Chapter 12
Memories Never Die

Heero… the soft whimper sounded once more through the black plains of dreams, the Japanese man shifting with furrowed brows as he tried to move again. How many nights had this horrid dream filled his head, leaving him drained and exhausted the next day, body hurting and head pounding from a migraine so intense it threatened to make his eyes burst? Weakly, he tried to urge his immobile, paralyzed body to move, but as had happened every day since Wufei's disappearance, he found himself rendered helpless and aching. A soft whimper broke past his chapped lips, and he almost wished that person—Zarek was it?—who had appeared that first night would return to aid him. Help him go to the voice.

But it wasn't so…not that he was alone. Zarek watched with close eyes, unbeknownst to Heero, silently rooting him on as he pleaded for his wife, Astrid, to help him sway the fates in the Japanese man's favor. But so far, nothing had come back. And despite Zarek's own desires, he too was bound by laws and couldn't afford to help him any further. Unless he wanted to anger the gods and get him and his wife in trouble… again. As if he already weren't in enough trouble from when he pissed in Zeus sandals….

But it had been Zarek's birthday…and he had been really, really drunk.

Smirking at the memory, he lightly fingered over the top of his goatee, staring into the viewing mirrors around him. Switching scenarios to the scene being played out in the mirror next to Heero's, he studied the god of death as he laid stomach first on Mneme's bed. Shaking, violet eyes now puffy and red, the boy coughed past the blood in his throat. The goddess of memories slid her nails over his slender back, murmuring threats with the tones of sweet nothing's in the poor childs ear, laughing at the tears that streaked down sullen cheeks and a hopeless face. Rage rose in him at the site, and he quickly cut off the feed to stop himself from interfering. Damn it…this wasn't fair!

"Come on, jackass!" he suddenly screamed at Heero. "You're slower than a Roman with his legs cut off!" he yelled, smacking the flat of his palm down hard over the glass. He saw Heero wince, and knew it must have felt like only a slight push. Grinding his teeth, he growled. Although Zarek was Roman, he hated the people for what his father had done to him, and was really beginning to hate this Heero kid just as much. If only he would move, he didn't think he'd be so pissed off…

"Damn it! He's real, you stupid Asian bastard! He's real!"

In his dream, Heero heard what reminded of him an angry fly…god, his imagination was getting more and more aggravating.

oOoOo

A shrill screech cut like a knife through his temples, splitting his skull in half with an explosive wave of noise, splattering his brains all over the walls. Or at least, that's the visualization Heero got when the ringing of the phone scattered the fog of a restless sleep. Rolling over to quickly grab for the handset, he immediately regretted the move, crying out as his white light exploded behind closed eyes. Agony pulsed through his skull, a barely noticed whimper sliding past his lips as he gasped. Sweet Kami…was this what Wufei felt?

By the time the nausea and pain had subsided long enough to register anything else, the phone had blessedly gone quiet. Carefully, he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, slowly rising from the bed and to his feet. Blessed darkness filled the room, and he winced toward the clock. Almost five in the afternoon…he couldn't believe his sleeping patterns had gone so off since Wufei left. So many times, he found himself collapsing on the bed at noon, or up and jittery at midnight. Why wouldn't his mind leave him alone?

"Ice," he murmured to himself, pressing the palm of his hand against the back of his neck. "Icepack would feel good…"

Stumbling from the room, he steadied his breathing and tried to bring out the training of the perfect soldier. Maybe if he could tuck away his mind and sensibilities long enough—suppress his emotions and his aches—he might actually be able to get his mind back on track. But something in him screamed that suppressing things was what had gotten him into this mess. Maybe if he just dealt with the pain he felt at losing Wufei, then that would be enough? Maybe this was all just his body reacting to his sympathy for his husband and best friend?

Was there something more?

"Where do memories go when they die?"

Heero jumped, grabbing onto the kitchen counter. He could have sworn those words were spoken in the room, but as he looked around in the darkness of the kitchen, he saw no one besides him. Blinds drawn, sun set, lights off, he was left to scavenge the shadows and tell his terrified heart that no boogie man lurked inside of them. But it wasn't too intent on focusing on that. It had it's attention on something else…

Staring at the table, he slowly slid down to the floor as a scene seemed to light up before him like a bad flashback in an old movie. And there he was…the braided figure as Wufei had always described, sitting across from…Heero. Blinking at the image of himself, the Japanese pilot could only watch numbly as the events unfolded.

Cobalt eyes turned to study the American, brow quirking over his news paper as he sipped on his morning coffee. Fiddling with his braid, the boy lightly chewed over the tips as he glanced around the kitchen, seeming to pause on a spot by the unfinished cabinets. It was as if he could see something there, and it made his lips twist down in a frown before quickly looking back over to his lover.

"What do you mean?" Heero asked, giving a disinterested glance to see what had caused the boy so much trouble. All he noticed was the sawdust and loose screws, piled wood and paint cans, scattered through out their nearly finished home.

"Where do memories go when they die?" the boy replied, leaning forward to tug the newspaper down and destroy the boundary between them.

"I don't think memories die, koi," Wufei suddenly piped in, yawning as he plopped down unceremoniously in his chair, ruffled hair tangled and snagging on his long eye lashes. Laughing softly, the American reached over and tugged a few strands away, causing the Chinese boy to grimace.

"You'd be surprised. One day, you'll forget me…" the braided wonder murmured with a sweet, sad smile on his lips.

"Baka. Why do you say such cryptic things? You're too damn loud to just forget…"

The American sighed, giving a small smile as he looked back down to his eggs and the pile of dry Scooby Doo cereal stacked beside them, popping one of the marshmallows into his mouth. He didn't bring it up again, but instead, those deep orbs shifted, moving to rest on the spot by the counter again…

…moving to rest on Heero.

A scream tore through the house, seeming to sound at different tones through out nearly every room, breaking the vision and making his voice join in. Jumping up to try and either escape, or find the source, he smacked his head on the corner of the counter and cried out. Great…now that didn't help with the headache. Grabbing the wound, he could feel a touch of blood forming from the split skin and he stumbled to his feet, trying to get his bearings. The screaming continued, but after a moment, he realized what it was.

The phone.

God damn it, he was driving himself nuts!

"Hello?" he growled once he managed to pick it up. Flicking on the lights, he once again regretted another decision for the day, wincing at their intensity.

"I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Yuy…but this is Chris from down at Hedgeling. I'm Wufei Chang's therapist." Interest perked, he snagged an icepack and headed for the small breakfast table…before thinking better of it. Shuddering at the still clear image ringing in his head of the delusion, he elected instead to sit on a stool by the counter.

"Is everything all right?" he asked worriedly. A soft sigh from the other end, and when Heero listened closer, he could hear the aggravated nagging of a ruffled Dragon. He could vaguely make out the words "mashed peas," "scratchy couch", and "risqué hospital gowns," in the background. A soft smile lit his features. Yah…he sounded fine, it seemed. At least he was back to bitching again.

"On his end, yes. I find that he's starting to drive me insane though," the doctor sighed. Both laughed at the loud growl from the Dragon, and Heero felt the muscles in his neck relax, and he wasn't sure if it was from the relief of hearing the old Wufei or the ice.

"What's going on?" he asked, unable to keep the happiness from leaking into his voice.

"I need you to look at something for me so we can put this fifth pilot motion to rest. Do you have a corner cupboard in your kitchen, Mr. Yuy?" Chris asked. Heero stood, making his way around the counter and into the "U" shaped lay out of countertops and appliances.

"Two, actually," he replied.

"I need you to take measurements of height the left one and the right one, and tell me if they're different at all," Chris stated. Rolling his eyes, Heero pulled open a junk drawer and rummaged for the measuring tape, then went to complete the task.

"I can already tell you the measurements," he grumbled.

"Just do it," Chris snapped, causing the Japanese man to blink in surprise. Jesus…pushy pushy…

"Fine," he growled his reply. "The first is 20 inches high." Sliding across to the other, he listened as the doctor made an affirmative noise.

"Got it, and the second?" he wondered. Heero threw open the door, lining up the tape to take the same measurement. They had built these damn precisely to be perfectly semetrical, due to Heero's little obsessive compulsive needs. But when he took the measurement, he realized something was wrong.

"It's only 18…" he murmured, a bit baffled. A chill trickled down his spine as he repositioned the phone so he could hold it with his shoulder, feeling around for a way to take the wood off. "We measured these perfectly. This should be twenty."

"Can you see if there's anything underneath it?" Chris asked.

"Already ahead of you, doc."

Wufei shifted nervously in his seat as he watched Chris, the red headed therapist writing down notes the entire time. What were they talking about? What had he found?

After a few long moments of wait, a loud crash could be heard from over the phone, followed by a thick silence.

"Mr. Yuy?" Chris called. A shaky breath answered him. "Mr. Yuy, what is it?"

Heero couldn't think to respond. Only to cry.

Sorry for the long delay in updates you guys! Updates for all my stories will be back to normal now! I've been inundated with school work, plus two jobs, and getting ready to move out of town in a few months, so you'll have to forgive the hiatus . -Sarin