Goodbye; too late
Goodbye; too late.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, or any of its characters (although it'd be wicked cool if I did, eh?). They are property of the Sotsu Agency and Sunrise.

*Quick Note-
This is from Duo's Point of View. See if you can figure out which of the other Gundam characters (it's one of the major characters) he is thinking about.

**

You don't seem to understand at all. If you had, you could, and would, stop me. But you don't, so I'm leaving. To tell the truth, I hate how you read my face like a book. No matter how I feel, you know exactly how to make me feel better.

But you don't.

And when I ask for advice, it's just for your own amusement that you answer me.

It doesn't help.

I catch glimpses of you out of the corner of my eye, and you know it. Not a smile, or even a glare.

You're killing me.

So here I am, laying on the cold, polished wooden floor, dying in a pool of my own damned blood. A rough, almost psychotic laugh just barely escapes past my lips as I take what might be my last breath. Maybe you hear me, because you just opened the door. I'm sorry I can't give you a smile, but you really aren't worth the effort.

Goodbye.

Within a second, you're by my side, holding my head up. It hurts now, how you look deep and hard into my eyes. Do you see anything? I wish I could ask, but I've run out of time. Now would you just fucking stop looking at me as if you care? As if you'll miss me?

I'm pretty sure you just picked up my gun. What are you planning to do?

I'm scared. You smile as though you know what you're doing. Tears stream down your face and fall onto my own as you put the gun to your temple. You pull the trigger and the gunshot echoes inside my head louder than it should, louder than it could. Your blood splatters onto my face and mixes with the tears you forgot on my cheek.

And you're gone.

You put your head on mine as we watch the others run into the room. They look at our bodies, half not believing what they see, before tears run down their now deathly pale faces.

I stroke your soft cheek with a callused hand and resist the urge to hit you. You shouldn't be here. It isn't your time to die. You see, I really am sorry this time. I could have stopped you if I had been alive when you came in. But I was dead. And now you're stuck with me --

in Hell.

**

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