Notes: This is Duo POV again, even though it should be Heero if I follow the pattern I set. This chapter didn't end up being at all what I planned, but that's nothing unusual. Anyway, Duo may have asked for help, but he hasn't decided yet if he will accept that help. This chapter deals with what he will do. It may seem that his thoughts jump around and contradict each other a lot, but that's how this chapter somehow got written, and I think it actually works, because Duo really isn't thinking straight right now. Enjoy and review!
I was completely appalled at myself. Was I really that stupid? Why had it taken me so long to realise that what I was doing was wrong? Why had I refused Heero's help? Why had I run so hard from the comfort he offered me? Why did I have to be so fucking weak?
I was curled on Heero's bed, my arm stinging sharply, and Heero was spooning me from behind, his body pressed tight against mine, sheltering me and protecting me. He'd left for two seconds, to fetch the med kit, so that he could clean and bandage my arm, and then hadn't left my side. That had been two hours ago. We had spent the majority of that time on the bed, and I didn't intend on moving any time soon.
I felt... warm. I could feel Heero behind me, not just with my skin, but with something else, some sixth sense I'd picked up in my short but hard years of live as a street rat and Gundam pilot. I could feel him, a comforting presence that wouldn't hurt me, but help me. He would help me because he cared.
That seemed like such a simple concept, but it really wasn't. Because only three other people have cared about me as much as Heero did. They were all dead, and it was all my fault. That had caused me to reject comfort and compassion, because I was terrified of what might happen to them. But Heero hadn't cared about that. He had cared more about me than himself. He... cared.
I didn't feel worthy of his compassion. I mean, he was so strong and brave and determined and who was I? A worthless little street rat who could only survive if he slashed his own arms with a razor blade.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, not really meaning to, and I felt him shift slightly behind me, his arms tightening.
"For what?"
".... Everything."
I could almost feel the tender smile on his lips, and he dropped a kiss on the back of my head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Duo. This isn't your fault."
That was kind of a stupid thing to say, because it was my fault. I had chosen to cut, chosen to lie. No one had forced me to do all those stupid things I'd done, no one had pressured me into it. No, I'd done it of my own free will. And that made it entirely my fault.
"Stop it," Heero commanded in a whisper. "Stop blaming yourself, Duo. Just focus on getting better."
That was easier said than done. Even now, my skin tingled with the faint urge to cut, even though my arm still hurt from the latest cut. The bloody razor blade was lying on the floor under the window, the light glinting off the metal and highlighting the blood. It called to me, whispering a soft song of seduction and enticement. What was I without that blade? I couldn't survive without it, I knew that. The blade was a part of me, buried deep in my soul, slowly cutting into it as I cut my arms. To throw away the blade would be to throw away my life, or at least what I called a life. Without that blade, I would just sink, deeper and deeper, into an endless torment of misery and pain, of depression and suffering.
"Dammit, Duo, would you stop that?" Heero asked, giving me a little shake. I had no idea how he knew what I was thinking, but didn't really care. "You are sick, Duo, and you can get better, you WILL get better, because I'm here to help you. Alright?"
Heero was here... to help me. Heero would not leave me. Heero would help me. Heero cared about me. Yes, Heero... help me... care for me... Heero.
~*~
I woke up feeling groggy and disorientated. I was in a very familiar and very nice position, in Heero's arms, but it took me a second to remember why. The stinging in my arm finally jogged me memory, and I cringed as the scene replayed in my mind.
Very slowly, I turned my head and found out that Heero was asleep. He looked... different when he slept. Sort of relaxed and... innocent. I know, it's virtually impossible for Heero to appear innocent, because he's got that look of violence and mayhem, but that's only when he's awake. When he's asleep, he isn't concentrating on how he looks, and the lines in his face smoothed out, giving him a peaceful expression. His lips were half-parted, and I was taken with the urge to kiss him.
I blinked at that, not because of the urge itself, but because of the thought that maybe Heero wouldn't mind. Since when did I ever think Heero would do anything other than slug me if I tried to kiss him?
Perhaps sensing that I was awake, Heero twitched and opened his eyes. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of those deep midnight blue eyes. There were thousands of shades of blue in the world, used for various things, but that particular shade of blue was just for Heero. You could search the entire world for that colour and find it only in Heero's eyes. I was sure of it.
"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly, frowning slightly.
I actually smiled. "No, nothing. Just... hold me."
"Always."
We lay in silence for a while, and then I turned to face him again. "Heero?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna get better, right?"
Something strange seeped into his eyes then, something like pain, and I frowned at it. "Yes, l-Duo. You'll get better."
"And... you'll help me, right?"
"Yeah, I'll help you."
It took more effort than I thought it would to say the actual words, because I had denied help for so long, but I eventually managed to mumble a quiet but sincere, "Thank you."
"Why do you find it so hard to accept help, Duo?"
I had to think about that one. Refusing help had been something I'd done for so long, I'd forgotten the reason for it. Then I remembered. Like most things ingrained in my personality and responses, it was from the streets of L2.
"When I was little, no one gave help freely. If they gave you an apple or a blanket or a drink or a couple of creds, they always wanted something in return, usually something painful and unpleasant, and you couldn't escape it. I learned not to accept anything from anyone, because while sometimes they would get nasty and take payment whether you took what they offered or not, sometimes they just gave up and went away. So, I don't accept help anymore, because you never know what someone will want in return."
He was quiet for a moment as he digested that, and then he said, "I'm sorry."
I didn't know what he was apologising for, so I didn't say anything.
"I won't take anything from you, Duo. My help comes obligation-free. Are you hungry?"
As if on cue, my stomach gurgled, and I grimaced. "Yeah, kinda."
"Let's get you a snack, then."
He untangled himself from me and stood up, pulling me with him. Though it would've made more sense to grab my left hand, as I was lying on my right side, he took my right hand. Using my left arm and hand too much today would just cause extra pain. Heero knew that, and he had respected that. A lot of people wouldn't have. I smiled at him.
He smiled back and we walked downstairs, careful not to make too much noise, as Quatre and Trowa were in bed, and Wufei was still unconscious. He made me sit at the table while he cooked me some chicken soup. I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, admiring the easy gracefulness that he had.
"You're not making anything for yourself," I said, when he only took out one bowl and spoon, with two slices of bread.
"I'm not hungry."
I frowned at that, but didn't push it. "Wufei should be waking up soon," I said by way of changing the subject. Though, technically we hadn't been on a subject, so I guess I was just avoiding a subject. That made sense in my head.
"Exhaustion and pain should keep him out for about an extra half hour."
"Hm. He's not gonna be in a good mood when he wakes up."
"The mission was successful and both he and Trowa are alive." There was that tone in his voice that he gets when he doesn't understand something. Emotions sometimes confused Heero.
"Yeah, but he fucked up, at least in his eyes. He got wounded and Trowa had to cover for him. That's a serious blow to his pride, and he's gonna be sulky."
"Hn. Eat."
I dutifully tore off a piece of bread and dunked it in the soup. Popping it into my mouth, I made appreciative 'mmm' noises. It was really tasty and I was very hungry, so I ended up asking for three more slices of bread. Heero gave them to me with a weird little smile.
After I'd eaten, I washed up the bowl and spoon and left them to dry. Heero followed my movements with that lazy intent of his, the one that sent tingles up my spine.
"I'm gonna go visit Wufei, alright?" I asked, and he frowned, obviously not wanting to let me out of his sight, but also knowing that he couldn't stay with me 24/7.
Wufei was sort of twitching, tiny little moans escaping his lips, and I knew he was struggling to wake up.
"Come on, Wufei, just stay asleep," I murmured, brushing a strand of jet-black hair out of his face. "It's easier than being awake, and you need the rest. Just sleep, Wufei."
A small frown creased his brow, but he stopped twitching and muttering. I think he actually trusted me. Go figure.
I'd asked for help, despite all my instincts not to, and Heero had responded to that plea with kindness and comfort. But would I actually get better? And how long would Heero's compassion last? My problems were... complex, to say the least. It would not be easy to untangle and solve them. Well, perhaps solve isn't the right word, because I knew I would never be completely free of the blade, so maybe diminish would be the right word.
Would Heero stick with me through all the pain and suffering I knew I was about to face? Would I be able to stick with me? I am not a masochist, and I really wasn't looking forward to the long road ahead of me. It would be so much easier to just ignore my problems and carry on the way I was.
The only downside to my cutting was the scars. I really didn't like them. But I had other scars, scars earned in the war and from the streets. It was easy to ignore them. I didn't really care what my body looked like, and anyone else who chanced to see them could just go fuck themselves.
But it wasn't the physical scars I didn't like, because as I said I didn't care about that. No, I hated what the scars represented. They said that I was weak and pathetic, that the only way I could survive was with the blade.
So, I had two choices. I could a) walk the hard road ahead of me and hope I survived to break free of the blade, or b) carry on the way I was going, and have the scars marring my arms whisper and scream at me about how weak and pathetic I was.
Neither choice sounded attractive and I wished for a compromise, but I knew that this was one of those all-or-nothing choices. I either did this or I didn't. I wanted to do it, but wasn't sure I was strong enough, and if I tried but wasn't strong enough, it would just be worse than if I hadn't tried at all.
I sighed and looked at Wufei. He could do this, and I wished for some of that awesome strength he possessed. His strength wasn't like Heero, Mr. I-Bend-Steel-Bars; no, his strength was driven by pain and fury, and sometimes was scarier than Heero's.
Heero would do what he had to because it was all he knew. Wufei would do what he had to because he couldn't not do it, his honour or his pride or whatever it was wouldn't let him. Or, that's what I had thought, and it was partly true, but the other reason he wouldn't be able to walk away was his wife, Meiran. I didn't know much about her, but he had talked to me once, actually talked, and I had learned of the strong and rebellious girl he had been honoured to call wife, and I knew that he was doing this, suffering all this shit, to avenge her death.
I was fighting for Solo and Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. He was fighting for Meiran. That common thread, that bond, meant that sometimes, I found Wufei's presence more comforting than Heero's, because he understood what drove me, whereas Heero didn't. People live and people die, lives are cheap, that was all he understood. But Wufei understood that a person may die physically, but they never die as long as your remember and cherish them. He understood the ghosts that haunted me, the ghosts that wouldn't let me quit.
And that is the precise moment that I made my decision. Solo wouldn't have quit, he would've looked at the long, hard road and sneered. Father Maxwell wouldn't have quit. He would have looked at the long, hard road and just graciously accepted it. Sister Helen wouldn't have quit. She would have looked at the long, hard road and smiled, believing that anything was possible, if you just had enough faith and compassion.
I missed them, the three people I had dared to call family, but they never left me, not completely. They were always there, at the edges of my mind, with Solo cheering me on, Father Maxwell scolding me to take better care of myself, and Sister Helen comforting me and reading me bedtime stories.
They would have been appalled at what I had become. They had all believed in me, so much, seen something in me that I hadn't seen. It was for them that I would do this. I would do this, because they believed I could.
I was completely appalled at myself. Was I really that stupid? Why had it taken me so long to realise that what I was doing was wrong? Why had I refused Heero's help? Why had I run so hard from the comfort he offered me? Why did I have to be so fucking weak?
I was curled on Heero's bed, my arm stinging sharply, and Heero was spooning me from behind, his body pressed tight against mine, sheltering me and protecting me. He'd left for two seconds, to fetch the med kit, so that he could clean and bandage my arm, and then hadn't left my side. That had been two hours ago. We had spent the majority of that time on the bed, and I didn't intend on moving any time soon.
I felt... warm. I could feel Heero behind me, not just with my skin, but with something else, some sixth sense I'd picked up in my short but hard years of live as a street rat and Gundam pilot. I could feel him, a comforting presence that wouldn't hurt me, but help me. He would help me because he cared.
That seemed like such a simple concept, but it really wasn't. Because only three other people have cared about me as much as Heero did. They were all dead, and it was all my fault. That had caused me to reject comfort and compassion, because I was terrified of what might happen to them. But Heero hadn't cared about that. He had cared more about me than himself. He... cared.
I didn't feel worthy of his compassion. I mean, he was so strong and brave and determined and who was I? A worthless little street rat who could only survive if he slashed his own arms with a razor blade.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, not really meaning to, and I felt him shift slightly behind me, his arms tightening.
"For what?"
".... Everything."
I could almost feel the tender smile on his lips, and he dropped a kiss on the back of my head. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Duo. This isn't your fault."
That was kind of a stupid thing to say, because it was my fault. I had chosen to cut, chosen to lie. No one had forced me to do all those stupid things I'd done, no one had pressured me into it. No, I'd done it of my own free will. And that made it entirely my fault.
"Stop it," Heero commanded in a whisper. "Stop blaming yourself, Duo. Just focus on getting better."
That was easier said than done. Even now, my skin tingled with the faint urge to cut, even though my arm still hurt from the latest cut. The bloody razor blade was lying on the floor under the window, the light glinting off the metal and highlighting the blood. It called to me, whispering a soft song of seduction and enticement. What was I without that blade? I couldn't survive without it, I knew that. The blade was a part of me, buried deep in my soul, slowly cutting into it as I cut my arms. To throw away the blade would be to throw away my life, or at least what I called a life. Without that blade, I would just sink, deeper and deeper, into an endless torment of misery and pain, of depression and suffering.
"Dammit, Duo, would you stop that?" Heero asked, giving me a little shake. I had no idea how he knew what I was thinking, but didn't really care. "You are sick, Duo, and you can get better, you WILL get better, because I'm here to help you. Alright?"
Heero was here... to help me. Heero would not leave me. Heero would help me. Heero cared about me. Yes, Heero... help me... care for me... Heero.
~*~
I woke up feeling groggy and disorientated. I was in a very familiar and very nice position, in Heero's arms, but it took me a second to remember why. The stinging in my arm finally jogged me memory, and I cringed as the scene replayed in my mind.
Very slowly, I turned my head and found out that Heero was asleep. He looked... different when he slept. Sort of relaxed and... innocent. I know, it's virtually impossible for Heero to appear innocent, because he's got that look of violence and mayhem, but that's only when he's awake. When he's asleep, he isn't concentrating on how he looks, and the lines in his face smoothed out, giving him a peaceful expression. His lips were half-parted, and I was taken with the urge to kiss him.
I blinked at that, not because of the urge itself, but because of the thought that maybe Heero wouldn't mind. Since when did I ever think Heero would do anything other than slug me if I tried to kiss him?
Perhaps sensing that I was awake, Heero twitched and opened his eyes. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of those deep midnight blue eyes. There were thousands of shades of blue in the world, used for various things, but that particular shade of blue was just for Heero. You could search the entire world for that colour and find it only in Heero's eyes. I was sure of it.
"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly, frowning slightly.
I actually smiled. "No, nothing. Just... hold me."
"Always."
We lay in silence for a while, and then I turned to face him again. "Heero?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm gonna get better, right?"
Something strange seeped into his eyes then, something like pain, and I frowned at it. "Yes, l-Duo. You'll get better."
"And... you'll help me, right?"
"Yeah, I'll help you."
It took more effort than I thought it would to say the actual words, because I had denied help for so long, but I eventually managed to mumble a quiet but sincere, "Thank you."
"Why do you find it so hard to accept help, Duo?"
I had to think about that one. Refusing help had been something I'd done for so long, I'd forgotten the reason for it. Then I remembered. Like most things ingrained in my personality and responses, it was from the streets of L2.
"When I was little, no one gave help freely. If they gave you an apple or a blanket or a drink or a couple of creds, they always wanted something in return, usually something painful and unpleasant, and you couldn't escape it. I learned not to accept anything from anyone, because while sometimes they would get nasty and take payment whether you took what they offered or not, sometimes they just gave up and went away. So, I don't accept help anymore, because you never know what someone will want in return."
He was quiet for a moment as he digested that, and then he said, "I'm sorry."
I didn't know what he was apologising for, so I didn't say anything.
"I won't take anything from you, Duo. My help comes obligation-free. Are you hungry?"
As if on cue, my stomach gurgled, and I grimaced. "Yeah, kinda."
"Let's get you a snack, then."
He untangled himself from me and stood up, pulling me with him. Though it would've made more sense to grab my left hand, as I was lying on my right side, he took my right hand. Using my left arm and hand too much today would just cause extra pain. Heero knew that, and he had respected that. A lot of people wouldn't have. I smiled at him.
He smiled back and we walked downstairs, careful not to make too much noise, as Quatre and Trowa were in bed, and Wufei was still unconscious. He made me sit at the table while he cooked me some chicken soup. I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, admiring the easy gracefulness that he had.
"You're not making anything for yourself," I said, when he only took out one bowl and spoon, with two slices of bread.
"I'm not hungry."
I frowned at that, but didn't push it. "Wufei should be waking up soon," I said by way of changing the subject. Though, technically we hadn't been on a subject, so I guess I was just avoiding a subject. That made sense in my head.
"Exhaustion and pain should keep him out for about an extra half hour."
"Hm. He's not gonna be in a good mood when he wakes up."
"The mission was successful and both he and Trowa are alive." There was that tone in his voice that he gets when he doesn't understand something. Emotions sometimes confused Heero.
"Yeah, but he fucked up, at least in his eyes. He got wounded and Trowa had to cover for him. That's a serious blow to his pride, and he's gonna be sulky."
"Hn. Eat."
I dutifully tore off a piece of bread and dunked it in the soup. Popping it into my mouth, I made appreciative 'mmm' noises. It was really tasty and I was very hungry, so I ended up asking for three more slices of bread. Heero gave them to me with a weird little smile.
After I'd eaten, I washed up the bowl and spoon and left them to dry. Heero followed my movements with that lazy intent of his, the one that sent tingles up my spine.
"I'm gonna go visit Wufei, alright?" I asked, and he frowned, obviously not wanting to let me out of his sight, but also knowing that he couldn't stay with me 24/7.
Wufei was sort of twitching, tiny little moans escaping his lips, and I knew he was struggling to wake up.
"Come on, Wufei, just stay asleep," I murmured, brushing a strand of jet-black hair out of his face. "It's easier than being awake, and you need the rest. Just sleep, Wufei."
A small frown creased his brow, but he stopped twitching and muttering. I think he actually trusted me. Go figure.
I'd asked for help, despite all my instincts not to, and Heero had responded to that plea with kindness and comfort. But would I actually get better? And how long would Heero's compassion last? My problems were... complex, to say the least. It would not be easy to untangle and solve them. Well, perhaps solve isn't the right word, because I knew I would never be completely free of the blade, so maybe diminish would be the right word.
Would Heero stick with me through all the pain and suffering I knew I was about to face? Would I be able to stick with me? I am not a masochist, and I really wasn't looking forward to the long road ahead of me. It would be so much easier to just ignore my problems and carry on the way I was.
The only downside to my cutting was the scars. I really didn't like them. But I had other scars, scars earned in the war and from the streets. It was easy to ignore them. I didn't really care what my body looked like, and anyone else who chanced to see them could just go fuck themselves.
But it wasn't the physical scars I didn't like, because as I said I didn't care about that. No, I hated what the scars represented. They said that I was weak and pathetic, that the only way I could survive was with the blade.
So, I had two choices. I could a) walk the hard road ahead of me and hope I survived to break free of the blade, or b) carry on the way I was going, and have the scars marring my arms whisper and scream at me about how weak and pathetic I was.
Neither choice sounded attractive and I wished for a compromise, but I knew that this was one of those all-or-nothing choices. I either did this or I didn't. I wanted to do it, but wasn't sure I was strong enough, and if I tried but wasn't strong enough, it would just be worse than if I hadn't tried at all.
I sighed and looked at Wufei. He could do this, and I wished for some of that awesome strength he possessed. His strength wasn't like Heero, Mr. I-Bend-Steel-Bars; no, his strength was driven by pain and fury, and sometimes was scarier than Heero's.
Heero would do what he had to because it was all he knew. Wufei would do what he had to because he couldn't not do it, his honour or his pride or whatever it was wouldn't let him. Or, that's what I had thought, and it was partly true, but the other reason he wouldn't be able to walk away was his wife, Meiran. I didn't know much about her, but he had talked to me once, actually talked, and I had learned of the strong and rebellious girl he had been honoured to call wife, and I knew that he was doing this, suffering all this shit, to avenge her death.
I was fighting for Solo and Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. He was fighting for Meiran. That common thread, that bond, meant that sometimes, I found Wufei's presence more comforting than Heero's, because he understood what drove me, whereas Heero didn't. People live and people die, lives are cheap, that was all he understood. But Wufei understood that a person may die physically, but they never die as long as your remember and cherish them. He understood the ghosts that haunted me, the ghosts that wouldn't let me quit.
And that is the precise moment that I made my decision. Solo wouldn't have quit, he would've looked at the long, hard road and sneered. Father Maxwell wouldn't have quit. He would have looked at the long, hard road and just graciously accepted it. Sister Helen wouldn't have quit. She would have looked at the long, hard road and smiled, believing that anything was possible, if you just had enough faith and compassion.
I missed them, the three people I had dared to call family, but they never left me, not completely. They were always there, at the edges of my mind, with Solo cheering me on, Father Maxwell scolding me to take better care of myself, and Sister Helen comforting me and reading me bedtime stories.
They would have been appalled at what I had become. They had all believed in me, so much, seen something in me that I hadn't seen. It was for them that I would do this. I would do this, because they believed I could.