To say that Admiral Dennis Burgardt was unhappy was something of an understatement. He had been forced to call in a favor to save his nephew from the fallout of a night of being young and dumb, but if he didn't miss his mark, Charles would soon be very sorely regretting his poor decision making skills. The Admiral was well familiar with stories of the Lightning Count from the war, and he was absolutely certain that the man, as much as he might personally dislike him, would whip the boy into shape.
Still, he was in a sour mood. That mood was made even sourer as he saw said nephew heading his way down the hall, looking a little more ragged, but not near cowed enough for the Admiral's liking. "Charles!" he snapped, catching the young man's attention. He felt marginally better as he saw the youth pale slightly, at least until his nephew's gaze locked on something behind him. He glanced behind his shoulder, and cursed as he remembered the Owned.
Granted, the creature did its best to make itself invisible, but he was still disgusted with it. Unfortunately, it was just a little too useful of a tool to throw away. "Thirty-two," he snarled at the Owned sharply. "Go wait for me outside."
The Owned hesitated a moment, looking as though he wanted to protest but knowing better than to.
"Thirty-two. I said go," he commanded, while motioning his nephew into an empty room.
"Yes, Master," the Thirty-second replied softly and slipped out the front door. He sat on the stairs with his back against a railing, eyes downcast and sad. He was not so distracted, however, that he failed to notice the man that followed him outside.
The new man stood just behind him, just out of his line of sight. He fairly radiated despair to the young Desolo, though most humans probably wouldn't have noticed. When he turned to get a look at the man, he was instantly taken aback by the feeling that his initial assessment had been wrong, nothing in his body language betrayed sadness, much less despair. Before he had a chance to scrutinize it further, the man spoke in a cold, almost emotionless tone.
"Why do you let him do that? How can you let him treat you like that?" it should have been a demand, but the dark-haired man's detached tone made it something that the Desolo couldn't quite put a name to.
He paused for a moment before answering, "I love him."
"How do you know?"
"I just do."
Now the man's thick brows knit in incomprehension. He appeared to be looking for an answer and not getting the one he sought. "Is there nothing from before? No one else? No love? Nothing? No one?" he asked, emotion creeping into his voice, but only a trace. It could've been condescending.
He scoffed. "What are you, stupid? There is no before. The past is meaningless. All that matters is my Master. All that matters is now," a little bit of self deprecation came into his voice.
"How can you be so sure?"
The Owned was surprised by the man's persistence, and eyed him. There was something more definable in his voice now, something almost—but not quite—pleading, an edge of hope in his eyes that the Desolo doubted he was supposed to see. The man's emotions, while well-hidden were terribly raw.
"When I chose to become a Desolo," he began, almost against his own will. "I wanted to belong to my brother. I adored him more than anything and I hid his existence from Collins carefully. The idea was that I'd become a Desolo and he'd come and get me and I could finally be of use to him. My master came for me first," he explained quietly, matter-of-factly.
The hope flared for an instant in the man's eyes. "If you remember then why—"
"If my Master asked me to kill the man I called brother, for the sake of his love, I would do so gladly. If it would make him happy with me, I would do it and never think twice," he expanded, watching the man carefully.
It was the most obvious emotion he'd seen from the strange man yet. The man looked horrified, his eyes wide and the Desolo noticed the deep blue of them for the first time. The man had almost physically recoiled only to seem to control the reflex at the last moment.
"But that's…"
"Inhuman?" the Thirty-second provided with certainty, unflinching in the face of such a pure response. "Of course it's inhuman," he continued, "we're not human." He almost regretted it at the look of loss on the man's face, but a familiar tread caught his attention and the Owned jumped up in time to see his Master stride out. He didn't even acknowledge the Owned, but stalked towards his car. The Thirty-second followed him without hesitation.
Heero stared after the youngest Desolo in shock. It really was hopeless. Duo would never return to him. The total devotion the Owned had displayed to a goal, to a single end, was familiar, almost frighteningly so. When he had trained to be the perfect soldier, it had been very familiar indeed. And Duo had the same uncompromising devotion for Zechs. Damn, but things had been so much simpler before Duo had come into his life.
Back then, none of this would have ever happened, all of these uncontrolled emotions. Heero had simply denied their existence, especially after his retraining. Duo was the one who had dragged them out and now Duo had abandoned him. Duo had left him with all the pain and the confusion and the uncertainty and no way of dealing with it constructively. And Duo was gone now, or may as well be. And if Duo was gone then he had no further need of those conflicting, debilitating emotions.
There had to be a way to get rid of the pain. There had to be a way to stop caring about emotions, about people as individuals. He would be saddened to lose those feelings, but anything, even nothing, was better than the constant, aching pain. There was a Duo-shaped hole in Heero's life that no longer fit the individual who had made it in the first place.
The Thirty-second had shown Heero something that he hadn't been able to accept from Duo himself. He had showed the once perfect soldier the unconditional love the Desolo possessed for their masters. If the Thirty-second could be so adamant about loving his abusive master, how much worse would Duo be about Zechs? Zechs who cared about him. Zechs who'd suffered as well when Duo had disappeared?
Heero wasn't one for praying, but he wanted Zechs to love Duo as the braided psycho deserved to be loved. Heero would've so gladly been in the former prince's place, but it wasn't possible.
The tightness that had been seated in his chest since Heero had first seen Duo choose Zechs worsened, and his throat tightened. His knees didn't seem to want to hold his weight, but the pilot would not indulge in the weakness of sitting down. He couldn't afford it. He couldn't afford these emotions. They were taking a toll on his physical condition and that in turn was taking a toll on his mental condition as well which affected his ability to perform his job to his best ability.
He would not tolerate these signs of weakness any longer. He was going to have rid himself of these emotions again. If it meant becoming the perfect soldier again, he'd do it gladly. If that didn't work, there had to be another way. Heero's eyes widened and he went still for a moment. There was another way. Collins had done it with the Desolo. If all else failed, he could go to Collins, but he would try to figure it out himself first. Collins would be his last resort. One he wouldn't need because he would find the solution on his own.
…Ninmu ryoukai.
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AN: Holy crap. Consider me blown away by the response I've been getting. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm flattered and very sorry that it took me this long to get the story back on its feet. huggles everyone And everyone owes thanks to (me most especially) my beta, b/c without her, this story may really have died.
