Standard Disclaimer: *yawn* Gundam Wing is not mine . . . *yawn* Gomen, but these disclaimers are tiresome. I'm not making any money so there.
Warnings: Angst (lots of it), mild language, and Shonen ai
/blah/= thoughts
Renaissance
By skyprincess
Chapter 15:
Duo stumbled out of the elevator and sprinted for the door. /Gotta get out! Gotta get away!/ The tears distorted his vision as if looking through a fun house mirror. The world dipped and swirled around him, as the ground seemed to shy away from his every step. Through the blur of tears and haze of night he saw a familiar object in the distance. /My jeep! Gotta go! Almost there!/ He continued at break neck speed, eyes locked on his target. His chest burned from lack of air. He lunged for the door handle as though it might run away. He took a moment to steady himself; bent at the waist, one hand hung limply, the other still clutched the handle while his hair wildly hung over his face. Panting heavily he threw the door open and clambered inside.
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The loud screech of tires stirred Quatre from his thoughts and he rushed to the window to see the culprit. He arrived just in time to see a teal jeep squeal out the school gates, the driver's long braid whipping behind him. "He's in no condition to drive right now. I hope he'll be alright," Quatre sighed into the empty night. He looked up to the black starless sky. Hope seemed so far away and Quatre's words died before they could reach his lips. So he fell to his knees and cried, for Duo, for Trowa, for lost love, and unrequited love, and stayed on Duo's floor all night. "Duo, I'm so sorry that I couldn't do anything. I suppose I am too weak."
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The usually dazzling city lights swirled past the racing jeep in luminescent streaks, taunting the driver's peripheral vision like a million phosphorescent phantasms. He absent-mindedly wiped his eyes with the back of his forearm, quickly amazed at the dampened sleeve. "I'm still crying," he confessed to himself, all the while not believing the self-assertion. Harsh tears pooled in the corners of the amethyst eyes, and he once again wiped them away.
The teal jeep careened down Main Street at a dangerous pace, the force of the wind crashing around the windshield to chaff the moist cheeks, leaving them still damp but also wind burnt. "I run. I hide. But I never tell a lie," Duo mocked himself, his voice hoarse with sorrow. "Just couldn't run long enough. Has to screw up the only good thing I had."
Enveloped in thought, the deathscythe pilot barely noticed the bright red light glowing over the oncoming intersection. Duo's eyes shot open and he slammed his right foot onto the break as quickly and solidly as humanly possible . . . well, not exactly human. Being a Gundam pilot, Duo's reaction time, strength, and precision were far above that of the average hum. Plus, the quick reflexes developed in his earlier . . . ahem . . . profession came in handy and Duo narrowly missed a messy mass of metal and skyrocketing insurance bills. He sat at the light, panting shallowly and letting his heart slow from its panic-frenzied pace. The jeep eased forward gently as the light blinked to green.
/Where am I going?/ In all honesty he had no idea where he was running to, but his hands absently lead, and he followed. /What will I do when I get there?/ The question so trivial and insignificant died as rapidly as it formed. /Why does it matter? Why does anything matter?/ Anger and pain seethed pain seethed through every fiber of his being, the usually smiling lips twisted in misery. "Damn you Shinigami, for everything you've done. I can't even take away his pain. I wouldn't mind being the scapegoat again if it meant he would be happy," his cries were caught in the fickle wind and carried far above any sympathetic ears. Tears once again burned his eyes blurring out the cold world as he sailed through it.
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Little sunlight filtered through the cloud-covered sky. A gray haze draped over the landscape drowning the world in a murky umbra. Dim blonde locks were barely visible through a high window. The usually bright eyes of the blonde appeared dull, more because of his broken spirit than the weather. He sat motionless, staring at everything and yet nothing. Time stood still as his glazed over eyes idly allowed salty drops to escape their corners. His right hand reached across his chest and clutched his shirt over his heart. The knuckles were white with strain, punctuating the shallow rise and fall of the narrow chest. The rosy cherubic face paled to a sallow lifeless shade. The pronounced pink lips quivered as silent regrets tumbled from their depths. Thoughts whirled around the recesses of his mind, running in and out of those caverns like dozens of lost children. Slipping and sliding in his mental prison, Quatre was much like a lost child himself.
"When? . . How? . . Why? . ." Conscious thought long forgotten and coherency thrown to the wind, he simply sat, letting his psyche war with itself.
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A gust of wind ruffled through the disheveled mass of chestnut locks. Duo's cheeks still glistened from recent tears as he sat atop the hood of his jeep looking out over the gloomy valley. A dismal shroud had wrapped around his place of solace, making everything seem so lifeless . . . so dead. "Thanks Shinigami," the American muttered.
A sudden burst of wind whipped across the valley, almost knocking Duo backwards. And he heard it . . . the voice whispering, "I'm just trying to help you remember."
The braided pilot's face wrinkled into a scowl as he grasped the cross around his neck for support, "How could I forget!"
A loud thunderclap interrupted his cry, booming out over the valley, but only his ears heard its message, "Does it have to be Quatre too?"
The violet eyes shot open in surprise. That almost sounded like a threat, or a warning. He took another look at the somber valley and remembered the vision. "Oh God!" he wailed, "I've been so wrapped up in myself, that I haven't paid attention to the promise I made to Quatre and Trowa, and I've ignored my commitment to the mission." Tears pricked at his eyes, and he felt the familiar painful lump welling in his throat. "No," he ordered himself brusquely, rubbing his eyes, and willing away the tears.
He intended one last look over the valley, but something in the distance caught his eye. A house? The safe house! A plan began to slowly formulate in the pilot's ever-plotting mind. "Now, to get a few party favors," a familiar smile spread across his lips, "Cause the God of Death is ready for a little festivity, and Neo-Oz is invited." Duo quickly turned to his jeep and, forsaking the doors, opted to leap in swinging on the frame. One swift motion found him in the seat with the engine on, and not a moment later, he was racing off in the direction of the little cabin.
