Wings of Destruction
Chapter 14
Emotions of Truth

"Uno?" Justin poked his head inside the room and found her sitting up, typing on her laptop. He began feeling like an idiot for bringing the bag inside the room where she lay, knowing that as soon as she was able to sit up she'd begin working again.

He released the door and stepped inside. "Working again, I see?"

"Yeah," she mumbled in response.

Justin sat down on the bed across from her and stared at her complexion. Her face still was encrusted with old sweat, her body still molded with dried blood. Her hair was falling out of its braid and in oily strings and her entire figure just looked horrible.

"How do you feel?" He found himself asking almost silently. He didn't know why; Vincent took Chris out to the city on Uno's bike to look at a new car for them and Mandy was in training. They were entirely alone so why should he whisper to her?

"Like Hell," she spat back. The laptop made a few extra beeps before she spoke again. "I have to leave; something needs to be done."

"You can't leave," Justin retaliated.

Uno glanced up at him from the tops of her eyes, a sinister glare across her face. "And why not?" She grounded out.

"Uno, you're still injured. You need to rest."

"That's not an answer," she returned to the laptop. "There's a few things in town I need to pick up for somebody. I'll be bac shortly after."

"You can't go," Justin glanced to the ground. The slam of the laptop closing made his eyes blink an extra time. He felt bad for the girl across from him but he couldn't fight much more than she could in her normal state.

"Justin—"

"Vincent and Chris have your bike," he cut her off.

"What?"

Justin returned to her and caught her up on what she's missed out on since she's been unconscious. "You've been out for weeks." Her heart hammered hard in her chest right then. "You got here on the verge of death. You were in such a rush to get here that you entirely damaged the van. If I hadn't reached you in time—if any of us weren't here—when you crashed inside the room, you would have died."

Uno stared at him, her mouth slowly gaping open, as the news of her physical state slowly sunk in. The explanation that Justin was giving her nearly made her heart jump out of her throat.

"I—I did the best I could. Vincent was beginning to call me insane because I wouldn't leave your side. I risked everything I had in my body to give it all to you—all my blood, my strength and energy, to keep you alive."

"Why?" Her voice broke with a squeak.

Justin looked down just then, his reply not yet known to even himself. He just shrugged and slightly shook his head. "I don't know… I guess comrade, maybe? Perhaps because I know you're the best out of all of us… and that if we botched an assignment you'll pick it back up for us—as you intended too."

"I did?" She was the one lost now and Justin looked up to see her confused expression.

"Yeah," he paused, his own brows creasing in confusion. "You… left that box under the coffee table… filled with movies and music."

"That box…" She muttered softly and slowly turned her eyes away from his.

"Chris found it and showed it me and Vincent…"

Uno hung her head and slowly shook it. "No," she mumbled. "No, that wasn't to keep you out of my way. If I wanted to keep you out of my way I'd shoot you dead."

"Then… what's all the stuff you're in?"

"…"

"Uno?"

"…"

"Please… tell me."

She raised her head and gazed up at him. "My past is my past—let it stay in the past, let it stay history." Her earlier anger returned and she tore her gaze away from his and back over to the laptop she had sat upon the night table. "When they return with my bike I'm gone."

"Uno—"

It was her turn to cut him off and she gazed over at him from the corners of her eyes, squarely pissed off. "Don't worry," she ground out through almost clenched teeth. "I won't fight."

"I'm only worried about you," Justin fought back and watched as she stood up from the bed and started heading towards the bathroom that was attached to the room on the opposite side than the door for the living room.

"Sure," she replied and swung her braid around to unfasten the tie at the bottom of it. "I'm a comrade. Incase you die—I'm there to finish the mission."

Justin shut his eyes and groaned. Uno let her braid fall back and she raised her hands to the back of her head to begin unraveling her hair. When he opened his eyes he gazed over at her side, her hair scattered clear across her back and down to her hips. In all his life, Justin's never once seen a woman with hair as long as hers.

"I'll let you be," he said as he stood up. "You need your shower."

"Hn," was her only reply and before he shut the door to the bedroom, took one last look at her.

Uno stepped into the bathroom and began unfastening the shirt she was wearing. Question was… when did she change into the clothes she had on? She didn't have anything with her so where did they all come from. Normally she would go out into the living room and demand an explanation from Justin but one glimpse in the mirror and she already had her answer.

Mandy.

The top shirt, as it hung open and revealed the cleavage down the center of two full breasts, was a soft pink with more black strips than anything else. The pants the same to match. Clearly it was a set of pajama's that Mandy had offered to give her, most likely knowing that black would be the best to hand out and knowing there wasn't much black, it was all she could lend.

She stood for a long second and stared at her reflection. There were scars all over her face and stomach, a few on her upper torso, just above her breasts. There were bullet holes practically all over her body, making her appear more machine than human. And as she stared into her own eyes, found the kind hearted orbs history and all there were in place were the eyes of a cold blooded killer.

She felt, looked, and realized then that she even acted, like Heero.

"No," she murmured through a wince. "I'm not Heero… I'm Shinimegami."

But she knew she was kidding herself. If she were anything like Duo then she'd know how to smile without faking it, without feeling shame behind it. She'd know how to smile and enjoy the feeling of humor as it tagged along whatever she did. She'd have a mild sense of humor and know how to have fun.

But she didn't. All she knew was work, death, mission assignments, computer hackings and programs, seriousness, pain, and above all, no fun.

She wasn't Duo.

She was the opposite.

She was Heero.

"Duo's my father," she murmured at herself, slowly feeling the tears coming to her eyes. Feeling them she tore her gaze away from the mirror and clenched her eyes shut. "Duo," she mumbled. "Duo Maxwell—I am Uno Maxwell, his daughter!"

But you're copied from Heero, a voice in the background had warned her. You're straight from Heero though you were raised by all of them and were Duo's daughter, you are entirely based off of Heero.

"No!" Uno spun around, no longer feeling her happy freedom she felt in her dream, she felt when she looked at Justin. Justin had no idea the pain's she felt in her heart, in her body. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. Why did he save her life? Why did anybody want her to live? Theresa had been killed in place of her. Ricky had taken his own life to keep her alive. Justin would soon follow.

But why should she even care about Justin then?

But why would Justin save her life? Comrade business, she scoffed at that term. Comrades meant work, meant that she was wanted for this war, that she had to fight the war alone.

She released a heavy breath she didn't know she'd been holding in and stepped up to the shower. As soon as the warm water splashed across her hands she felt better, felt more human than she's remembered in a while. But then again, when was the last time she even felt normal? When was the last time she took a shower?

She stripped off the rest of the clothes and folded them neatly on the counter. She even acted like Heero, making sure everything was nice and neat, perfect, before going on to her next task. Never once, that she could recall from even the mansion, was her room messy. Never once did Duo shout at her for not cleaning up behind herself. Never once did she look dirty, unless she was outside playing in the dirt and mud.

She stepped into the shower and closed the curtain. As soon as the water beaded onto her face she felt over ten times better. The water drenched her clean, washed away the filth and grind that had begun to cake itself onto her body. The dry blood came off with the soap she scrubbed it with; her face became clean with the water she splashed it with. Her hair, lathered up with the shampoo that Justin used, became the sweet smell of strawberries.

She felt that if she closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in the fumes of the fruit-scented shampoo, she'd almost believe she'd be in the mansion. But the moment that vision entered her mind she felt cold chills running down her spine, as if someone had stepped on her grave and done evil things to her tombstone. Her eyes snapped opened from what she saw in her mind, from the happy faces of her family and her friends, from the emotions that rose up into her gut to remind her of what only one year ago had been like to her.

One year ago… it was so long ago and yet, so close by. One year ago she was innocent, fragile, easily manipulated. One year ago Ricky ended his life. One year ago everyone died because she was still alive. One year ago…

One year ago Duo had been killed.

She hung her head, the water beading down on her body, her hair spilling out over her shoulders and down to cover the dazzling beauty of all women. The bandages on her body were glued to her skin and pricking at the edges with her fingertips, Uno began ripping each taped seal off of her. The pain was unbearable but the pain of receiving the bullet wounds and struggling to stay awake until she reached the cabin was worse than Hell. When each bandage was off her body and floating in the ankle deep water surrounding her, she poked at the fresh skin of the wounds. It hurt but she could withstand it.

"One year ago," she muttered and crossed her arms over her chest. She felt tears burning her eyes and as she clenched them tightly it only squeezed them out. They fell on the sides of her face and as she opened her eyes to stare ahead of herself, as realization struck her right then, she gasped for air.

She was not Duo's daughter… she was her mother's daughter.

She wasn't even Duo's to begin with. Upon barely even remembering but it was always there in the background, she faintly recalled her mother's red hair, the green eyes, then the image of a guy around her with black hair and eyes as dark as the night. She didn't remember Duo until after her mother had thrown her out of her arms and into an alley, where Uno was scarcely three-years-old.

But she didn't throw her on purpose.

No… she threw her as an explosion attacked.

"No," she mumbled, feeling the pain striking her very heart right then. "It can't be."

But it was. Uno then remembered the cardboard box she found in an alley she later stumbled upon while crying and looking for her mother. Her long hair was stuck to her face from the rain that plastered it to her body, her thumb jabbed inside her mouth, a habit she faintly remembered her mother telling her to quit. She found the cardboard box and crawled inside of it, unaware at that time that it would be her home.

Uno looked down at her thumb, the same thumb she used to suckle. "Sara Cleaver," she muttered the name. "Uno Cleaver…" But her real name, as it came out on her lips didn't sound like herself, it didn't sound like the Uno she knew herself as.

The Uno her adopted father had dubbed her.

"Duo…" she lowered her hand slightly and gazed back at the wall, mainly out into space. Her voice lowered to a murmur. "You adopted me… took me off the streets… but why? Why force somebody to live in this Hell? Why make them become the target for madness?"

She tore her gaze away from the spot on the wall that held a stain, finding very much an urge to punch the stain for just being there at that current moment. Her eyes set upon the soap bar at the corner of the tub where the plastic green stick sat right besides it. Yet she had to admit, if he hadn't taken her in then she'd may not even have the chance to live as long as she had. She wouldn't have had Theresa as a friend, Ricky as a friend and boyfriend, and the fun she's had with everyone else, with her family.

But she wouldn't have had Ricky to try and kill her, to kill Theresa in place of her, to kill everyone she ever knew because of her.

It was all because of her. All because she was alive. Everyone had to die because she was alive.

"Duo," she mumbled, closing her eyes and feeling the tears fall. The salty tears that fell from her eyes were a reminder that she wasn't entirely Heero but with her developed personality, she wasn't Duo either. She was Sarah; she was a spitting image of Duo but her personality was Sarah—a female version of Heero, maybe?

Yet at the same time, when she lived her happy, innocent life, she was Duo. She was Shinimegami in the making. But what changed it all?

"Damn you scientists," she muttered, her eyes opening once more to set upon the soap bar and the handle besides it. "Now I see why they loathed you… you ruin everything."

She didn't know how and when but a second ago her arms were crossed over her chest, her long—long­­—brown hair cascading over her breasts, and now she held the green stick—the razor—in her hand. She raised her left hand and turned it over to expose the wrist, to expose the fluid veins filled with her blood, with the same blood Justin had suffered enough upon to refill.

The touch of the blade affected only for a moment as she began to graze the sharp side across the tenderest flesh of her body. Her blood seeped out slowly at first then gained speed as she finished small cut. She moved to her other wrist and tried there as well but nothing helped. She still felt strong, she still felt hurt.

She still felt horrible.

She returned to her left wrist and doubled the cut. Tripled it. The same with her right wrist. Finally the feeling was gone, the hatred was gone, the emotions were gone.

The visions were gone.

She stared at the blood that flowed so freely down her body from the six gashes on her wrist. The blood felt like an eternal bliss as it drained from her body. Was that the reason she felt so bad a second ago? Did she have bad blood in her veins? The hurt didn't go away until she had cut herself and bled enough.

She felt weak again and after dropping the razor, grabbed one of the bandages that floated around her feet. She covered the gashes, did the same to her other wrist, and held herself for a long time. She felt bad again inside, as if she were to die from within. Her knees bucked from beneath her and she fell hard, water splashing around her. She brought her legs up to her chest and curled up into a ball in the corner of the tub, crying endless amount of fresh tears she hadn't a clue from where they came.

She sat there, for a long moment, shaking and crying over what she once was, what she once gained, and what she once lost.

Justin poked his head back inside the bedroom and found nothing. He stepped inside after shutting the door—not wanting Chris or Vincent to enter upon their own decisions—and took a look around. He was about to call out for Uno when he heard the water in the bathroom running, the shower splashing against the tub.

His brows creased. It was three hours ago he first heard the water starting up. Slowly he neared the door, his hand rising to take in the knob to his wrist. It felt cold, telling him right then and there that she hadn't been out of the bathroom in hours. When he opened the door clouds of white steam billowed out into the bedroom. Slowly, he took a cautious step inside and peered around. The curtain to the shower was closed and the water was running. He looked to the counter and saw the neatly folded clothes she had on earlier.

"Uno?" He called out just loud enough for her to hear him over the shower's thundering rain. If she were in there, he'd hear her cursing at him for stepping within the bathroom when a woman was taking a shower. But at the same time, what woman took a three hour long shower and never came out of the bathroom the entire time?

Surely she wasn't masturbating… she wasn't one of those sorts he's seen enough of in his past.

He slowly neared the shower curtain, feeling his heart fluttering in ultimate horror at what he may reveal once he opened it. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the plastic and within a rush, flung it to the side of the rod. The sight he saw wasn't what he was expecting. Though the shower was on, Uno was not bathing. Instead, she was curled up in a ball, in the corner of the tub, barely at reach for the raining shower, with her blood seeping down the sides of her paled body.

"Oh my God," he murmured and immediately went and turned off the water. He turned away for only a moment as he stalked to the shelves that were behind the bathroom door and removed several towels. By the time he returned to her side he feared if her pulse had stopped from how much blood she had, once again, lost.

"Fuck," he grumbled as he dropped to his knees and reached out for the naked, blood covered woman across from him. "Uno," he called softly to her. He soaked one towel in the water that the tub held before it drained away and attempted to wipe at the blood on her body. When he thought it had come from the wounds she had unsealed felt better but froze the moment he found the razor floating besides her thigh and then peered to the river of dried blood that had once flowed from down her arms.

"Dear God," he murmured and brought out one of her arms away from her chest. She had replaced the bandages over both wrists and upon removing them found they were hiding three deep gashes, each wrist a triple scar to have a story to tell.

He shook his head as he dabbed the now dampened towel at the cuts, not wanting them to open back up but not wanting them to get infected. Placing the towel on the side of the tub, the water now fully gone, he reached back out for her once more and lifted her into his arms.

He stood up, fear upon his face even more rigid. She weighed nothing compared to Mandy and they were both the same age! He stepped back a few feet from the tub and gently placed her upon another towel he used his foot to spread open. As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't hold back from looking at her body. She was so beautiful, Uno, that even with all the scars of bullet holes and knife wounds she still looked very much, every inch a woman.

He used another towel to dry at her body. He wasn't one of the types of guys he grew up on the streets with that would take advantage of an unconscious woman; he was quite the opposite. He may steal a glimpse of her wonderful frame but he was a guy; what guy could hold a naked woman in their arms and not sneak a peak at what they hid behind clothes that would make them look like a man? With her long brown hair plastered to her body the way it was she looked very attractive and extremely gorgeous; he planned that when the war ended he'd ask her to stay with him, but something in his gut was warning him that it wouldn't happen accordingly.

That something will still steal her away from the world.

It took him some time to clean all the blood and water off her body and to fully get her dress once again. He had to bandage all the original wounds and her new slices then redress her. After finally settling her back into bed and covering her back up he took his rest on the side of the bed and gazed down at her frame, at her pale complexion. What had made her want to cut her wrists? What had made her want to commit suicide? He recalled earlier, after he left her for her shower, how she had talked about that box she had left behind and how she wished it would just be left in the past.

Did he do a bad thing by bringing it back up? He felt even more horrible if he had and feeling like he had he wished he'd try and kill himself, but he knew better. He knew there was a war that had to be fought and he knew he had to defend the innocent civilians from any harm that will most likely come to them.

Justin released a heavy breath and after patting Uno's arm lightly, stood up and left her to sleep, knowing that shortly she would wake up and again, show her cruel side rather than her innocent, sweet image she showed when she was asleep.

The image he managed to catch a glimpse of when he explained how she had been out cold for weeks.