This story is my baby. I will finish it, eventually. Until then, updates may be sporatic, but I'll do my best. Don't give up on me! Sorry this chapter is so short! There will be another one soon!
Ah, yes. You will notice that this chapter is from Heero's POV. Tell me what you think of this. I'm not sure how it works with the story line so far. But, since Duo was passed out, I had no choice.
So Far, So Good is now officially dedicated to JOY2, for she is the most brilliant Gundam Wing fanfiction writer on FFnet. If you like angsty!Duo, then go read her fiction NOW. Even if you don't like Gundam Wing at all, she's amazing, and deserves many comments and much praise. Go now, minions, and be awed by the beauty of The Beginning to an End. Also check out her RENT fanfiction.
SO FAR, SO GOOD
chapter three
I carry Duo to the shower, surprised by how little he weighs. Taking the tank-top off, I settle him under the stream of water. He doesn't fight me or seem to show any signs of recognition whatsoever.
I look at him, taking the moment to really see all the damage as the water leaves his skin a steady flow of red swirling down the drain.
He is dangerously thin, hipbones, ribs, shoulder blades, and collarbone sticking out in sharp relief to his sunken cheeks and concave belly. I watch the crimson as it is carried away and try to count the scars I see. Too many. His arms, ankles, thighs and chest are covered in them. I check his back and notice for the first time that underneath black angel wings tattooed in crisp ink, there are more scars, older ones. They obviously did not heal well, and I wonder what they are from. I try to imagine what demons must lurk in Duo's past to have brought us here, and balk. And yet, he looks so beautiful lying here. He appears so innocent that for one moment I actually believe that he is.
But then I remember the way he rubbed his naked body against mine, shame burning in his eyes as he did it. And I remember the smell of sex and blood lingering on his skin, the way he never smiles anymore. He is a good actor, but nothing more than that. His eyes give away everything, even when he says nothing at all.
Once I've wrapped him in enough blankets, I sit beside him on the bed to watch, touching first his cheek, tracing along his jaw and finally brushing through his long chestnut hair. He shifts against my hand, mouth opening silently. I almost wish that I could touch him like this when he was awake and thinking clearly. I certainly wish that he hadn't disillusioned me about his pastimes. I don't know whether to feel guilty or disgusted. Perhaps a bit of both. I feel guilty for hitting him the other day, and I feel guilty for not stopping him last night. Above all that, I will always regret that I ignored the signs for so long. It was already too late by the time I did find out, and still I waited. I waited years to even question him about it. I found out about the drugs after within the first week of living together, how could I not, and he knew that I knew, and still we both did nothing. I let it go until all hope of saving him was gone.
A part of me is still so incredibly disgusted by the idea of Duo with all those different men, and the razorblades, and the drugs, that I have problems forgiving him even now, when he is so obviously broken.
His chest raises and falls with each breath, and I flinch every time his stomach deflates and sinks against his rib-cage. I am struck again by how incredibly unhealthy and frail he is. How close we were to losing him for real this time. I pick up his hand and I can see the dark blue veins beneath his translucent skin. They stick out from his wrist and seem to taunt me, as I'm sure they've taunted Duo many times.
His eyes flutter open, slowly, and I fight the urge to bolt from the room. It's strange, but he is a bigger threat to me than all of Oz's armies. His eyes have always been my weakness, and his as well. Sometimes I will stare at them and try to count the different shades of purple I see there. Today, I hate them, because they show me just how direly I've failed.
"You're awake," way to state the obvious, Heero.
"You're... Heero..." way to state the obvious, Maxwell. I'm almost hurt by the disbelief in his voice.
"I'm surprised you can even remember my name after everything you pulled today." so we're back to this game, are we?
His eyes close, and I know he regrets it. "I'm sorry." he whispers raggedly.
"For what?" I need to hear him say it.
"For treating you like one of them. It was an accident, Heero. I was high, and I needed to win. It was the only thing I knew how to do."
Damn, that hurts.
"I'm sorry too, Duo." I say, choking somewhat on the words. But it's the truth. I am sorry, for so, so many things.
I stand up, walking out the door. I can feel his confused stare following me into the hallway.
"Heero," he calls weakly, "You can't save me." I start to close the door. I don't want to hear this. A second later he adds, "I just like being broken too damn much." I turn away, defeated, leaving him and all the questions in his eyes alone. I can't take it anymore.
Maybe it's a sign that I'm cracking, that the stress of my training and lifestyle are too much for a fifteen year old boy to take. Maybe I'm going insane and Duo is just the messenger.