Disclaimer: Gundam Wing does not belong to me, it belongs to Sunrise and a few other people/groups.
Author's Notes: Literature class makes for the most interesting opprotunities. The quote for this was "What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us." It was too good to pass up, I had this idea the second I read it.
Warnings: There is religious content in here, Christian stuff. Some people get weird about that kind of thing so I thought I'd give you a heads up.
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Fire. There was fire everywhere. It was all up in flames.
No, not again. I did not want to see this. This memory which haunts my dreams. But I could
not fight it, the dream would not leave me until it was played through. Numbly I walked into
the burning church, the flames could not touch me.
There, Father Maxwell praying before the alter. The others, the other orphans who had been
sheltered here and dear Sister Helen who had braided my hair every day, were all dead. And
before my eyes Father Maxwell gave a hacking cough, the smoke getting into his lungs, death
hovering close by.
The image melded into something from even earlier in my life. Solo, my best friend from
childhood, when the streets were my life. He was dying, again, coughing up blood. Looking at me
his eyes blazed, accusing.
[It's your fault I died.]
The voiceless statement echoed in my head. "NO!" I screamed, "That's not what happened! There
was nothing I could do!! Remember? You told me it was okay, that I'd never be alone! That's why
I call myself Duo.....Remember?!"
But Solo was gone, leaving me alone in consuming darkness.
Darkness, and the voices of those I have killed.
"Oh yes, we remember, dear Shinigami," the voices cried in unison. "We remember our deaths, the
way we were killed. By you, self proclaimed God of Death!" Then the pictures started. Horrible,
heart wrenching pictures of death and destruction. Of the battles, of the missions, of the war.
And always, always the fire of the Maxwell Church Massacre, where I had failed to protect those I
cared for.......
I woke with a start, my sheets rumpled, my body drenched in sweat. Desperately I groped for the chain around my neck, finding comfort in the simple cross which constantly hung there. Calming down a bit, I looked around in the dark.
Much to my relief Heero was still asleep. Hardly surprising since he had come back to the safe house late after a particularly demanding mission. He was hurt, of course he would not admit to that or ask for help. I worry about my self-destructive partner. But he is the "Perfect Soldier" after all; I need to work harder on bringing out his emotions. Annoyance flaired through me as I saw the tell-tale flash of green on his laptop. There would be another mission when he awoke.
My eyes strayed to the clock. Three in the morning, too early to get up, but it was impossible to get back to sleep. So instead I grabbed my clothing in the darkness and snuck out of the room, hoping against hope that Heero's solider reflexes would not kick in when I passed him.
The Lord was with me, my friend stayed sleeping. That was good, he needed it. Quietly as was possible I made my way to the bathroom. After getting dressed I looked in the mirror to discover that my long chestnut hair was in a mess. That was soon fixed, I brushed it and rebraided it. Once again I studied my reflection. Violet eyes stared back at me, the look of the living dead present in a gaze that spoke of having seen, having done things that no one should experience.
That wouldn't do at all.
So I called on some rescent pleasent memories. A picnic with the other pilots, each of us playing
the part we built for ourselves.
Chang Wufei practicing with his katana, the epitome of control, the ever vigilient defender of justice.
Trowa Barton, silent, stoic yet a comforting pressence.
Peaceful, angelic Quatre Winner whose underlying and undeniable goodness touches us all.
Heero Yuy, the man who is more like a machine, but who in flickering moments showed more emotion
than all of us; my best friend.
And myself, ever cheerful, always ready with a joke and a grin. Whose practical jokes annoyed
everyone but kept them in high spirits. Whose laughter had occasionally brought expression to
even Heero's face.
And slowly the reminder of who the true Duo Maxwell was brought back the sparkle to my eyes.
I tried out a grin, ignoring the voice deep inside me. The voice which said,
You will destroy them in the end. If not directly, then your cursed presence will bring your
friends to an untimely end. Wufei, Trowa, Quatre and Heero. All whom you care about will die one
way or another. There is nothing ahead of you but battle, blood, death, destruction. You are the
God of Death. All before you shall perish. Especially those you try to protect.
I drowned out the voice as best I could, singing in my own mind the motto that I had adopted; 'It's okay. Perfectly okay.'
Like a silent spector I made my way down the stairs towards the door where I grabbed my coat. Putting it on I headed to the kitchen to write a note to my fellow pilots. Didn't want Quatre to worry.
It was a big surprise when I found Quatre sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of tea. His
eyes had large bags under them.
I guess even Quatre has his demons. It seems to be part of the territory.
"Oi. Q-man. You okay pal?" Quatre looked up at my enterance, showing no signs of surprise at my obvious intention to go outside even at this time in the morning. Instead he smiled slightly. "Yes, just having a little trouble sleeping." With a gesture he offered the seat next to him for my occupation. So I sat.
We must have passed the good part of an hour before Quatre spoke. When he did it was to say something I had not expected in the least.
"You do know what day this is, right?" I was startled, I had almost forgotten. No wonder I had dreamed, today was the anniversary of the Maxwell Church Massacre. Quatre was watching me carefully, I nodded. My Arabian friend offered a warm smile, "Go on then. I'll make something up, unless you want them to know." Shooting Quatre a grin, I got up. That was just like him to think of others first.
"Feel free to tell them. They'll understand."
I spent the better part of the day wandering, stopping only long enough to eat breakfast, then lunch. My own demons followed me. Memories of the past. Worries for the future. It seemed to me that I had come from blood and sorrow only to be traveling into more blood and sorrow. I didn't doubt the future held plenty of that in store, it is part of war. At the time I didn't dare imagine that it would one day be over. The lives of normal people was and remains a mystery.
Eventually sometime around mid-afternoon I found myself at the steps of a small parish. On a sudden whim I went in.
It was extremely small on the inside as well, it couldn't have held more than one hundred people. But the intimacy was nice and the church itself was as beautiful as any I have ever seen.
An overwhelming sense of peace and belonging filled me as I sat in one of the pews. Churches have always done this for me, even as they bring up difficult memories they also preserve good ones. Besides, you could feel the pressence of God in that place, enough to comfort even the most weighted hearts. It's as if He is there, speaking in way we cannot hear. And I prayed.
I prayed for all those I had killed, all those I had failed to save, all those I would kill in the future, and those I would fail to save in the future. And when I was done I sat there thinking nothing, with tears streaming down my face.
It was then that I noticed a girl standing off by herself, reading aloud a passage from the Bible. I got the impression she was practicing for an upcoming mass. Listening closely I could hear very little of what she was saying. Except for one verse.
Grinning I got up and walked out of the church. Maybe part of me was the "God of Death" but I was also Duo Maxwell. And the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit are all in me.
-Deuteronomy 31:8