A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)

by shinigamiinochi

Duo Maxwell has been stuck his entire life. With an abusive father, a mother who doesn't even realize he exists, severely bullied at school, and hiding his sexuality, he has given up all hope for a better life. When he falls in love with his bully's boyfriend, he needs to make a choice about his future. Will he continue to let himself be abused, or will he fight back?

37. Chapter 7 Part 9

A Stagnation of Love

Chapter 7

Part 9

Heero didn't ask about anymore questions about my parents' drinking. I was grateful since I apparently can't hold my tongue around him, even when it concerns things that I've had no problems not telling anyone about for my entire life. I even managed to get some burn cream from the nurse without needing to tell her the truth about why I needed it. Heero and I were extra careful after that in watching out for each other. After my trip to the nurse's office, we hurriedly got our lunches and ate in the studio.

We talked about just about anything except for my parents; the test, the holiday season, baseball, skating, what movies we liked the most. It turned out to be a lot nicer than eating in the cafeteria would have been. I even managed to keep my mind off of the last time Trowa and I had eaten lunch up there. For about five minutes. My mind, a bit sadistically, supplied me with the mental image of what it might be like to have a picnic with Heero, maybe on that hill behind his house, which of course only led me to all the times that Trowa and I had eaten together in some excluded spot. Which of course only led me to ending my friendship with Heero like I had ended my relationship with Trowa. Sometimes I'm a real glutton for pain.

Thankfully in gym, we were playing one on one badminton again, so there was little chance for interaction between us and Zechs. We took very short showers, one of us going in while most of our classmates were taking theirs. We didn't linger long after class. We spent my time before work jogging in the park and just walking through central Nausten, looking at the various Christmas displays. Then it was off to work, which ended up being more boring than usual. There was only one small order to do, re-bricking someone's chimney, so I got to stay behind and organize paperwork for hours. Solo wasn't there, having either called out because of some illness or he was taking an early holiday.

So I wasn't so surprised when I rushed home to feed Pepper and found a message on our answering machine from my boss saying that my shift at the factory had been cancelled as I was annoyed. Because I'm only sixteen, there are certain conditions that my boss laid out with my father in order for me to be employed there. The big one was that I had to have a partner to watch what I was doing. More often than not, the person ended up being Solo, partially because we got along so well and partially because he seemed to be the only one that I worked with that was willing to hold some brat's hand.

I guess it had just been easier to tell me to not come in than scrounge up someone to supervise me. Or my frugal boss was cutting hours for the holiday season, which also would not have surprised me. It was annoying since I was planning on cutting my hours soon, but there really wasn't anything that I could do about it. It's strange, in the past it would have caused me anxiety, not just annoyance. It was equally strange that I was actually kind of relieved to not have to go to work that night, and that I was looking forward to not needing to do any studying or homework.

In the past, I would spend that time fretting over my grades or feeling bored. I had finished with all of my finals and all that was really left was seeing what my final grades were the next day. But for the first time, while I was anxious to see what I had gotten on my Calculus test, I wasn't worried about failing. That was a weird feeling in itself. But I was also looking forward to not having to worry about my finals or studying or trying to make time to do my homework in the small hours of the morning or on my lunch break. For the first time in a long time, I was actually looking forward to my break from school.

I felt... tired, I guess. I just don't mean from a lack of sleep, or that I felt overworked, because I didn't. This was different. After everything that's happened to me this year; breaking up with Trowa, falling in love with Heero, being raped by my father... add in my stress with school, Relena, Zechs, my mother's recent behavior, and my jobs, and there have been moments when I've felt that like all I can possibly do is lay down on the floor and scream. It hasn't been all bad, of course. Things have happened lately that have felt more than I could ever deserve, but more and more lately, it's been like there's just too much shit in my head. For once, I was looking forward to not having to do anything. But then again, for the first time since Quatre had died, I didn't feel lonely, either.

I went home to a blissfully empty home that night. It was still a couple minutes before my father would get off of his shift, but it might be awhile still before he actually came home. If tradition persisted, that close to the holidays, Pat or some of his coworkers might have roped him into a night out drinking, despite the fact that he was working the next day. Even after getting fired for pulling shit like that, my father hadn't seemed to learn his lesson. My mother wasn't home either, but that could mean anything between the bar she was working at having longer hours for the holiday to she was out on her own kind of bender.

The house was dark and quiet, almost heavenly so. Even the sound of my neighbors' feuding dogs couldn't take that away from me. I felt a small bit of frustration as I turned the light on in the kitchen to find that the place was trashed, and that frustration only grew as the time passed and my father didn't come home. I was happy that he wasn't there, but angry that he was getting wasted. I didn't understand it. I should be used to it by now, but it just makes me feel angrier and angrier lately, maybe because I was talking to Heero about it.

I was tired of it. Not just my parents' alcoholism, but how it made me feel, the shame and the anger. Some part of me wondered if, if it weren't for the constant drinking, my parents might be more like Heero's, but I didn't think that that was true. I had liked to believe that when I was younger, that the drinking made my parents into the monsters that they were, but now that I'm older, I understand that it's the way that my parents are that make them drink, not the other way around.

I didn't feel especially tired for once, so I busied myself with mindless tasks. I played with Pepper, tidied my room, and checked how much money I had in my stash. It wasn't out of any kind of paranoia, it was just that... Heero and his parents had done so much for me lately. Too much. Things that I could never, ever pay them back for. But the more that Heero and I hung out, especially in public, watching all the shoppers coming and going, the more that I felt the burning need to gift them with something. But what the hell did you give people that not only have given you so much, but had plenty of money to throw around? I was so pathetic that I couldn't even buy presents for people that had been nice to me.

I sighed, the amount of money that I had depressing me, and tucked it back into it's hidey hole. I sorted through my pile of scraps and dared a glance at my laundry basket. It was predictably full and I really didn't feel like putting off doing it until the weekend. I grabbed the basket and headed downstairs into the laundry room, a claustrophobic room that smells like dust and bleach, only to find a pile of my father's work clothes sitting on top of the washing machine in a total disarray.

I knew for a fact that he hadn't just dumped them there with the intention that he was going to get to them this weekend. I don't think that the man has ever done laundry for a single day of his life. He had left them there for me to do. That isn't anything new, but for some reason, that night it angered me. You know, my whole life, I've thought about myself as a burden to my parents and nothing else. But remembering what Heero had said the other day, about what my parents are going to do when I become a legal adult and won't be around to help them pay the bills anymore, I've started to actually realize all the responsibilities that I have at home.

I do the laundry. I clean the house. I mow the lawn. I cook all of the meals that don't come out of a can or a box out of the freezer or a take out container. Yes, my father does chores and he works hard. Yes, my mother works long hours and will occasionally do her or my father's laundry if she needs to. But when it comes to things like making sure there's food or precooked meals for them when I'm working, or the dishes are done, or the trash gets taken out on time, it seems like that always falls on me. What are they going to do when I'm not there to do those things? What is my father going to do when there isn't someone home to wash his clothes because mom has a double shift, and what is my mother going to do the next time the washer leaks and dad isn't there or he's too drunk to give a shit?

A part of me worried about leaving them, but another part of me hated them for making me the responsible one. It had always been that way, but after over a decade of looking after them like I'm the adult, I don't want to do that anymore. I'm tired. I want to be the teenager for once. I want to be able to go hang out with my friend and not have to worry if my dad is going to have clean clothes for work that week or if my mother is going to be able to have a hot meal.

Quatre had told me once that I'm too mature and I had responded that I don't know how to be a kid, that being an adult comes naturally to me, but that doesn't mean that I want to be that way. I had never thought about it much, but when I go over to Heero's house and I see that his parents already have dinner on the stove and Heero can just start his homework or watch television and not have to concern himself with things that he has to do... I get jealous sometimes. It's hard for me to admit... too hard, really, which is the entire problem... but sometimes... sometimes I want someone to take care of me for once.

Maybe that's selfish. Maybe after everything that I've put my parents through, I don't deserve that. Maybe I can't even ask for that because I'm one of the few people my age that actually can take care of myself... but that doesn't stop me from wanting it. It didn't stop me from loathing my father a little that night, or from loathing myself a lot as I put my own laundry to the side and started a load of my father's clothing, partially because he would need some clean clothes soon and partially because if I didn't, he would punish me for it. Feeling down, not quite depressed but getting close to it, I worked on cleaning the kitchen and the living room. By the time I finished everything, my father's shirts and pants were done drying in front of the space heater and they were ready to be ironed.

I set up the ironing board in the kitchen since it had the most open space and I wouldn't be in my father's way if he came home and wanted to watch television. I was only on his third pair of pants when I heard his car pull into the driveway. I sincerely hoped that he would just fall asleep in front of the TV and leave me alone. I really hate ironing things, I find it tedious, but when the door opened behind me and I heard him walk in, that heavy clunk of his boots that never fails to send chills up my spine these days, I kept my head down and focused on the sight of the iron soothing out wrinkles on one of his work shirts.

I put the shirt on a hanger, hanging it from one of the key rings on the wall, and moved on to another pair of slacks, making myself appear as busy as possible. I could smell him when he walked into the kitchen, that heavy stench of booze and smoke that could have only come from a night out with Pat. He walked up behind me and I froze, my back stiffening from how close he was to me. I could almost feel his breath on my skin and the phantom touch of his hands on me. Even though he hadn't touched me at all, I felt sick to my stomach.

He lingered there behind me for several minutes, just watching me, and I had to resume what I was doing with shaking hands, wishing that he would just go away and stop acting like that. But when he did finally move, I didn't feel any relief at all. I heard him walk to the refrigerator, the clink of a glass bottle, and the scrape of the legs of a chair as he pulled it away from the table and sat down on it. When he didn't say anything for some time, I stupidly dared a glance behind me, wishing that I had put the ironing board someplace where it would have let me keep an eye on him. He was slouched in the chair, sipping from a bottle of beer, and looking at me with eyes that were already deeply glassy and out of it. Yet there was this fierceness and intensity in his stare that I immediately didn't like and had to focus on my ironing or I would go nuts with fear.

"Christ, look at you," he suddenly said with a deep contempt and disgust that had me flinching at the mere sound of, "Even your mother doesn't iron as well as you do. Can't play sports, but you're a better housewife than your own damned mother. Could you be a bigger pussy?"

I almost blurted out that the only reason why I was ironing anything was that he was incapable of doing it himself, but I physically bit my tongue, not wanting to piss him off in the caustic mood that he was obviously in. But that did nothing to soothe the hurt that his words caused. I heard him stand back up from the chair and walk towards me, the sound of it scraping my guts hollow of even my anger.

"This is all you're good for, isn't it?" he sneered from directly behind me, "Ironing, cleaning, cooking, taking care of a man. Fuck, you should have been born a girl. Maybe if you had, you wouldn't be such a dickless loser."

Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him. I wouldn't let him know how much he was hurting me, how much his opinion of me actually mattered. Still, I almost cried out in pure terror when he grabbed the back of my jeans and pulled me away from the ironing board, petrified that he was going to rape me right then and there.

"Even from the back, you look like a cunt," for a moment, I thought that I was hearing Pat's words in my father's voice, "If I didn't know any better, I would have no clue at all that you were born a boy," I breathed in sharply when he grabbed my right buttock, not in a grope, not in the way that Pat had, but harshly, accusingly, like he would grab my arm when he was pissed off, "Even this has no right belonging on a man!" he snarled, grabbing me so hard there that I would get bruises, "When you were born, they should have just cut your junk right off of you, it would have suited you better!"

As odd as it sounds now, it wasn't what he was saying that made the rage flow back into me like water out of a broken dam, it was his tone. When he said those awful things, it wasn't in the tone that he usually used with me, but the one he took when my mom was pissing him off, that condescending tone each and ever time he called her a bitch. Was that what he was seeing just then, not me, but her? Was that really how he thought of me, that I was so... so feminine to him, so emasculate, that I was no different from Mom?

"I'm not your wife!" I yelled at him, whirling and shoving at him so hard that he stumbled back into the table.

For all of the times that Zechs had called me a faggot or a bitch or made some sort of insinuation that I was really a girl... for all the times that Pat had said those same exact things... even with that time that Trowa had said that my hair made me look like a girl... no one ever made me feel more like that was true than my father. But it wasn't true, goddammit! Being good at cooking and having long hair didn't make me feminine, did it? Being fucked by my father didn't make me a girl, right? That old doubt came back as strongly as my anger at my father.

It was that doubt that caused me to hesitate as I watched my father bump into the table and fury come into his eyes when I should have been shocked at my actions and ready to run. I had never done something like that before to him. I had never actively tried to fight back against anything that he had done to me, even a little bit. I'm still not quite sure why I did it, why it was that moment that broke me. My father gained his footing and was coming for me before I could try to get out of that situation. There was nowhere to go to get away from him. The ironing board was in my way behind me. When he swung at me, I froze, taking the blow to the right side of my face, the violence behind it sending me to my knees.

"You fucking miserable piece of shit!" he roared senselessly and tried to kick at me.

I dove out of the way and stumbled to my feet, his boot passing by me by mere centimeters. As I tried to get back up, he grabbed the iron's cord and ripped it out of the wall, turning it into a whip as he managed to pull it free. The cord struck me right where he had punched me, the metal prong cutting open my cheek. Before I could even register the fact that he had hit me with it, he had wrapped the cord around his hand and swung the iron at me. There was no way in hell that I was fast enough to get away from it and the heavy, metal thing struck me on my left side.

I yelped in pain and fell to the ground again as I felt the iron strike my ribs and felt something inside of me shift with a crunching sound that might have just been in my head. Broken bones are weird. When they happen, the feeling of it is unmistakable, a sensation that can't possibly be anything else. I knew that my father had broken at least one of my ribs with that initial blow the second that it had happened.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you pansy fag?!" my father was still screaming as he descended on me, the handle of the iron gripped tightly in his hand.

I curled into a tight ball as he hit me with the iron over and over and over, covering my head so he couldn't bash me with it. One blow from that thing and a concussion would be the least of my worries. I cried out each time he hit me, the strikes heavy and brutal. I could feel the heat of the iron on my skin, not lingering long enough to burn me, but the threat was there, like Dorothy's smoldering cigarettes. He hit me again and again on my right side and I could feel a wetness there, under my shirt as the tip of the iron ripped my skin open. He nailed me once in the shoulder, but somehow, miraculously, didn't break my arm.

I flinched so hard when he threw the iron down on the floor next to me that agony ripped through my side, warning me not to move around too much. I had no clue what my ribs were doing at that point, if I was getting dangerously close to piercing something or not. I felt tears tracking down my face from the pain of the break, but didn't mind them. My tears were nothing compared to the fear I felt as blood made my shirt stick to my wounds. I could feel it soaking into my pants, too. I stayed as still as a stone as my father stepped over me like I was nothing more than a pile of trash and walked over to the table and then back to me. I felt something cold and liquid being poured over my head. At the strong smell of alcohol, I dared to peak up at him over the arm that I had over my face and looked up at his face, twisted in pure hatred.

"What? You're going to cry now?" he said aghast, like my tears were offensive to him, "You're going to fucking cry like a damned, little baby?!"

I quickly tucked my head into my arms again as he threw his bottle of beer at me. It hit the floor, a mere foot away from my head and shattered icy, glass shards on me, almost like a winter rain. If I hadn't covered myself, I had no doubt at all that it would have taken out one or both of my eyes.

"I'm done with you," he snapped, "I'm so ashamed of you, I can't even mention your fucking name around my friends. If I had known that this was what I was getting to get when I knocked up your whore of a mother, I would have left the two of you to fend for yourselves! You should count yourself lucky that I don't do just that! Instead, all I get from you is shit! Why don't you do me the favor of just crawling away to die like the worthless little maggot that you are?!"

When he finally stopped screaming at me to storm off into the living room, my tears weren't from the physical pain of my injuries anymore. I lifted my head back up and stared at the open door of the living room like a wounded deer, waiting for the predator to come back to finish it off. I didn't so much as blink until I heard the television go on. I slowly and carefully tried to sit up, gasping in pain when I had that horrible shifting feeling in my side again. To say that I was in pain is putting it rather mildly. I felt like I was a slab of beef that had just been tenderized with a medal mallet. I couldn't stop shaking and I wasn't sure if that was from shock or my injuries.

'Hospital,' I remember thinking as I dragged myself up onto my feet with help from the kitchen table.

My injuries weren't terrible. It wasn't like I was going to bleed to death, but I had at least one broken rib and my shirt felt soaked through with blood. If I was lucky, I was looking at no athletic activity for a couple of weeks. If I wasn't: surgery and stitches, if my rib was in danger of piercing anything important, like my lung. It wasn't so bad, I told myself even as the entire right side of my upper body throbbed and screamed in pain when I slowly walked towards the door. I could walk pretty well, I just couldn't do it quickly.

I managed to get the door without incident, somehow, but as I shoved my feet into my sneakers, I felt more blood drip down into my pants and gasped at the shot of agony that went through me. I could feel some on my face, too, but kept from wiping at it. I didn't want to know how deep that cut was, either. It's times like that that I'm really glad that I have my insurance information memorized, because I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn't going to be too successful making it up the stairs to get my wallet. I thought about putting my jacket on for about a second, but that hit to my shoulder had left my arm useless for the time being and it was going to hurt too much trying. I would rather be cold than risk blacking out.

That was my ultimate goal at that point. Not ruminating at what my father had done and said to me. Not worrying about the damage to my body or how I was going to go to school in the morning. Make it to the hospital without fainting. I could do that, right? It's fucking routine at this point. The night outside was predictably biting cold, but that was good. It would help me to stay awake. The first few steps outside my house were the worst. I'm well accustomed to broken ribs and how hard it is to breathe when you have them. Every breath was torture and pain, and walking around so soon after getting injured was making things worse, but it was all I could do to just keep walking forward.

I'm sure that I'm making it sound a lot easier than it actually was. I kept my left arm wrapped against my side and after two blocks, I could feel the bloody patch on my shirt start to harden with the cold. It was getting harder to breathe, my breath shallow and my lungs hurting. The cold made everything harder, but while it hurt, I could draw a deep breath if I had to, which meant that I hadn't punctured anything yet. It was hard to, though, and dangerous. I made it another couple of blocks before my vision started to grey and I found myself struggling for my next breath. I stumbled my way to a nearby bench, almost falling to my knees before I managed a desperate grab of it and slid down onto it.

"I can't do this," I gasped out to myself.

I felt pathetic just admitting that to myself. How many times had I been hurt so much worse than that, and had succeeded in dragging myself to the hospital? But my body wouldn't listen to my logic as it shook there on the bench. Maybe it was the blood loss, but I suddenly realized that unless I found a bus, I wasn't going to make it to the hospital without blacking out or hurting myself worse. And I seriously doubted that I was going to get a ride when I had no money on me.

The thought of trying to walk the rest of the distance in my state was terrible, not as faint and dizzy as I felt, with my side throbbing with heat and pain. I wasn't going to make it, I knew, but maybe I wouldn't have to? I dug around in my pocket and found the one thing that I had available to me: my cell phone. Through some miracle, I had put it in my left pocket and it had escaped any damage. I flipped it open and stared at Heero's number, my finger hovering over the call button.

Could I? Dare I? If Heero saw me like this... but he had said to call him if I needed him, if there was an emergency. What was more emergent than me bleeding on a public bench with a broken rib and no money? He would freak, but... I needed him. I can admit that now. In that moment, I needed him so badly that I could have cried. Even if it was just to hear his voice, to hear someone that cared for me and didn't loathe me, that was enough. I put the call through and waited, hunched over and trying not to be, shallowly sucking air in more than I was actually breathing. I could feel fresh blood seeping into my shirt from where my hand was pressed against it.

"...'lo?" Heero's voice came through the phone, adorably sleepy and confused.

I all too easily could imagine him laying in his bed, his brown hair mussed and his blue eyes only half open. I felt my heart ache, stronger and more painful than my injuries. For a moment, I couldn't breathe and I wasn't so sure if that was because of my broken rib.

"Hello?" my friend repeated, more clearly this time, but I still couldn't speak.

There was a pause over the line and I wondered if he was listening to my awkward breathing, thinking it was some asshole prankster. Why couldn't I talk? Why did everything hurt so much all of a sudden?

"Duo? Duo, are you alright?" his voice was rising in a panic.

It took me a moment to realize that during that pause, he had been looking at his caller ID.

"H-Heero..." I choked out in a dry gasp, pain searing through my side and lungs, "I... I..."

Tears streamed down my face. I felt incredibly embarrassed, knowing that he could hear me, but I couldn't stop crying all of a sudden.

"...help..." I breathed too deeply as I tried to get words to form through the red haze in my head and a searing pain shot through my chest, no air at all coming into my lungs for a second, "...I'm hurt... I need... hospital..."

I had to stop talking as breathing suddenly became extremely difficult. I should have just texted him, I realized. Talking coherently was impossible with how hard it was to breathe, but I didn't think that that would have woken him up. I gasped a few short, shallow breaths, trying to calm myself enough to get out what I needed to say, but Heero had gotten the message just fine.

"Where are you?" he asked, his voice clear and strong, as awake as if I hadn't just roused him.

I didn't even need to glance around to catch the street name, I knew exactly where I was.

"Ash Street," I rasped, "Next to Billards... on a bench..."

That was all that he needed.

"I'm coming to get you. Stay exactly where you are! Do not move, alright?!" he demanded and I could hear him moving around from over the phone.

"Your parents... don't..." I tried to adjust my breathing, to get used to taking shallow breaths like I usually did when my ribs were broken, but between the cold air and my crying, it was too hard.

"Just me," he said in a panic and I wondered if he was scared that I might leave where I was if I thought that he was getting his parents. In the shape that I was in, while I didn't want Mr. and Mrs. Yuy to know about this, I didn't think that I was going to get far, "Just me, ok, Duo? So stay where you are!"

There was a long silence then and I feared that he had hung up on me. I don't know why, but the thought that he had left me alone terrified me all of a sudden.

"Heero?!" I cried out, desperate to not be shut out, to not be left sitting in the dark and silence with only my pain and my thoughts which, if I'm being honest, were not all that sane and collected at that point.

"Hey, I'm here," his voice came back, this soothing melody that was keeping my panic at bay, "I'm right here."

"Don't... don't leave..." I begged.

I felt ashamed of myself, even then, at that fear that was in my voice. I was being childish and illogical. It wasn't like I had a gaping wound in my chest and it wasn't like I was dying or I had to stay awake, but I was suddenly very afraid of being alone. I didn't want to think about the things that I so often thought about right after my father had attacked me. I didn't want to think about the terrible things that he had said. I didn't want to think about the fact that it was my dad that had done this to me. And I didn't want to think about my fears that this time, I wasn't going to get better, that the pain and my shortness of breath was permanent. I didn't want to think about how dark it was where I was sitting, how cold, how I couldn't stop shaking and I could feel this sharpness in my side that was probably just in my head.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised and I could hear him closing a car door and the start of an engine, "Just ten minutes and I'll be there. So, my parents were watching the news tonight and there was a story on this guy that thought that he wasn't supposed to water his Christmas tree, and kept the lights that he put on it on for a week straight. It caught on fire and almost burned down his entire house while he was at work. They interviewed him and he said that the tree must have been 'defective.' Can you imagine anyone being that stupid?"

Heero prattled on like that his entire drive to my end of town. His words, banal and trivial, washed over me like a warm bath. If I hadn't been in such pain, I might have let them lull me to sleep. He talked about nothing; things that he had seen on television, what his grandparents were going to have at their Christmas dinner, stupid things that his dog had done that day, just an endless flow of words. He didn't ask me anything or try to engage me in a conversation, obviously having realized that I was having trouble breathing, but he didn't let the silence creep back in.

It didn't feel like any time had passed at all when a car pulled to the curb right in front of where I was sitting, but both of my hands had gone numb, especially the one holding my phone. If I was still bleeding, I had lost the sensation to feel it at least. Heero got out of the car and practically ran to me.

"Duo, gods," he looked frantic as he got a good look at me in the headlights of the car, "Fuck, you're bleeding!" his eyes darted from my face to my side where there was a very noticeable patch of blood, and to my hand that was still clamped over where I thought the cut was, blood staining my fingers, and he immediately went white as a shit, "Fuck... fuck..." it seemed to be the only word that he was capable of right then.

A thousand different things to say popped into my head. I almost asked him if his parents knew that he was driving, but that sounded stupid when I remembered that we were the same age and, unlike me, Heero probably had his driving permit. I almost told him that everything was ok, that it wasn't a big deal, and not to worry, but considering that I had called him out there so late to help me get to the hospital, that would have been bad.

"It's not as bad as it looks," I managed slowly, my breathing getting a little bit better after sitting for so long, "The... bleeding's slowed... I have a broken rib, but I don't... think I've punctured... anything."

He was incredibly patient, waiting for me to get the words out.

"What's wrong with your breathing?" he asked and I could actually see him trying to get his panic under control.

"Broken rib... hurts to breathe... can't take deep breaths because of the... pain and... might puncture my lung... need an X-Ray," I told him.

"You're shaking," he suddenly realized and took off his jacket to wrap loosely around me.

I gladly took it. It was warm from his body heat and was such a shock compared to the cold air that I had gotten used to.

"Hurt my arm... didn't want to risk trying to... to put my coat on..." I tried to explain, "Just... cold... maybe from the blood loss, too."

"Any other injuries I need to worry about?" he asked me and I knew that he was going half crazy with not knowing what the hell had happened to me.

"No," I told him, "Bruised a lot... some cuts... nothing too serious, I just couldn't... I couldn't make it by myself... too cold, too hard to breathe..."

"It's alright," that soothing tone of his was back as I started to panic out of guilt of bringing him out of his warm bed, just to help me in my incapability, "Don't worry about it, let's just get you in the car."

He moved so I could wrap my left arm around his shoulders and used him as leverage to get back onto my feet. Very, very lightly, Heero wrapped one arm around my waist, mindful of my right side, and helped me walk to his car. He had thoughtfully parked so the passenger side was facing the curb, so I didn't have very long to walk. I really didn't need his help after getting off the bench, but I liked having his arm around me, and didn't have the heart to tell him that him holding me like that was hurting me more than it was helping me. He was trying, even if he didn't know what to do. He opened the car door for me and I slid inside. I tried very hard not to show how much sitting back down hurt me, but I couldn't help my gasp of pain as my insides shifted in the new position.

"Are you ok?!" Heero's panic was immediately back and I could actually see the fear on his face, worrying that I had hurt myself internally.

"Fine," I gasped, "Just don't want to do that a lot."

He chewed on his lip, but eventually decided that even if I had hurt myself, there wasn't a single thing that he could do about it, and got into the driver's side. He hadn't even turned the car off when he had gotten out to get me and it was pleasantly warm inside. I could have drifted off right then and there, but as Heero put the car back into drive, he sped out onto the street, driving cautiously, but fast enough to jar me and make me worry about him getting pulled over. Speeding was only one thing, he was also driving too late for someone his age and I couldn't put my seat belt on.

"Slow down," I ordered, "I'm not dying, no reason for you to get into an accident."

He looked sheepish, but obeyed, slowing down to the speed limit.

"You ok?" he asked fearfully, glancing at me briefly before returning his eyes back to the road, "Is there anything that I can do for you? You look... pale."

I had the distinct feeling that he had been about to say 'like shit' and despite everything, despite what had just happened and my pain, I had to smirk.

"You're doing exactly what I need," I said wryly, "I'm fine... just... hurts... nothing you can do about that... I'll be ok, Heero... just... need to know where the rib is... if it's a clean break or if it's... pressing against something it shouldn't be... probably need stitches for this cut, too."

"You're sure it's broken?" he asked.

"Positive," I sighed, "Not the first time I've gotten a broken rib. Know what it feels like. No way it couldn't have broken... and this pain when I breathe..."

His eyes were intense as he looked out the windshield and I knew it was just killing him not to ask me what had happened, but by some kind of miracle, he didn't.

"We'll be there in just a few minutes," he said unnecessarily, more to himself than to me, "Everything will be fine."

He reached over to turn the heat up even further and I could have cried at how good it felt. I could already feel sensation returning to my fingers and carefully probed at the wet spot on my shirt and pants. The blood wasn't gushing out like it had been, but it hadn't stopped yet, either. I was starting to seriously think that I was going to need stitches. The cut wasn't big, but it had injured me worse than I had initially thought.

"Thank you," I said to Heero, "for coming out here so late... Sorry I woke you... you were the only... only one I could ask for help... only one I could rely on..."

Heero blushed, looking embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

"Any time," he told me, "I told you. Any time that you need me, I'll be there. That's what friends are for, right?"

'Yes,' I almost said, 'but I haven't had a friend for a very long time. I didn't dare hope that you would actually come running like this... not for me.'

I didn't know how to express that feeling that I had for him just then, the gratitude and the love I felt. That was exactly what had happened. I had called him, needing help, and he had come running, no questions asked. What could you possibly say to thank someone like that?

"I'm glad you called me," he confessed and then bumbled through his words as he realized how that sounded, "Uh, I mean... I don't mean that I'm glad you were hurt, I mean... I'm just glad that you asked me for help, that you felt that you could... I'll shut up now."

"I understand," I assured him with a soft smile, "You can do that to me, too, you know? I'm not good for much. I can't drive and I'm not much use for anything, but if you ever need help..."

"In a heart beat," he vowed, glancing at me again, his blue eyes warm.

"Don't tell your parents?" I urged him, "Please... I don't want them to know..."

But then we were there at the hospital and before I could get that promise out of him or he could ask what it was that I didn't want them to know, he was parking in the emergency lot and helping me out of the car.

"I can get a wheelchair," he started to say, but I shook my head.

"Walking isn't too bad," I told him, "Hurts more when I sit... things pressing against my ribs..."

He accepted that pretty easily, all things considered, and let me slowly and carefully walk into the emergency waiting room without much assistance, just placing a hand against my back to steady me. Then the rest of it was just routine for me. I gave the nurse at the front desk my name, insurance information, and a list of my injuries and we were told that a doctor would 'get to you immediately.' Heero looked far from happy about that as we found a couple of empty seats in the waiting room.

"They can't see you now?" he asked heatedly, glancing nervously down at the bloody patch on my clothes.

"My injuries aren't that severe," I pointed out.

He liked that answer even less and looked ready to argue the point with me, the nurse, and anyone else telling him otherwise, but simply slumped in his seat, looking irritated. I guess he realized that it was kind of pointless to argue, since that wasn't going to make me get care any faster and it was just pointless in general to argue with someone that was in pain and only able to throw together short sentences. Truth be told, despite Heero's worries, I had been injured a lot worse in the past and the waiting room wasn't all that busy for that close to the holidays. There's nothing like Christmas to make people depressed and stupid.

A nurse came to us just a minute after sitting down to give me some gauze to press against my side to try to stop the bleeding and a vow that it wouldn't be too long of a wait before she hurried off on some other task. 'Not long' ended up being a mere ten minutes, a ridiculous wait to Heero, whom I was sure had never been in the emergency ward of a hospital in his life, but like a blink in the eye for me. A different nurse came out and ushered us into a hospital room where she checked my pupils, took my blood pressure, temperature, and heart rate to make sure that nothing was seriously wrong with me.

"Dr. Yeung will be with you shortly," she smiled at me before leaving Heero and I alone.

"You doing alright?" my friend asked me.

I nodded absently, still pressing the gauze to my side. It was stained with blood almost all the way through at that point, but the bleeding was lethargic and light red.

"Do you want me to wait outside when the doctor comes?" Heero asked.

I stared at him and my words escaped me again. My childish fear of being alone warred with my common sense. This wasn't his problem. He had done enough for me already. Besides, while I didn't think that Heero was squeamish, sticking with me while the doctor did... whatever he would need to do wasn't anyone's idea of a fun time. Why was I so hesitant for him to leave me? Why did it even matter? He was just going to be outside the door.

"I'll stay," he smiled softly as he took the decision out of my hands.

Even though it made me feel pathetic, a wave of relief washed over me. I wanted to believe that I was just in shock, but if I was, it was different from all the other times I had been. This was more like an emotional shock. I just felt incapable of doing anything or saying anything. I wanted to close my eyes and make everything go away. It was like I had suddenly lost the strength to deal with things and I didn't know why. Heero didn't say much after that. He just sat in one of the chairs and looked troubled. I couldn't even begin to wonder what he was thinking over so hard. I was relieved when the door opened after not a long wait and a middle aged, Asian looking man walked through.

"Duo Maxwell?" he said a bit unnecessarily.

"That's me," I said, happy that my voice didn't sound quite as bad as it had when I had called Heero.

"And you are?" the doctor addressed Heero.

"My friend. He can stay," I said cautiously, hoping that the man wouldn't press the issue.

"Alright, then. I'm Dr. Yeung," he closed the door behind himself, looking down at a handheld computer instead of at me, "Now then, it says here that you have several contusions on your right arm and side, a few lacerations on this same arm and side, and what you believe is a broken rib, as well as trouble breathing. Is all this correct?"

"Yes," I felt immediately at ease with his no-nonsense demeanor. That was usually a good sign that I could get in and out of that place with minimal fuss.

The doctor finally looked up from his computer at me and frowned. He sat down in the stool that was right next to the counter full of medical supplies and slid over to sit in front of me, examining the bloody areas of my shirt, namely the one at my side and one of the bigger ones that was on my right arm.

"And how did this happen, exactly?" he asked as he rolled up my right sleeve, the sight of the black and red bruises there making him frown even more.

For a terrifying minute, not a thing came to me. Not a single thought, just this white noise in my head. I couldn't think of a lie, something plausible to explain away my injuries. Heero was looking at me with the same, exact expression that the doctor was, like he was going to demand that he wanted to know what had happened, too, and I just couldn't think of anything but the truth.

"Accident," I finally managed, "I was ironing. Cord wrapped... around my leg... I tripped, hit something. Might have been the kitchen table. Fell on the iron on my side."

Sometimes, the best lies are the ones that are the closest to the truth. The doctor looked dubious at my story, but just probed at the cut on my cheek.

"There seems to be a lot of these accidents in your medical history," he said dryly as he examined me, but didn't say more than that on the subject.

Heero looked... upset and I knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn't buy my lie for a single second, and why should he? He knew about my father and his... temperment. Even if I really had just fell, he would no doubt assume that my father was responsible. I blushed at his searing expression, like an accusation. I felt so ashamed that he knew that I was lying out of my ass.

"I'm going to schedule you for an x-ray immediately to make sure that you don't have any internal damage," Dr. Yeung told me, fishing out a pair of scissors from a drawer, "but I don't believe that you've punctured anything. First, I want to take a look at your lacerations. I don't want you to move your arms too much until I know what the state of your ribs are, so I'm going to have to cut your shirt off of you."

I opened my mouth to protest that, incredibly embarrassed that I was going to be half naked in front of Heero, but this intense sense of deja vu swept over me. This felt exactly like the time that Quatre had helped me get to the hospital after my father had beat me with that bottle. I sincerely doubted I was going to be more successful getting my way about this than I had back then. I closed my mouth and let the doctor cut my shirt off, mourning my shirt. At least I didn't have to lose my pants as well.

Heero hissed in sympathy when he saw the damage. My right arm was peppered with bruises and small cuts. There was a pretty bad cut across my arm, but the worst was obviously the gash at my side. I clenched my teeth as the doctor touched the skin around the wound, making it bleed again.

"This is going to need stitches," he noted, "but your other wounds are superficial. You can wait to get in contact with your parents if you want them here for this, but there's a high risk of infection with a wound like this, it really should be taken care of immediately."

"That's fine," I told him, "I've gotten stitches before and I can't get in contact with them right now."

That technically wasn't a lie. My mother was still at work and my father was probably deep in a drunken sleep at that time.

"Alright," Dr. Yeung collected everything he would need to tend to my wounds, setting it up next to the table that I was sitting on.

The doctor was methodical and all business as he cleaned the blood off of me, bandaging my cheek and the cuts on my arm. I tensed when I saw him prepare a syringe, even though I had known that it was coming.

"I'm just going to give you a local anesthetic," he warned me, "It will numb the area, so you won't feel any pain while I'm stitching the wound closed."

"Ok," I mumbled, squeezing my hands into fists to prepare for it.

I almost jumped when Heero suddenly appeared at my left side and wrapped his hand around mine.

"You don't have to," I said very shyly, "I'm ok."

"I want to," he smiled softly at me, "Just squeeze my hand if you need to."

I felt like my face was going to combust, but opened my hand to entwine my fingers with his. It felt so bizarrely intimate, but only because of my... feelings for him. I realized that if Quatre had been the one to offer his hand to me, I never would have felt awkward about it. But I liked Heero and the feeling of his hand in mine was both wonderful and frightening. Still, it did comfort me, and when the doctor started to apply the stitches, even though all I could feel was a gentle pressure, I still squeezed his hand tightly, focusing on the warmth of his skin instead of the weird sensation.

"You should pick up some antibiotic cream for your lacerations," Yeung told me, typing something into his computer as he finished sealing up my side, "and you are to keep an eye out for any signs of infection, especially in that wound, and come straight back here if it gets infected or starts bleeding again. Also, you can shower, but keep your stitches from getting wet. How soon you can have them removed is entirely up to you. I highly suggest that you abstain from any physical activity that will stress your side. Ideally, they should be ready to come out in just five days. I'll schedule you to come in one week from today, just to be sure. Now," he put the computer back down and pressed his stethoscope to my chest, "let's hear your lungs. Take as deep of a breath as you can."

Heero kept a firm grip on my hand as I tried to do what the doctor wanted. It hurt like hell and I had to struggle not to cough as Yeung listened to my lungs and had me take a couple more deep breaths. It was like trying to blow up a balloon after running a marathon and swallowing shards of glass.

"I don't hear any fluid," Yeung noted with a pleased air, "and you seem to be able to breathe quite deeply, just not without effort and pain. I don't believe that your rib, if it truly is broken, has shifted out of place any, but I still want to err on the side of caution. There is an opening in the x-ray lab in ten minutes," he grabbed his computer again, probably to add me to the schedule, "If there are no complications, you'll be alright to go home tonight. However, if the rib is out of place or there are any shards of bone that are in danger of puncturing your lungs, we'll have to get you into surgery immediately. The x-ray lab is-"

"I know where it is," I butted in.

The doctor shot me an irritated look and I wondered if it was because I had interrupted him or he was annoyed that I had needed so many x-rays in the past that I had memorized the place.

"I will find you some clean clothes, then," he said and briskly walked out of the room, no doubt glad to be rid of someone like me.

Then I was alone with Heero and I had to self-consciously wrap my arms around myself, wishing that I could just put on one of the hospital gowns. I know that I was being stupid. We were both guys and it wasn't like I was much to look at. But that was entirely the point. I was thin and pale and there were a few scars on my body that I never wanted Heero to see, especially the large one on my back. Thankfully, he hadn't looked at my back yet, but I still felt very nervous. Before I could dwell on those feelings for very long, a nurse strode in with some new clothes, a cheap buttoned down top that they obviously gave out to people with injuries that prevented them from raising their arms, and a pair of cotton pants.

Heero gave me some privacy as I changed, folding my jeans up to take with me. I was never going to get all of the blood out of them, but I could still wear them. I was very glad that the room didn't have a mirror. I didn't want to look at myself just then, bruised to hell, my face cut, and huge bandages covering the lacerations on my side and arm. I met Heero outside the room and led him to the elevator. On our way up to the fifth floor where the radiology and x-ray labs were, he was perfectly silent, staring at the floor and looking like he was brooding over something.

The silence between us made me anxious. For the first time since I had dragged him into this, I worried for our friendship. I had given him a very serious look into what my life was really like. Hospital visits and stress. Was he rethinking being my friend? Was he starting to realize what a loser I was? But I couldn't think about it too hard, or I started to feel like I was going to panic. I needed him too much. I had done exactly what I had warned myself not to do and had gotten too deep, too tangled in him. And what I had feared would happen had happened. I was too attached. I was relying on another person again, the worst thing that I could possibly do.

At least getting the x-ray done didn't take too long. I got to go right in when I got there. They showed Heero an examination room that he could wait in while they were doing the test and dragged me off, making me take off my shirt for it before taking me back to the examination room to await my fate. My friend stood up quickly from his chair when the lab tech led me in, shutting the door behind me.

"How was it?" he asked me and I felt this intense relief at the break of silence.

"Fine," I shrugged, "It's not like x-rays hurt. They said they'll have the results in about twenty minutes."

I sat down in one of the chairs across from him and winced. The pain really wasn't getting any better, but at least I was getting more used to it.

"Maybe you should stay standing up," he fretted, "In case there's something wrong."

"I doubt there is," I told him, "I can usually tell."

"You've gotten broken ribs a lot before, haven't you," he accused, not really a question.

"Yeah," I admitted, not wanting to lie to him, "It's not a big deal. They're easier to deal with than a broken arm, unless they pierce something."

He fell quiet for a moment and got that brooding look on his face again. I hated that look. I didn't want him to be thinking about this with that pinched expression.

"You haven't asked me what happened yet," I murmured, not really wanting to discuss this with him, but his continued silence scared me.

"If I did, would you tell me the truth?" he snapped angrily at me, "Or would you just tell me that you fell?"

I wrapped my arms around myself defensively without even realizing that I was doing it. If he had asked, would I have been honest with him? I wasn't sure. Lying about my injuries was second nature, and I didn't want him to know about what happened. It just seemed easier to make up some story that he could swallow that was anything but the truth. But... but this was Heero, not some doctor. My friend. The person that I loved. I didn't think that I could lie to him. No... it's more than that. I think that he's the one person in the world that I can tell the truth to.

"No," I hung my head and said very quietly, "I... I wouldn't lie to you," I rubbed tiredly at my eyes, suddenly aching to just close my eyes and black out, "I'm just... I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I got you into this. You shouldn't have to... have to see me like this. This wasn't your problem and I just dragged you into it like some selfish asshole..."

When I looked up, Heero looked aghast and alarmed and I wondered what it was that I had said that had disturbed him so much. He hurriedly stood up, brought his chair closer to mine right in front of me, and sat back down in it, our knees no more than a foot apart.

"I am not mad at you," he said fiercely, "Ok, Duo? I'm not mad and you didn't just... drag me into this. You're my friend and you were hurt and needed help. I'm glad that you called me, like I said before. I'm not angry, I'm scared. Just look at you! Someone beat you to hell and you're acting like nothing at all happened! I'm frustrated because you act like this is an every day occurrence that you're in the hospital with a broken rib and having to get stitches, and it terrifies me to know that you're acting like this because this is an every day occurrence! But what's even worse is that you won't talk about it. I haven't asked what happened because you haven't said what happened! Of course I want to know, but I think that you won't say because you know that you don't need to say anything!"

His eyes went as hard as stone as he looked at me, but not out of cruelty, just resolve.

"Your father did this to you, didn't he?" his tone was an accusation, but just like before, it wasn't really a question.

I had to look away from him as his statement burned into me. My arms tightened around me and I didn't even care that I was hurting myself.

"Yes," I muttered, not really seeing the point in lying.

"I'm calling the police," he announced brusquely and stood up.

I panicked. There is really no other word for what happened next. In a split second, my mind supplied me with what would happen if he did that. I could actually see it in my head, him calling the cops and telling them that my father had beaten me. It would be the same old story that I had debated with myself for years. There could only be two outcomes, either they would arrest my father and put him away for who knew how long, or they would side with him. Maybe he wasn't a cop anymore, but he had been, and he still had plenty of close friends on the force.

He would be let go, but everyone would talk. He would take that out on me, but that wasn't even the worse part. Everyone would whisper and wonder if he really had done it. It would ruin him. Even if no one gave a shit about what happened to a nothing like me, people love gossip, especially if it's about an ex-cop beating on his wife and kid. He might even lose his job. I couldn't do that to him. No matter how I felt about him lately, no matter the awful things he's done to me, I couldn't hurt my father like that. And anything that happened to him would just hurt my mother, too.

"No!" I cried out, bursting out of my chair and grabbing at Heero's shirt, trying to keep him from moving, "You can't!"

"Look at what he did to you!" Heero yelled at me, looking angry at either my grab or my demands, "He deserves prison for this! How can you possibly be alright with him... with him putting his fists on you like that?!"

"You can't call the cops!" I stubbornly refused to let go of his shirt as I became frantic and hysterical, "If you do... I'll... I'll lie! I'll say you made it up and it was just an accident... or someone else did it!"

He stopped moving and turned to look at me. I quickly let go of his shirt, expecting anger from him, but he just looked very sad and very frustrated.

"You would lie to keep someone who beats you out of jail?" he asked in irritation, "You'll just let him keep hurting you?"

"He's my dad!" I yelled, "How can you not understand that?!"

The look on Heero's face softened to only sadness, tearing at my heart. I would have rather that he be mad with me.

"Because my father doesn't hit me," he said softly.

I took a few shaky steps back and when I felt the chair at the back of my legs, I sat down in it heavily. He would have caused me less pain if he had just belted me in the face. I felt tears pour down my face and it was that feeling that had me pressing my face into my hands and sobbing. That was right, I thought to myself. Of course Heero wouldn't understand. His family was perfect. His father loved him and would never raise more than his voice to him. But mine... mine could beat me with an iron and not even say 'sorry' afterwards. Did he hate me that much? Didn't he love me at all?

"Oh god, Duo," I heard Heero say with great pain and the next thing I knew, he was holding me, wrapping his arms around me with great care, more care than I deserved, "I am so sorry, that was a horrible thing to say..."

My fingers clutched my hair tightly and I shook my head violently, not sure if I was denying his apology or my tears. It hurt so much to cry, but it hurt even more to be held by the boy that I loved. He had more care for me than my parents ever had, and it all seemed so effortless for him.

"You can't... can't tell anyone," I gasped, each sobbing breath feeling like I was breathing in razor blades, "Not anyone! Not even your parents! Please... please, Heero... you can't!"

He stopped rubbing my back and very gently placed his hands on my shoulders, drawing me out of his embrace to look me in the eye. His blue eyes were like steel, yet somehow kind, too. He looked haunted by what I was asking him and I remembered that strong moral code that his family seemed to have, the same code that had caused him to finally stop being friends with Zechs. What I was asking him to do, to just turn a blind eye to something that he so strongly believed was wrong, to make him an accomplice, not only to my lies, but to my father's abuse, was hurting him. My guilt could have torn me to shreds.

"I won't tell anyone about it," he promised me, but I could tell just from looking at him that it had cost him a great deal to get those words out, "if, and only if, you tell me what happened tonight, and I mean everything. No lies, no excuses. Just the truth."

A negotiation. I wiped at my eyes, getting rid of my tears as I thought about it. I could handle a trade like that, couldn't I? But if I told Heero the truth, he might still go to the police with what I had told him, and use those details against me. Could I trust him? Trust isn't exactly something that I'm capable of. I couldn't trust my dad or my mom. I couldn't trust any of the people that I went to school with. In the end, I hadn't even been able to trust the only friend that I had had. How could I possibly trust a boy that I had only known for a few months? One that had hurt me so badly and, unknown to him, still hurt me? After what my father had done to me, how could I trust anyone ever again?

But when I looked at him that night, really looked at him, I realized something. It was the most frightening thing that I had felt since my father had raped me. It was a terrible thing that made me feel weak and helpless and I would have done anything to take it back. But right then, as my friend looked at me so earnestly, so full of fear and pain and desire to help me and, above all, kindness, I knew the truth. I'm just not so sure yet if that's a good thing or a bad thing, or if it's going to bite me in the ass later on. Maybe I couldn't trust anyone anymore but, little by little, whether I wanted to or not, I was starting to trust Heero.

So I told him. I told him every sordid, terrible, embarrassing detail of my night, from getting home and finding the kitchen a mess to my escape out the door while my father went to watch television. I told him every word that my father had said to me, his words burned into my head. I told him about how angry I got and how I had pushed him. I even told him how my father had poured his beer on me and thrown his bottle on the ground. I told him about how I had cried and how my dad had mocked me. Hell, I even told him about my father grabbing my ass. The only thing that I didn't tell him was the fear that I had felt, that he was going to rape me there in the kitchen.

By the end of it, I was crying again, silently this time, and Heero looked pale and sick. Through my shameful, little tale, I had watched him go from angry to full on rage to horror to looking like he was going to vomit. I guess just knowing that my father hits me didn't really hold a candle to hearing about it. When I finished, he was holding one of my hands and looking miserable. I felt so embarrassed by all of it, especially crying in front of him again. I was terrified that he would say that my father was right, that I was a pansy. I think that, if even a portion of him had agreed with anything that my father had said to me, he would have broken my heart in a way that I would never recover from it. Instead, he actually looked a bit green by it all.

"How..." he whispered hoarsely with that horrified look on his face when I was finally done talking, "... how can you defend someone like that? How can you not want to make him stop... or at the very least see that he's punished for hurting you like that?"

"He was drunk," I protested, even as a part of me accused me of bullshit, "Drunker than usual, really. He didn't mean any of it, he was just angry. He... he says shit like that sometimes, when he's out of it. He doesn't mean it."

Nonsense words. I couldn't even lie to myself that it was the truth. Because that was exactly what I was doing. I wasn't trying to convince my friend that my father wasn't that kind of person, I was trying to convince myself in desperation. My father didn't really think those things... and he certainly never would have beaten me like that had he been sober... Great, except I knew that it was just me, grasping at straws. How many times had he called me a girl when he had been sober? How many times had he hit me without a single drop of alcohol involved?

"I don't care if he had consumed a whole, fucking distillery!" Heero yelled at me, "There is no excuse for saying those things! He beat you with a fucking iron, Duo, not even his fists! And you're sitting here, telling me that he didn't mean to? What difference does it make if he meant to or not?! He still did it, no matter his intentions, and he's going to do it again! Are you really going to tell me that you aren't going to go to the police after this?"

I shook my head, only barely managing not to tell him that I've gotten worse from my father.

"I can't," I said in a weak, wavering voice that I hated, trying not to cry anymore, "Please, I just can't."

"How is that fair?" he continued to press, gripping my hand like he was afraid to let go of it, "You won't get him into trouble because you love him, but that's clearly not stopping him from hurting you! And what about me? Don't my feelings get any consideration? You're asking me not to say anything while my best friend gets the shit beaten out of him and is left bleeding and broken on a bench!"

My heart trembled at the fear in his voice and the warmth around my hand. His feelings... his feelings had all of the consideration in the world to me, but not with this. Why couldn't he understand that this was between my father and I, no one else should have ever gotten involved.

"How is it any different than my asking you to do nothing while Zechs wails on me?" I asked in a small voice, "Or you turning your back to me when Relena and the others were bullying me when you were friends with them? How is this any different at all?"

I hated myself for the agony in his eyes as he remembered what he used to be like, but it didn't deter him.

"Because I can stop this!" he said vehemently, "And he's your father. You shouldn't have to put up with this shit from anyone, but least of all him! Maybe I can't stop Zechs from picking on either of us, but your father is a grown man, and he's responsible for you. I'd throw Zechs and Relena in jail, too, if I could, but I can't. I don't know if I... if I have the strength to keep quiet when I know what you have to deal with at home. Maybe you do, but I care about you... too much sometimes, and letting your father hurt you... not just physically but all that shit he said... that's wrong and it makes feel sick inside!"

"All I'm asking," I said softly, "is for you to not tell anyone, just like with Zechs. Please, Heero. You're the only one I've ever told about this... you're the only one that I've ever trusted this much. I'm begging you, do this one thing for me and I'll never ask you for anything ever again. I know it's a lot, and I'm a piece of shit for even asking you to turn your back on what you believe is right or wrong, but this is my family and this is the only way that I know how to cope with things! If my father goes to jail, I won't be able to live with myself, and if he doesn't, it doesn't matter who told on him, he's going to blame me. No matter what I do, nothing is going to get better. Don't you see that?"

I hated pulling the guilt card on him like that, but it wasn't like I had done it on purpose. It was just a simple fact. Anything that Heero chose to do now, it was going to come back to me, for better or worse. And I could actually see him weighing those choices with that understanding. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and let go of my hand when the door to the room opened and one of the lab techs walked in with an envelope.

"Sorry this took so long," she apologized with a bright smile, oblivious to the tense air of the room, "Let's take a look at your results, shall we?"

As she busied herself putting my x-rays on the screen and turning the light on to illuminate them, I scrubbed at my eyes to make sure that no one would be able to tell that I had been crying.

"You have a broken rib on your right side, the fifth to be exact," she pointed to the rib on the x-ray and I could very clearly see the break that she was talking about, "Also, your fourth and sixth ribs are heavily cracked, but neither of them have a break, so that's fortunate. Given the amount of chest injuries in your medical history, it's rather a miracle that they didn't break. While you're young, this many injuries has no doubt weakened your ribs to the point where it won't take much force to break them anymore.

"Of course, we would need to run more tests to verify that, but I highly suggest that you take more care in the future. If you continue have breaks, even a single (1) one like this, it will lead to severe complications when you get older. You're very fortunate with this break. Even though it went all the way through the bone, your rib hasn't shifted at all and you aren't in any danger of having it shift if you keep from physical activities, especially lifting, or putting a lot of pressure on it.

"Because it's still in place, your healing time should be minimal," she informed me, "I'm sure this is old hat for you at this point, but you're looking at six weeks before it is fully healed. Take ibuprofen for the pain, ice the area, get lots of rest, and do breathing exercises. Coughing or taking hourly deep breaths will suffice to prevent pneumonia, but if you're having too hard of a time breathing deep with the pain, your doctor can prescribe you a stronger painkiller."

I nodded at the tech's instructions, having heard it at least a dozen times before, but I still took her advice about pneumonia to heart. I've gotten it three times in my life and I'm pretty keen about never getting it again.

It was only four am when we finally left the hospital to walk to Heero's car, but I was so exhausted and worn down that I felt like it had been days since my father had attacked me. All I wanted to do when I got home was crash, but I was trying very hard not to think about going back home. More than anything, I didn't want to go back there. I didn't want to face him. I was thankful for the distraction of my injuries, and even my fight with Heero, because I hadn't actually had to think about what my father had done at all.

Oddly, him beating on me with an iron wasn't what hurt. It had been what he had said to me. It really wasn't anything worse than what he had said before, but for some reason, it had wormed its way inside of me. It had been his tone, that hatred for me that tore me up. If I had to face him in the state that I was in just then, in pain, so tired that I felt like I was sleepwalking, I knew that something in me was going to break. I was scared, and it had nothing to do with fearing another beating. I was scared of his words, actually terrified of going home and having to hear him tear into me again.

How pathetic am I? How many times has my father unloaded on me, both verbally and physically, and how many times have I never had a problem with doing what needed to be done? I take care of myself, it's what I've been doing since I was just a kid. But that night, I couldn't do it. I had reached out to Heero and had leaned on him so hard. Where was my self reliance all of a sudden? Why was I so clingy and frightened of my own shadow? I should be scared of being around my friend, now that he knew just how violent my father was, now that he knew the truth, but I was more scared of him leaving me to fend for myself. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I wasn't so confident that I could. Worst of all, I have no idea why I felt like that.

"Thanks again for everything," I said to Heero as he unlocked his car, "I'm sorry for being such a pain in the ass."

It was the best I could do to apologize, not just for dragging him out of bed in the early hours of the morning, but for everything else. Crying in front of him. Causing him so much stress. Forcing him to make a promise with me that he hadn't wanted to make.

"You aren't a pain in the ass," he assured me with a sigh, "And I told you, I'm glad that I could help you. I just think you're being an idiot, but obviously there's nothing that I can say to get you to change your mind."

He was interrupted by a cheery chime and took his phone out of his pocket. It made me feel stupidly happy to see that the cat charm that he had bought was still dangling from it. He looked at his message, a mildly annoyed expression on his face and texted something back to the person.

"Who was that from?" I asked, even though it was really none of my business.

"My dad," he said nonchalantly.

"You aren't in trouble, are you?" my stomach clenched in guilt, imagining his parents freaking out, finding him gone, "They weren't worried?"

"No," he got a message back, read it, and started typing again, "I told them where I was."

That guilt quickly turned to anxiety.

"When?"

"While you were getting your x-ray," he responded.

In other words, before our fight and before I had made him promise not to tell anyone.

"What... what did you tell them?" I asked nervously.

Heero was silent for a second and I immediately feared the worst.

"As much of the truth as I could," he admitted as he met my gaze, sounding sad before he looked back down at his messages, "I don't make a habit of lying to my parents."

My guilt felt like it was trying to disembowel me at that. What right did I have to feel anxious that he had told his parents? He had this great relationship with them where he could actually talk to them and be honest with them, and there I was, hoping that I had messed with that. I was such an asshole, I couldn't understand why he wanted to be my friend at all.

"But," he sighed again, "I knew that you were... uncomfortable with them knowing, so I just told them that you had a small accident. I didn't know what else to say. They know that I took you to the hospital and that we're both ok, that's all."

"Thank you," I said with relief, "and I'm really sorry. I made you lie to your parents..."

"You haven't made me do anything," Heero put his phone back into pocket and smiled at me softly, but his expression was pinched with something that I couldn't name, "I made you a promise, even if it's one that I don't necessarily agree with, you didn't twist my arm."

That didn't really make me feel any better, but I dropped it. The subject was becoming too uncomfortable, too painful for me and I was just too tired to keep my mouth from running off and telling him things that I just plain did not want him to know.

"I know it's really late- err, early," I said shyly, "and school is just in a few hours, but I'm still feeling a bit lightheaded. Could you do me a huge favor and drive me home?"

Not that it really made any kind of difference where I went. I knew right then that I wasn't going to get any sleep when I got home, even though I wouldn't have to wake up for school for another almost three hours. My chest was hurting like hell and just knowing that my father was there was going to keep me wide awake, but Heero didn't have to know that.

"No," he said with this firmness in his tone that wasn't angry or cruel, "I can't, because you're coming home with me."

I just kind of blinked at him for a second.

"W-what... what are you talking about? There's no reason-" I started to protest.

"There is plenty of reason," he snapped irritably, "Namely, your father tried to kill you."

"No, he just-" I tried to interject, but my friend wasn't having any of my denial, apparently.

"And I am not letting my best friend go back there, especially not if his father is still angry. What if he hits you and does more damage, or dislodges your broken rib? I'm not going to stay by my phone, terrified that I'm going to get another call from you or find out that you're back in the hospital after the fact, and I'm sure as hell not going to willfully send you back there, not today at any rate."

I swallowed and felt how dry my throat was. I had that feeling again, that warmth in chest that hurt even worse than my broken rib. That Heero was so vehement about protecting me bowled me over, but more than that, he had called me his best friend again. I know, it doesn't mean much when you're someone's only friend, but it did to me. It just drove home to me that I wasn't some passing interest for him, he actually did care about me.

"Look," he said in a softer tone, "I'm not going to say something callous like you owe me for making that promise to you, but please. You asked me for a favor, so let me ask one, too. Come home with me. Just rest there, let us take care of you for a little while, until I'm sure you aren't going to keel over or something, and you can go home tonight. Please?"

I sighed. I wouldn't tell him, but that please would have been enough to have made me agree to just about anything. And it helped that hadn't wanted to go home to begin with.

"Alright," I conceded, opening the passenger side door and sliding in.

Heero had this triumphant, little smile on his face when he sat in the driver's side and turned on the car.

"Oh, and you're not going to school today, either," he said, almost like it was a passing thought.

"Hey!" I protested in irritation, "I'm not your kid and that's going too far!"

"I don't think it's going far enough," he shot back, "You just got stitches and you're in pain. You haven't gotten any sleep and you look like you're about to faint. We have two more days of school before the winter break, there is absolutely no reason for you to go to school today, and I don't really want to have to watch you struggle through the day, especially not with Zechs out for you."

"My test results," I tried to persuade him, but even I could hear how weak my voice was.

"I will pick them up from your teachers and bring them home," Heero said, a little bit too pleased with himself, I thought, "And my parents have already agreed to call the school on your behalf."

"Goddamit, Heero!" I swore, angry that he had made all these decisions for me before even having this conversation, "You had no idea if I was going to say yes to any of this! What if I had said no and you had already dragged your parents into it?!"

"I would have brought you home kicking and screaming if I had to," he said cheekily.

"That's called kidnapping," I grumbled.

"Well, that's your opinion," he smirked and pulled the car out of the hospital parking lot.

I glared at him, but despite my irritation at the liberties that he had taken, I was both warmed at his concern and relieved.

"You're an asshole," I accused, but it had no heat to it at all. In fact, I had to fight to keep it from sounding affectionate. I closed my eyes and, for a moment, I thought that I might actually fall asleep right there that I was so tired and so comfortable. It wasn't that the car was comfortable, just being right next to him. Even when I felt like he was driving me insane, I still loved him for it.

"I love you, too," Heero replied sarcastically.

I knew, even when he said it, that he was just responding to my calling him an asshole. Joking around, throwing insults at each other, these are things that normal teenagers do. I knew that. But at that moment, his words so closely mirrored my thoughts, and they were exactly what my heart yearned and dreamed of hearing, even if I knew it was just a stupid, desperate fantasy of something that I was pretty sure that I couldn't handle anyway. (violently crossed out) And even if he did, I could never

In that moment, my mind horribly removed his sarcastic tone from that comment and I found myself unable to breathe, my breath hitching in my chest. I don't know if you've ever had a broken rib before, but it just that one misstep in breathing fucking hurt. I coughed and gasp for air as my body gleefully reminded me that breathing was neither of our friends.

"Are you ok?" Heero demanded, staring at me like he thought that I was dying and maybe he should pull the car over.

"Eyes... " I gasped, "...road."

He made an exasperated, but turned his gaze back to where it was supposed to be.

"I just... breathed wrong..." I explained, trying to get my breathing under control.

"And you thought that you were going to school today?" he quirked one eyebrow, "Never mind gym, you look like a strong wind is going to blow you over."

"I'll be fine," I assured him, "and I don't care what you say, I'm going to work today. I still haven't talked to my bosses about reducing my shifts and one of my coworkers has been out sick, so they'll pitch a fit if I skip out."

"No way, Duo," Heero argued as he pulled in to his street, "There is no way in hell that you're going to be capable of-"

"I'm not a complete masochist or an idiot," I snapped at him and forced myself to calm down before I had another breathing fit, "I'm going to ask if there's any work I can do sitting down. There's usually filing and paperwork to do, so if they're willing to put me on that, I can do that. If not, of course I'm going to take the shift off. Not only am I going to screw up my rib doing my usual work, I work with other people and I can get someone hurt."

All arguing stopped as Heero pulled the car into their garage. I had no idea just how much money his family had, but I was still surprised to see that there was just one other car in there, and it was just as modest as the one that Heero had been driving. Their garage was a three door, so when I had first seen it, I had assumed that they had three cars, but the third spot was filled with various boxes, tools, a refrigerator, pool toys, and yard equipment. I guessed that the car that Heero had taken didn't belong to him after all.

Not that he needed a car, but a lot of my classmates that lived in the north end of town got their own cars when they got their licenses, even if they were just hand me downs from their older siblings. We couldn't afford to get a car for my mother, who had to take the bus to get to her jobs, so it made me feel a little bit bitter that kids my age, most of which didn't work at all, were given cars just so they didn't have to take public transport.

The inside door of the Yuys' garage led us into the washing room and then the kitchen. Because it was so early in the morning, I had expected to just be ushered into the guest room while Heero went to his own room to try to get sleep before school, but to my surprise, both of his parents were up and apparently waiting for us in the kitchen, drinking cups of coffee. My guilt grew. When was I going to stop bothering and disturbing these peoples' lives? I almost immediately apologized to the both of them for having them being awake at that hour, and for whatever worry they had felt for their son, but wasn't given the chance. As we walked in, Heero's mother was in a mid pace, she and her husband talking about something heatedly, something that they immediately dropped when they saw us.

"Oh my god, Duo, are you alright?!" Mrs. Yuy looked frantic when she saw me and I didn't know if that was because she knew that we had just come from the hospital or because of the noticeable bandage on my face.

"I'm fine," I tried to assure her when she strode up to me, looking like she was actually going to hug me or throw some kind of panicked fit, just barely restraining herself, "I just have some cuts and bruises, and one of my ribs is broken."

I am apparently terrible at getting people to believe that I'm fine and that my injuries are no big deal, because she looked even worse, practically horrified at that news. Still, I felt warmed at her concern. I wasn't her child, there was no reason at all for her to care that I was hurt, and the fact that she was baffled me, but I happily embraced it. It wasn't like I had a mother that would care, so why not?

"You broke a rib?! That's awful!" she exclaimed, "Heero, you let him walk around without a jacket in this weather with a broken rib? It's no wonder why he's breathing like that."

I blinked in shock as I realized that both of his parents had realized something small like a change in my breathing, but with the careful way that I was doing it, I guessed it was kind of obvious that there was something wrong.

"I didn't let him do anything," my friend grumbled, "He had a hard time wearing one with his injuries, so he didn't bother with one."

"What on earth happened?" she demanded to know.

I looked over at Heero, hoping for some further back up, but he had his back to me as he put the car keys on the key rack. I wasn't dumb enough to believe that that hadn't been on purpose.

"An accident," I said, suddenly feeling very weary and not wanting to discuss this.

I didn't think that telling my kitchen story to these two was going to cut it. But right then, I was far too tired to come up with a better lie. Even so, I felt so happy to be there, it was like the last few hours had only been a bad dream that I had had. Even my pain wasn't bothering me so much anymore.

"An accident?" Heero's father questioned, and I knew right then that if I had any trouble, it was going to be from him and his damnable perceptiveness, "What kind of accident? Heero said that you needed to have stitches-"

"Duo is really tired," my friend finally intercepted on my behalf, coming to my rescue even though I really didn't deserve it, "He's had a really long, hard morning and he hasn't gotten any sleep at all. Do you mind if I just take him upstairs so he can get some rest? And if we have any ibuprofen, his rib is bothering him a lot."

Heero really could be incredibly manipulative when he put his mind to it, but it had the desired effect. Both of his parents looked instantly concerned.

"Oh, of course! There are some pills in the bathroom upstairs. Is there anything else that you need?" Mrs. Yuy asked me.

"I don't suppose you have medical tape and bandages, about this big," I demonstrated the size that I needed with my hands, "or antibiotic cream?"

I really hated asking for things, but I knew that we were out of the bandages that I needed at home and I was paranoid about getting any of my cuts infected.

"I'll make a stop at the pharmacy to get some," Mr. Yuy said.

"That's ok, you don't have to," I protested, feeling bad that there I was, a guest in their home, and I was making them run errands for me.

"No trouble," he said with this soft smile that reminded me too much of Heero, "You're hurt. Just relax."

"I already made the guest bed up for you," Mrs. Yuy smiled kindly at me and placed her hand on my shoulder, almost making me cry for reasons that I chalked up to my tiredness, "and you can stay here for as long as you like until you feel better."

"I..." I stopped when I felt tears in my eyes.

"Fuck, you should have been born a girl. Maybe if you had, you wouldn't be such a dickless loser... You fucking miserable piece of shit!" I heard in my head.

I hastily rubbed at my tears, pretending that I was just sleepily rubbing my eyes so no one would tell that I was crying. I couldn't handle it. If I even tried to think about my father right then... think about him while Mrs. Yuy was looking at me like that, I was going to lose it and start sobbing right there in their kitchen. My father was right. I really was a dickless loser, crying because I was upset at being yelled at, and letting the kindness of my friend and his family bring me to tears.

"Thank you," was all I could manage.

"Come on," Heero urged softly, his voice almost a whisper, his hand on my back.

He, at least, wasn't fooled. He knew that I was on the verge of tears. I let him lead me up to the guest bedroom, feeling like I was sleepwalking. I think that I all too happily could have slept on the bathroom floor at that point. As promised, the bed in the guest room was made and had been turned down for me. I could imagine Heero's sweet mother doing it, fussing and worrying about what was going on with us. The walk up the stairs had aggravated my injuries and by the time we got to the room, I was winded and all I wanted to do was face plant into that bed. But when I went to go sit on it, this wave of pure agony shot through my right side, making me gasp and wrap an arm around my ribs.

"Are you alright?" Heero asked, immediately by my side.

"Just jostled them a bit," I managed, waiting for the pain to subside into something manageable.

It was then that I realized that my best friend had his hand on my knee and was rubbing it gently. It was oddly comforting and soothing and I found that it made the pain ease a bit more quickly. But when his father walked into the room, he took his hand away like he had been burned, or like he had done something wrong, and got back to his feet.

"Here," his father said, handing me a glass of water and a couple of pills.

I was very happy to take them, gulping down the water like I was dying of thirst. I wasn't prepared for Mr. Yuy placing his hand on my forehead, pushing my bangs up a little bit. I typically would have flinched if someone had done that to me so suddenly, but I just blinked at him in confusion, my frazzled mind working about three steps behind everyone else's.

"You look very pale," he noted in that soft tone he and Heero took when they were concerned about something, "but I don't think that you have a fever. Would you mind me taking a look at your bandages? I'm not a doctor, but I just want to make sure everything is ok before you go to sleep."

I couldn't think of a single reason to tell him no, so I obediently lifted my shirt up just enough so he could see the large bandage covering my stitches. He winced in sympathy when he saw the size of it.

"It's shallow," I told him, "but long. I probably would have been ok without stitches, the doctor was just being cautious."

Mr. Yuy looked like there were a thousand questions that he wanted to ask me and I hoped that he would never get the chance to ask any of them.

"I'm going to call your school in a couple of hours," he told me instead, "I don't imagine that they'll kick up too much of a fuss, this close to vacation. Is there anyone else you need for me to call for you?"

He left that question very open ended, but I knew that by someone, he meant my parents. He looked sad when I shook my head, confirming my suspicions.

"If there's anything you need," Heero's father said in a very solid, no nonsense tone, "anything at all, you can just call for Heero's mother or myself, alright?"

I nodded.

"Alright, let's get you to bed," he said and helped me lay down.

Normally, I would be annoyed by being coddled like that, but it felt nice, and it actually was a help since I hadn't tried laying down at all yet. But once my head hit that pillow, I was practically half asleep. And by the time I heard the door close, my eyes were closed and I could feel myself drifting into nothingness. A nothingness that was interrupted by the feel of fingers brushing through my bangs.

At first, I was so sure that it was Heero's father, but somehow, some part of me knew that it was my friend's hand, my friend's touch. I recognized his smell and his body warmth as it lingered on my skin. I told myself later that it was just a dream, one of the first pleasant ones that I've had in a very long time, but that's a lie. The moment that I felt his fingers in my hair, the moment that I realized that it was him, I was wide awake. I felt frightened, and not because someone was touching me while they thought that I was sleeping, but simply because it was him, and a touch from Heero was the most frightening thing in the world.

"Sweet dreams, Duo," I heard him whisper and then felt something very soft, something that couldn't possibly be a hand or finger, brush itself against my forehead.

That brush was so faint, so feather light that it was like the whisper of butterfly wings. It's easy for me to say that it was a dream, but I know that it wasn't because that touch burned me. My breath caught in my throat at the realization of what it was and I made sure to keep my eyes closed, to not move a single muscle, until I heard him leave and close the door behind him. I opened my eyes in the dark of the room and felt a tear drip down my face.

"I love you," I said to no one in a whisper as light as that brush.

I closed my eyes again, trying to remember what Heero's kiss had felt like, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

End Part 9

(1) She is not referring to Duo only breaking one rib. A single break is when a bone is broken all the way through the bone in only one area, without compound fracture or a green stick fracture.

Author's Note (IMPORTANT): Ugh, I thought that I was never going to finish this part, and on time, too! But Shii, you might be asking yourself, why is this part so long, and what do you mean by 'on time'? Well, veteran's of my writing will remember this, but for those who are just finding these things that I call stories, I have a little tradition. See, I'm a horror nut, I live and breathe for the stuff, and I have a horror story called 'Beyond the Looking Glass.' In the spirit of Halloween, every October, I stop what I'm doing and dedicate the month to working on that story. So, I decided to keep writing this part for as long as I could this month before I had to deviate to another story.

Also, for those that don't know, November is Nanowrimo, or National Novel Writing Month. I have participated in this event since 2007 and will do so this year as well. However, I have chosen A Stagnation of Love as my entry this year, so you'll only have to wait a month for the next update. I hope this 47 page part will suffice until then ^_^