Darkness Enveloping

I do not own Gundam Wing.

Warning: Incoherent m/m rape fic that follows Wufei's thought processes.

Wufei's POV

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Absently twisting my finger around in the slick black strands of my loose hair, I stare into the blackness.  How long have I been in here?  A month…maybe two…  No, if that's the case, I've probably only been here for a week at the most.  Time to yourself does that.  Anyway, I've had enough spare time to completely reflect upon my inner self twice fold with time to spare.  Not only that, but I've thought of just about anything I've ever imagined or had the potential to imagine.  I've thought so much, there's nothing to think about anymore.  Or, at least that's what it seems like.  My head is so empty it seems as though I should be falling asleep, but I can't.

The darkness is consuming, overwhelming.  It robs you of your sight and swamps you with noise.  At times I swear I can hear someone breathing next to me, but when I reach out, no one's there.  The darkness is coldness, thrusting its claws inside of you and freezing your soul.  It tears at your mind until there's nothing left but darkness itself.  Darkness is destruction and death.  I haven't seen the light in so long.  If I were to go outside now, I would be blinded and shrouded in darkness forever. 

Perhaps it's just because I cannot escape in the black haze that I hate it so much.  I've tried before.  I suppose it's just a weakness of mine; I've relied on my sight for far too long.  When I was little, my master used to train me with a blindfold.  I mastered that art, but it seems as though I've forgotten that already.  Perhaps I haven't surpassed my master after all.  But then, who ever does really surpass anyone else?  Maybe each generation becomes weaker and weaker, because the student can never surpass the master, leading the human race into a cold, eternally dark weakness.  How can we know if that's the case?  How can we compare ourselves with our betters, if we're not good enough to know that they are our betters?

I am certainly not the strongest.  If I were, I would not be here, mourning about my capture.  My fate would not be in the hands of my worst enemy.  I would not be biting my lip in anxiousness, curling my greasy hair around my finger in boredom, or brooding over my lost cause.  I know who are my betters.  My master was better than me.  He entrusted me with his mission before destroying that colony.  That was his only weakness; he had too much faith in me.  Already I have let him down.  I know I have, and yet I cannot do anything.  I'm just too weak to try anymore.

And what of Heero?  He is the most skilled warrior, silent and watchful.  He is better than me as well.  No, not just him.  All of the other pilots, perhaps with the exception of the American.  Trowa, with his deceptive silence and unique style.  Quatre, with his inhuman kindness and intelligence.  They are all better than me.  For me, I can fight with a sword and a Gundam, and that is the extent of my ability.

I had not realized that before, and that is why I am here now, in this suffocating darkness.  I was too arrogant, too weak, and that was why I opted to challenge one much stronger than myself.  It is no other's fault that I am here than my own.  I do not deny that.  Because he was always better than me in all of my specialties, he has shown me how foolish and unskilled I really am.  He has the right to lock me up in here; he has the right to decide my fate.  If I were strong enough to escape, he would have no right; but I am not, and therefore he retains his hold.

The darkness has dulled my senses.  Things do not register as quickly in my mind as they used to.  I know this because there is a faint clicking noise before the door to my dark cell is opened, and yet when I hear this noise, I do not move or wonder what it is until the door swings open and a piercing light pours into my eyes, burning them within.  For the first time in awhile, I move quickly, tossing over and burying my head into my arms.  I can still see the pulsing red of the light behind my eyelids, but curiously I squint obscurely towards the source of my pain, noting the blurred silhouettes of two people there, though even the edges of their figures fade into the light so discretely that they're indiscernible.  My long eyelashes aren't helping with the matter either, crushed together so that they create gray dots and lines in my vision.  It seems like they've grown longer since I've been here.

The glare fades a bit, though even only a little, I can make out the glint of the light reflecting off the shorter person's hair in such away that I can tell he's blond.  Has to be…  I've never seen light do that to a person with dark hair.  The breathing is heavy, as always, though this one seems more like out of fear than anything else.  Not like the last one they sent down here.  He had been breathing heavily because he was trying to keep as much breath as he could.  I'm not sure if the commanders here just didn't notice he had been punctured through the lungs, or if they just didn't care to provide the expense of healing an enemy.  Anyway, my fellow cellmate had died within the first two hours, and they didn't remove his body until the next day.

At least my new cellmate doesn't seem to be gasping in pain. 

There is a quick movement that in the light only looks like a colorless blur, and the blonde comes hurtling forward.  Like always, he manages to trip over something; whether his feet are chained together is beyond me, though they probably aren't.  Perhaps he just can't balance with his hands cuffed together.  No matter, he falls in place beside where I lay motionless and remains there, breathing.  The cell door closes, and with it escapes the last streaks of light, until a darkness even deeper than the one before is the only thing that remains.

A darkness that robs you of your sight and swamps you with noise.  It's like all the other times; I can hear him breathing beside me.  I can hear it clearly, just as before.  It's so similar, I'm opted to believe that he's really not there at all.

Tell me, cellmate, will you die soon?  Or is it me who is dying?  Am I losing my mind?  Am I the one going insane from the darkness, so much so that I can hear things that are not there?  Am I suffocating in the darkness?  So much of my strength has left, I'm surprised there's still any left.  How can anything so weak still survive?  My body should have quit trying a long time ago.

"It's Hell in here," I whisper, not trusting my throat to support a full voice.  Gently, with shaking fingers, I reach out and touch the soft hair of the one next to me.  I can hear the breathing falter as I do so, but I do not relent.  Everything around here is so hard, I'm not about to quit.  I had even reverted to stroking my own greasy, disgusting hair for a chance to experience some comfort.  This hair is clean and smooth.  It won't stay that way for long, so I won't let him stop me.

The metal around his wrists clinks slightly as he turns.  I can hear him shuffling.  I can hear him breathing still.  But I cannot see him at all.  What color is this hair I'm stroking?  Is it really blond, or was I hallucinating?  Maybe I wasn't hallucinating at all.  Maybe light really does do that to people with black hair.  I can't remember anymore.

"Wufei…  I can't believe you're still alive," a voice whispers back, soft and melodic, a sharp contrast to the sounds of the cell around that I had grown accustomed to.  The tone in his whisper is familiar, the accent that remains unique to him.  I know I've heard it before.  Without a voice, though, I cannot tell.  Instead I continue to run my fingers through his strands.  The texture of his hair…he must be blond.  Black hair doesn't feel like this.

I close my eyes, savoring the texture, letting the silk glide beneath my fingers.  When was the last time something alive came through here, besides the insects, that allowed me to touch them?  Something that could respond, that could talk, that could continue to live without death creeping inside like a plague?

"I never imagined…"

And who are you?  Why have you been locked away with someone as lost as me?  Will you lose your strength just as I did?  Don't worry about me, whoever you are.  Try to get out, now, while you still can.  There's not much time left.

"But where…" says the voice as the body it belongs to shifts into a sitting position, depriving me of the wonderful texture.  "Duo and Heero and Trowa…  Weren't they here too?"

Duo and Heero and Trowa?  They were here, weren't they?  Were they?  Duo and Heero and…Trowa.  So then, the one who sits beside me would have to be the only one remaining.  The hair I had been touching is blond.

"The darkness inside here is trapped.  It cannot hunt.  It is trying to eat us.  You should get out of here," I whisper, wondering when this happened.  As a child I had never been afraid of anything, much less the dark.  I wonder, would I have been afraid if I knew then what I know now?  Would I have been afraid if I had known that the darkness is alive?

"Wufei?" he asks, his voice high and full of worry, as always.  How did he get to be so kind?  I've always wondered that.  "Is there something wrong?"

I am much too weak to answer him.  The darkness is slowly destroying me, and I cannot fight back.  A darkness so powerful that even the light becomes its ally.  I am outnumbered; I cannot escape.

I wish death would be quicker than this.

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I had been in that darkness for so long, it almost seems impossible that I can see right now.  It had not robbed me of my sight after all, though I wish it had.  If it had, I would not know that they are here, that they are all here, watching with widened eyes and yet unable, or unwilling, to help.  And for that I am both angry and thankful; if they were to come to my rescue, I would be faced with a shame beyond all shames, even worse than the shame that is hovering over my body, casting a dark shadow in which springs to life a whole new encompassing evil.  There is a smirk on his face as he leans forward and pins my arms above my head so that even if I were to gather some strength, I would not be able to break free.

When I had first been hurled into that cell of darkness, why didn't I even try to escape?  Why had I been so afraid?  If I knew that this would happen, I wonder, would I have tried harder to get out?

I am his.  I resigned myself to my own fate, a fate that was entirely in his control, and therefore I became whatever he wanted me to be.  He has a right to do this to me, to shame me in such a way that those four who look upon me now will never forget it.  It's my own fault for being so weak.

But, I did not choose to be weak.  I worked so hard to become strong.  I spent my entire life training to be the strongest, the best.  I could not have done anything differently.  So why?  Why is this happening to me?

I look into the face of the enemy, barely noting the victorious smirk across his lips before my vision blurs from tears.  I'm too tired the even shiver; instead, I merely relax against him, his movements rhythmically thrusting my body limply across the ground.  There's no point in fighting back; I'd never win.  I have to deal with this, even though this is worth than death.  Because they're all watching me, he's watching me with his wide blue eyes sparkling with tears of pity.

What could be worse than this?  I would rather die than let this continue any further.  I'd rather die in shame and be cursed forever than to live on any longer.  I hate this, I hate it so much that I can taste blood, see blood, but my body is too weak to do anything about it.  His eyes are blood red, glowing in the dim light like a demon from Hell, cursing me and shaming me.

It is forever before he stops, but not by his own choice.  An explosion, I think.  There is a loud noise and the entire structure trembles from shock.  His face contorts into a grotesque mask, and he pulls out and immediately sets off, leaving me helpless on the floor, waiting for something to happen.  I turn my head to look at the four watching me, but now, I notice, there is only one, the one with the glistening blond hair staring at me, his eyes alive with concern.  I catch his eyes for the briefest of moments and stare at him pleadingly, begging for his help.

I can barely watch as he blinks back a few tears and turns after his comrades to their escape.

I'm left alone, naked and shamed, able to do nothing but listen to the echoing vibrations of a ship in battle, as I wait.

I wait for him to return, but secretly I wish to be left here to starve to death.  Surely that would be the kindest fate I have left.

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I am clean again, rested and well fed, warm under the blankets of the well-furnished bed.  My strength has returned, all of it, and yet I find myself weaker than before, not unable, but rather unwilling to fight back.  I've seen it happen to others before.  Master called it a 'broken spirit.'  It happens when one resigns himself to his fate, and gives up completely.  I have done this myself, I realize this, and yet I do not try to change it.  I can never recover from this.  I won't allow myself to.

I think they're all dead.  I don't know this for sure, but I get the feeling that they are.  All of them, even the one with the blue eyes and silky yellow hair, with a voice as sweet as honey and a concern that surpasses all others.  He must be dead, or he would have come back for me.

Surely he would have.

The darkness is consuming, overwhelming.  It robs you of your sight and swamps you with noise.  I can hear him breathing beside me.  I can feel his arms unconsciously wrap around me.  Even in his sleep, he is sure to assert his power over me, even though I show little resistance.  I am his now; that is the fate I have accepted.  I do not wish to fight back; I'm too weak to.

I'm beginning to love the darkness.  The darkness hides the evil from sight, it hides me from sight so that I can have a few hours to pity myself.  When the lights are on, I can see him, and he can see me, and I belong to him.  It is times like this, in the darkness, that I can feel him and hear him, but I cannot see him, that I love.

The darkness is my cover.  The darkness is my freedom.  What had previously robbed me of my strength and left me helpless has now become my ally, aiding me in my overwhelming fate.  I have become one with the darkness; it consumes me and envelopes me in its chilly fingers, and I do not resist.  Because when the darkness is gone, I will be his once more.

((((o.o))))

For Spiwolf7.