nataku

Duo tugged the hood of Zechs's bomber jacket up over his head. The coyote fur edging the hood tickled his cheeks, but he was glad for the warmth, even if the oversized jacket did make him look like a little boy dressing in his daddy's clothes. A pair of aviator sunglasses shielded his eyes from the worst of the snow glare and chill winter sun. The jeans he was wearing -- also Zechs's -- were far too long and damp up to his ankles besides, but the thick warm socks Zechs had bought for him kept his feet warm inside large borrowed snow boots.

Nobody recognized him. Duo hid a grin in his knitted brown scarf. It was nice to be wandering this deep downtown without worrying about finding a good place to sleep or debating whether to beg or turn a trick. Not that he'd choose to wander downside without good reason, or past nightfall -- not dressed like this. He was here for a reason, and the smile faded from his lips as he remembered it.

He couldn't find Wufei.

He'd met the drug runner about a year ago. One night, Duo had been injured, stabbed in the gut by a john who was a lot more into knife-play than his soft exterior would suggest, and the morning found Duo bleeding into shock. (Duo still remembered the feeling of the cold that came over him -- not the sharp crisp pain of winter wind, but a strange, sucking coldness that blurred his sight.) The gray dawn came and went, and Duo passed out in an alleyway. He woke up in a warm bed, his gut wound washed and inexpertly stitched, with a young Chinese man reading in a chair by his side.

Chang Wufei, who had sutured Duo's bloody wound with his own hands, whose mysterious teas kept the killing fever back.

While it wasn't unusual for drug runners to disappear, Wufei was a conservative guy who tended to take the safest jobs available. "Safe" was a relative term, of course, but Wufei's young wife was in her third trimester and expecting their first, so Wufei wasn't taking any more chances than he had to. His boss, Master O, was a good man, and the last time Duo'd seen Wufei, the Chinese man was doing well. So what the fuck?

Turning the corner of Lon Street brought him to the front of Wufei's apartment building. Duo stopped, staring up at the tall, rickety old thing. In a neighborhood that wasn't so needy, the tenement would have been turned into a museum, but downtown Lagrange couldn't afford to sentimentalize its past. Currently, 51 Lon Street housed nothing more memorable than the poorest of whores and immigrants. Duo pushed open the door to the lobby and buzzed Wufei's apartment.

There was a long silence, and Duo shifted uncertainly from foot to foot, lighting up a cigarette. Just when Duo was about to leave and search elsewhere, a voice crackled through the intercom. "Who the fuck is this?" came Wufei's flat voice.

"Wufei!" Insensibly relieved, Duo tried to crawl through the speaker. "It's me, Duo! Let me in! I've got some really great news. Jesus, I've been looking for you all over the place! Would it have killed you to tell someone where you were?"

Duo's answer was the blat that passed for a buzzer in this building, and Duo trundled into the lobby, removing his sunglasses and folding them in his pocket. The building's lobby was as dirty and unpreposessing as its facade, the ceiling low, brick columns squat and covered in graffitti and flyers. Old stains discolored the faded checkerboard tiles, and Duo stepped gingerly around a puddle to hit one of the elevator buttons. He wondered if the landlord had fixed the other elevator yet, although casting a glance at the warped doors gave him his conclusion well enough.

Duo waited a few minutes, then decided the elevator either wasn't coming, or was creaking down so slow that waiting wasn't worth it. He plunged towards the stairwell. He usually avoided the stairs because they smelled like piss and vomit, but Wufei had sounded strange on the intercom, and Duo's patience was not exactly bounteous. Cigarette smoke left diaphanous trails behind him as he climbed to the seventh floor, nodding amiably at some familiar faces he passed on the way.

He emerged on the seventh floor panting and flushed. Duo had smoked since he was eleven, and times like these, he had reason to curse his habit. Apartment 7E's door looked like it had been through some rough times recently, Duo noted with unease, pounding on the door with a fist (the doorbell never worked). Wufei yanked the door open, and Duo damn near dropped his cigarette.

Wufei looked like he hadn't slept in days. Dark circles ringed his bloodshot eyes. Those eyes, usually so shrewd and bright, had dulled. Stress lines creased his young face. His lips were pinched thin with what looked suspiciously like pain as he stepped out of the way so Duo could come in.

"What the hell, Wu?" Duo entered the apartment and looked around, startled by the mess, as Wufei shut the door. Meiran was not the most domestic of individuals, so it fell to Wufei to keep it clean, a task Duo felt Wufei enjoyed far more than a guy should. "Where've you been? What the fuck's the matter with you?" He turned and faced his friend accusingly. "You look like hell!"

"Put out the fucking cigarette," Wufei said tiredly, scrubbing a hand across his eyes as he sagged against the wall. "You know that's a disgusting habit."

"Ch'. You know I only do it for Meiran's sake." Duo put his cigarette out and held the dead thing loosely in his fingers as he made his way down the hall. "Where is she, anyway? Or -- no, don't tell me!" Duo's jaw dropped as he whirled to face Wufei. "She's having the baby now?"

Even from this distance, Duo could see the apple of Wufei's throat throb as he swallowed. "No," Wufei said thickly. Tears glistened down the Chinese man's cheeks as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Meiran is dead," he whispered. His face crumpled and he slid down the wall, holding his head in his hands.

Duo knelt by his side in an instant. "No," he breathed. "No fucking way. Wufei -- when -- how -- why?"

Wufei was crying. "My fault," he choked out. "My fault. I had to leave -- mission -- had to leave her alone, no help for it, and she said go, I'm fine, I can take care of myself, and I left. I came back and -- she was already dead, Duo. I'm not a fucking doctor but I know enough, it was obvious -- some son of a bitch and I will find whoever it was if it fucking kills me -- someone beat the door in and -- beat her, raped her, Duo, I could see -- she was dead. I was too late. Right there in the living room. Right there. And I couldn't, I wasn't, I couldn't --"

"When was this?" Duo demanded.

"A week ago." Wufei raised his face to meet Duo's worried gaze, and Duo's heart broke at the anguish in his friend's swollen eyes. "I couldn't report it, of course." His laugh was hollow as the belly of a starving man. "Shirin helped me cremate the body. Both bodies. Meiran was days away from giving birth, it was easy enough to excise the... the fetus. I saw my daughter... The ashes are on my nightstand."

"And you've been here ever since."

Wufei nodded miserably, hiccuping, and Duo stood up, feeling helpless and stupid. "I'm gonna get you some water," he said. "And some aspirin, you got any?"

Wufei shook his head, and Duo walked to the kitchen, his footsteps slow and heavy. Meiran, dead? A year younger than her husband, Meiran had turned fifteen early in her pregnancy. The short, feisty martial artist had glowed with serenity and pride. The poor clothes draping her tight round belly might as well have been vestal robes the way the young woman carried herself. And Wufei had been quietly overjoyed.

Christ. Meiran, dead. Duo's hands trembled as he tossed his dead cigarette into a festering pile of trash in the corner and opened the refrigerator. Before an accident lamed her, Meiran had been something of a celebrity in the world of kung fu, a prodigy rising in the ranks like a bullet. But she fell quickly into obscurity after her injury, and her family married her off to the man she'd been promised to since birth. Just as obstreperous and stubborn as Wufei, Meiran didn't make the match easy. But in spite of themselves, they went and fell in love. Wufei wasn't the type to make a show about it, but he was devoted to his fierce wife.

Not was, Duo corrected himself. Had been. Duo cursed as water ran over the top of the glass and down the sides, splashing onto the counter and kitchen floor. Fuck, he thought as he brought the glass to Wufei, he'd been right the first time. Death would not stop Wufei's devotion.

Wufei drank gratefully, hiccups tailing off. "Thanks," he murmured.

"Yeah, no problem." Crouched next to Wufei, Duo remembered what he'd wanted to say, but shrank from saying it.

"So what made you track me down?" Wufei's eyes were on him as if tears weren't still shining on his cheeks. "You said you had good news. I could use some."

"Well, it's..." Duo hesitated, staring at a patch of dirt on the tile below him. "I feel weird saying it now. Wufei, I'm so --"

"Tell me." The angle of Wufei's chin was proud despite the pain written on his face, and Duo could not disrespect such strength.

"It's just that I found a place to stay," Duo mumbled. Meiran, dead. It still didn't ring true. "With a really nice guy this time. And I mean it, he's decent, and he's a soldier, so he's got all kinds of hook-ups. More than enough to support me." The silence was wretched, so he added lamely, "He bought me socks."

"Good socks?"

Duo nodded. "I'm wearing them now. They're warm. Wanna see?"

"No thanks." A bit of the old wryness was in Wufei's tone. He splashed the rest of the water onto his hands and flung it onto his face. "Thanks for coming, Duo. It was the end of the world in here."

"So why didn't you leave?"

"Couldn't. Not with Meiran's ghost unquiet. Man, I haven't been able to use the living room for a week." Wufei tried to laugh, and though he failed, the attempt was a good one.

Duo rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I don't believe it," he mumbled. "I don't fucking believe it."

"It was my fault." Duo looked over at Wufei, who was staring unwavering at the opposite wall with the glitter of tears in his eyes again. "It was my fault," Wufei repeated, glancing at him as if to gauge his reaction. "I should not have left her alone. She was too young. She should not have had the child to begin with, not yet. We should have waited until we were more settled. I should have stopped the missions completely. But we were so close and she agreed with me, we needed the money, she told me I shouldn't stop and ancestors help me but I agreed..." He pressed long fingers to his temples. "After our clan died, we were its only hope. That was why we started right away. Now I am punished for my foolishness. Now I am the last of the Dragon Clan, and gods know but it will die with me."

"Yeah, well," Duo said unexpectedly, "I'm the last Maxwell, remember?" He slung an arm around Wufei's shoulder. The other man flinched, but allowed the touch and did not protest when Duo pulled him into a hug. "See," Duo whispered, "we're both survivors, okay? The dead are dead, Wufei. You mourn and you move on. You got to learn to move on. Stillness is death. I know it hurts, Wu. I know. But listen." Duo pulled away slightly and held Wufei's face firmly in his hands. There was a flicker of curiosity in Wufei's eyes. "You need a place to stay," Duo stated. "Not here with the, what was it, ghost of your wife all unquiet. That ain't healthy. You come with me."

Wufei gently freed himself from Duo's grip. "Duo," he said, "I really don't think your army paramour will be thrilled at the prospect of a freeloader from a rebel clan living in his apartment."

Duo dismissed the concern with an impatient wave of his hand. "Whatever. He's cool, trust me. He doesn't have to know who you are, anyway. I mean, it ain't gonna be permanent but it should be long enough to get you back on your feet, yeah? Maybe he can help you find something."

Wufei rubbed his temples as if to ward off an incipient headache. "Duo, I truly appreciate the sentiment behind your offer. But my pride will not allow me to --"

"Fuck your pride, your pride won't feed you or pay your bills. Please," Duo pleaded. "Let me help you, Wufei, the way you helped me. You brought me back to life. The least I can do is return the favor." Wufei looked unconvinced. "Wufei," Duo wheedled, "I won't be able to live with myself if I don't at least try to help my best friend. Work with me here. It doesn't need to be for very long. Just a place to rest your feet, man."

"Fine." Wufei looked far from thrilled at the prospect, as if only politeness had him accepting Duo's offer. "Okay. But I will not ask a soldier of the Federation for help. Not with a job, and not with finding Meiran's killer. I will find these things on my own. If I have nothing left, I still have my dignity."

"I lost that long ago," Duo observed rather sadly.

Wufei shot him a sharp look. "I don't think so, Maxwell. I really don't." He got to his feet, and Duo followed suit.

"What are you going to do with the ashes?" Duo said hesitantly, brushing off the seat of his pants.

"I don't know." For a moment Duo was aware of how small Wufei was, standing there. Wufei had such a strong personality one didn't even notice the scholar's height (or lack thereof), but there in the hallway it was for a moment apparent. "I want to..." Wufei paused, doubtless searching for the right words. With a vocabulary like his, such a search could and often did take a few minutes. "I want to take them to China. There was a field of flowers..." Self-consciously, the Chinese man stuck his hands in his jeans, staring at the floor. "But China is under enemy control, I would not pass a background check, and I have no money besides. I will bring the ashes with me."

"Will it, um," Duo glanced sideways at the beaded curtain in the living room doorway, "bring her ghost with you? Cos I mean, if it does, that's okay, I just want to know, cos I already got a lotta ghosts on my shoulders."

"I don't know." A curious smile tugged at Wufei's lips, sad and tired. "You know what we were going to name our little girl?"

Duo made an encouraging noise in his throat.

"Nataku."