Warnings: Some AU, angst, non-con, yaoi.
:::blah::: Thoughts
*blah* emphasis
-blah- flashback
Uhhh. . . yeah. I posted this before, but no one reviewed so I took it off. What happened people??? :::throws hands in the air::: Oh well, here it is. . . AGAIN. Please review!!!
Retrained: Ch. 2- Dedicated
By Weißabe
The pilots' missions were usually routine and easy; there was no war, only scattered, unorganized conflicts here and there. Rebellious soldiers who'd happened across an old moblie suit and starting trouble, or maybe just patrolling territory borders because of neighbor tension. With extremely few mobile anythings in the known existance, the Gundams could be very intimidating.
But if there was no strong reason to keep the Gundams around, why had they bothered? Really, without a purpose, all the pilots were lost like needles in a haystack. The only "trade" they knew was Gundam piloting; if no one needed their service, then no one needed them.
At least, that's what Heero reasoned.
Trowa and Quatre had each other to live for, and Wufei had something or another; "Suicide is cowardly and weak, for the people who can't handle or appreciate what fate brings them" were his last words to Heero, said out of the blue as they all went their separate ways; they were the last two Gundam pilots around. Wufei knew about Heero's mentality weeks before he tried to shoot himself, back where it all started to him; the Sanc Kingdom. Duo, for once, was grateful that Relena was there stalking him and used her good communicating skills to talk him out of it, pointing out how blind he was to the care of his comrades.
Trowa admired Heero because of his loyalty and dedication to whatever he put his mind on, and his perseverance to correct any mistake, however few. He used to want to be just like him until Quatre showed him feeling could be a wonderful experience, but the admiration still remained nevertheless. Quatre liked Heero's leadership skills, his ablilty to take charge and be calm even in the most demanding circumstances. . . everything he was going to need to be when his mother died and he became boss. . . and Heero saving both their tails from certain death recently hadn't hurt their image of him neither. Wufei. . . well, Wufei was Wufei. Headstrong, independent. He did mention once that Heero was once of the strongest, most noble souls he knew. Before he tried to off himself.
--"Hey, Heero?" "Hn." The stoic Wing pilot didn't have time for Duo and his crazy antics; he was concentrating on a game of Solitaire. "I- um, I. . . I got you something!" Heero took his eyes of the screen in front of him long enough to slide his eyes to Duo, then back again. Duo coughed. "Yeah, well. . . here it is." He held out the pad. "What is it?" Heero asked without even looking at it. "It's. . . It's a mousepad. You know, for your mouse. It. . . um, it has a picture of Wing on it. I thought you could use it." Without a moment of silence, Heero replied,"I don't need any of my own paraphanelia. You wasted your money." With that, he turned of the computer and walked out into the hall.
Wufei was waiting for him, arms crossed. His eyes looked annoyed. "Yuy!" Heero, who'd glanced at him once and started to walk the other way, stopped. Turned around. Glared impatiently at the Chinese teen. "What?" Annoyed, monotonous tone. "For all the so-called intelligience in that brain of yours and the life of me, I can't figure out why you haven't," Wufei snapped. Heero blinked. "Figured out what?" "Duo, fool! Duo! He cares deeply for you, how much is not my place to tell, but you still remain ignorant to his appeals." Heero snorted. "If Duo cares, that's his problem. I have no room for such useless nonsense." Shoving Wufei aside, he continued along the other way. Not really mad at Wufei, mad at himself for wanting to believe what he said. :::Don't blame the messenger. . .::: He entered his room, as impersonable as he could make it. Sat on his neatly made twin bed. Reflected. He really wanted to indulge himself on this one, let himself do what he wanted to so badly. Forget Dr. J. and follow his *own* emotions.
He had made up his mind.--
Duo loved Heero point blank. It was a deep feeling that began when they first interacted and continued even through the rape. Though, hatred was now there right beside it. Heero's steel soul. . . he had reached through it, if only for a while. He refused to believe that his efforts to show Heero how to appreciate life was just completely wasted. That all the secret, stolen moments, the intimate acts, were all fake.
He wrote so in his suicide note.
Chapter 3 Teaser
Warnings: Some AU, angst, non-con, yaoi.
:::blah::: Thoughts
*blah* emphasis
-blah- flashback
By Weißabe
Rashid stood near the doorway of the study, his heart growing fonder for the unibanged teen every minute. The Arabian and him were playing a friendly game of chess, if there was a such thing, and sipping hot cocoa. :::They deserve a break after that close call with that vengeful mob of former OZ soldiers. . . though I don't know what would have happened had Heero not intervened and helped. . . that boy, he really is something else. . .::: The familiar but annoying ring of the phone interrupted his pondering and his arm automatically went to receive it, as to not interrupt Master Quatre and his guest.
"Winner Residence. This is Rashid."
Silence, then some pained breathing.
"Rashid, I. . . I need to speak to Quatre. Is Quatre there? I *really* need to speak to him!" Rashid could tell Duo was trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, but he heard it clear as day.
"Of course! I'll get him right now," he responded, motioning Quatre over. Seeing the troubled expression on Rashid's face, he had snatched the phone from him in an instant.
"Hello?"
More breathing.
"Quatre. . . Quatre, I. . . I. . . something happened, Quatre. . . Heero, he- hehadamissiontorapemefromDr.J.andhediditandnowhe'sgoneandhavenoideawhattodoandI'mreallyscared!" Quatre blinked. Then, his mood darkened. "Duo, I don't know what you're trying to pull over on me, but it's not funny. I advise you to go bother someone else for your laughs."
"But-"
"Goodbye, Duo."
Duo hung up the phone, his whole body shaking in disbelief. He missed the receiver by many inches and the whole phone ended up falling off the bed, the dial tone fading into the back of his consiousness. Violet eyes wide, blank, and empty. He felt so deserted and depressed, he hadn't even bothered to shower. He sat rocking on the bed, the mocking glare of the screen of Heero's laptop boring into his mind. His hair was dark and stringy, seeming to complete his haunted image. "What. . . Heero? What have. . . you done. . . to me? Why? Didn't I try to be your friend?" Then, the door to the hotel room opened.
In it stood Heero Yuy.
He had his same cool, detached demeanor as he had when Duo first met him. Taking in Duo's battered form, and the knife in his hand, he snorted in disgust. "Clean yourself up, Duo. You're pathetic. Gundam pilots should be a lot stronger." With those words, he sat on his bed and proceeded to do his usual computer mumbo-jumbo.
Duo didn't think any of it was real. Numbly, he dragged himself up and towards the poorly lit bathroom. He was so out of it, he stepped into the shower with his clothes on. His eyes were opened, but he didn't see anything. Stared blankly at the shower wall in front of him as one dirty hand reached to turn the water on. To warm. . . hot. . . scalding. It helped clear his head from his current confused mental state. :::Okay. . . no need to panic. Quatre's obviously in a bad mood. . . it happens to the best of us.::: Thinking of Quatre made him think of the ZERO system, which led to Wing Zero, which came to. . . Heero. :::Oh yeah. There's also the small matter of you being raped by your closest acquaintice,::: came a snide voice inside his head. The false, empty calm that he had acquired just a few seconds before began to dissipate. He forced himself not to think about it. He began to clean the bathroom, for all the good it did to it's appearance. Illogically scrubbing with only water and his shirt. Scrubbing the floor, the tub, the curtain. . . eventually he worked himself into a sobbing ball of nerves on the very floor he used to forget it all.
Thanks to everyone who reads AND reviews!
