know, I'm just…"

Duo studied him. "You think I'm messed up over the war, don't you?"

"Well, yes," Heero said. "Not just that, I mean, the--" The word caught in his throat. "The killing."

Duo's expression darkened. "I don't believe this. I can't believe you're lecturing me about--Look at you! You're living a non-life! You practically don't exist! And you're calling me messed up?" He laughed disbelievingly. "And besides, even if it were true, why would you care? You don't care about anyone or anything. You're the most selfish person I've ever met! So wrapped up in avoiding everything, you don't even notice that you--that the people who care about your pathetic excuse for a life--they're suffering! Because of you! Because you're--" He broke off, breathing hard. Selfish. That's what it was: a selfish war.

Heero looked at Duo uncertainly, filing away his words. "Duo?"

Visibly calmer now, Duo turned to him. "I'm sorry, Heero. I just… but anyway, I'm not messed up for life or anything. I'm not in denial." The people at the church… you leeched off them and led them to death. You were only upset that there was no one to provide for you anymore.

No, that's not it. No, I…

"I accept the fact that I did things I'm not proud of," he continued, his voice steady and his hands trembling.

Duo was running through space, amidst mangled corpses and charred limbs. Starlight glinted on scraps of metal, the remains of his opponents. He could see the scythe… the explosion…

"I know that I killed countless people."

So lucky for you that your duty involved slaughter of innocents, death of your friends, mass destruction and murderous bloodshed… exactly what you wanted…

"I know that many of them were soldiers like myself."

Yes, plunge the dagger right in… do you see the skull, the grinning death's-head? You love it, don't you? It fills you with delight and evil pleasure.

"I know I caused damage that will take a long time to fix."

"What's wrong, Duo? You know what to do."

Better to live on rage, no room for terror, grief, mourning… he really was a god; only gods could do so much damage with so little care. But God had cried, hadn't he? When the Egyptians drowned in the sea…

"I know that I should have questioned my own motives further."

You did what you had to do, did what you wanted to do, truth doesn't matter, just that you fulfilled your bloodlust…

He could see the explosion, the blood… but there wasn't any blood, no, mobile suits didn't bleed, after all…so much easier that way…

"I know all that, and I accept it."

He could se himself, so many versions of himself… the joker, the warrior, the murderer… he could see himself telling these truths with such calm… body, mind and soul blurring together and fly apart… body, staying still but trembling…mind, calculating and controlling… and soul…. Soul flies above it all, dying…

Do what you want, kill who you want, it's all the same in the end… everyone dies but the Angel of Death… angel, god, demon…

Duo was running through space, amidst mangled corpses and charred limbs…

"What's wrong, Duo?"

Lucky… lucky it's easier now, lucky it's just working a machine, lucky it's what you want…

"What's wrong, Duo?"

"So nothing's wrong. I'm okay." He stared at Heero defiantly.

Heero shook his head. "Duo…"

"Look, I just told you, I'm fine!" Duo exploded. "You want someone to worry about? Worry about yourself. You say I don't sleep? You do nothing but sleep! You don't eat any more than I do, and this is the first time you've spoken in days!" He sighed and gave Heero a rueful smile. "You don't need to worry about me, okay?"


Heero said nothing. He eyed Duo warily with troubled eyes.

Duo looked at his hands. They were still shaking. His heartbeat reverberated throughout his chest, and his blood felt hot in his veins. "I'm going for a walk," he announced.

"But, Duo…" Heero protested.

"See ya!" The door slammed.

Heero was alone. The feeling shouldn't have been new to him: he had been alone all his life, and he had always wanted it that way. Except, he realized, he could have chosen differently, at some points. There were people who would have stayed with him.

"The people who care about you pathetic excuse for a life--they're suffering!"

Duo's words came back to him as a harsh reminder. And then, harsher: "You're the most selfish person I've ever met!"

"Selfish." Heero said the word aloud, slowly feeling the syllables. He had never before considered it. Though, he thought, a selfish person wouldn't, would he?

Heero had seen Duo's trembling hands, just as he had seen his pale face and dark eyes, his always-made bed, and even his wet hair and clean kitchen on that first morning. He had those mental snapshots, and together they formed a picture of Duo as--what? Disturbed? Depressed? Angry? Needing, Heero thought. Needing help.

Selfish. The word tumbled in Heero's head. Selfish people were always alone because they isolated themselves. Duo was isolating himself further and further away from the world, but Duo wasn't a person to be left alone. By enclosing himself in darkness, he was fighting his own instinct to reach out. Heero would make sure that Duo wouldn't be alone.

* * *

The boy intrigued her from the start. Even doing something as average as walking in the park, there was something about him that caught her eye. That braid would catch anyone's eye, she thought, amused, but there was a brooding intensity to him that seemed beyond the usual teen angst. He was dressed entirely in black, enhancing his dark look.

Added to that was the fact that she had never seen him, and she knew every child at the local high school by face if not by name. He could have been older, she supposed, but he certainly looked to be in high school. Well, only one way to find out.

Firm in her resolve, she tucked a strand of her graying hair behind her ear and set off to speak with him. She put her gold watch in her purse beore approaching him and asking, "Excuse me, have you got the time?"

She had surprised him, she noted. But he checked his own watch--Black, of course, she thought, and smiled--and told her, "Four thirty-seven." Like magic, his brooding air vanished to be replaced with a charming smile.

"Thank you," she said, then frowned slightly, as if puzzled. "I haven't seen you at the school. Are you new? Or visiting? I teach drama there," she added.

"Neither, really," he said, still smiling. "I'm studying at home, planning to take a high school equivalency test and apply for college in the fall. I'm Duo Maxwell." He said this last as if just remembering that he had a name.

She shook his outstretched hand. "Dorriane Wilson. Nice to meet you, Duo." Only her years of training with actors kept her face from showing symptoms of surprise. Duo Maxwell, the Gundam pilot? That explains the brooding, but…. She looked at the smiling boy in front of her, thinking that, had she not known better, she never would have guessed that he could have been any form of soldier, much less a Gundam pilot.

His smile, though, was now a little clouded, and he seemed to be trying to recall something. "It's a pleasure to meet you, too, Ms. Wilson."

"Dorriane," she corrected. "Please. All my students call me Dorriane. When I first came to the school, I couldn't get used to being called 'Ms. Wilson.' I was too used to working with professional actors."

"Were you in movies?" he asked.

"I directed," she answered.

He nodded, comprehension broadening his smile. "That must be it. I though your name sounded familiar." He paused, then said, "If you don't mind my asking, why'd you leave?"

"I don't mind," she said. "The truth is… the actors I worked with were wonderful. Brilliant, even. As their director, my job was to help them reach their maximum potential. Oftentimes--too often--it was already known, but all those involved, just what their potential was, where their limits lay. I didn't want that.

"I wanted to--sculpt and form actors that still were far from their limits, so that I could help them discover these limits. With professionals, I broke limits, but always there was this sense of where the limits were or had been. I wanted to deal with the unknown.

"So I became a teacher, and I'm happy as can be. I love watching my students as they develop as thespians. I've never regretted it--well, maybe once or twice when they were especially rowdy," she admitted laughingly.

"That's cool," he said in admiration.

She was amazed at his ability to seem so carefree. She made up her mind and reached into her purse. "We're putting on Romeo and Juliet soon. Auditions are Wednesday in the auditorium at four. Study this," she said, pulling out a copy of the play and handing it to him, "and be there."

Duo took it, but he was bewildered. "But I'm not a student."

"It doesn't matter." At least, I'll see to it that it doesn't matter.


"Well, I guess," he said.

She grinned at him. "You have talent. Trust me on this." She winked.

"Okay," he said, more enthusiastically. "I'll be there."

* * * * * * * *

Note: I have been waiting SO long to write this chapter; it was one of the first scenes that popped into my head when I was first thinking up "Seasons." Not much else to say, really…As always, e-mail romancherubX@aol.com with comments, questions, requests to have me e-mail you each new part as it comes out, etc.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and all its characters is the property of Bandai, Sontsu Agency, and various other companies associated with it that are not in any way, shape or form connected to me. The fic "Seasons" is © Cassandra Lupos 2000-2002. Please ask permission before reposting.