Disclaimers: Don't own any part of Gundam Wing nor it's characters. Merely borrowing them for a little torture.
Warnings: Shounen-ai (because I suck at yaoi) , mildly blasphemous in terms of my depiction of heaven. Not a death fic… ish. Usual 1x2, 3x4, and with 5 hanging in the wind. The poor darling.
Notes: This was entered into the Hatsukoi fic contest and betaed by the extremely talented Keiran-sama!
Chapter 2: Please allow 4 to 6 weeks for processing
Things had been rather hard for Heero without Duo these past six months. The rest of the former Gundam pilots could see it. The Japanese man hadn't spoken about the accident, or about Duo's funeral since that day. It was slowly killing him from the inside out; the guilt that was Heero's constant companion only speeding up the process.
His friends watched the life in him slowly fade and his spirit wane, as he lived day by day as if in a daze. There was nothing that Heero cared for anymore, except perhaps for his work. But these days, he had developed an overzealousness for chasing drunk drivers. He took personal interest in them and in the cases of hit and runs, he had a complaint lodged against him for breaking the kneecaps of the irresponsible driver.
"Do you think we should get him to speak to someone?" Trowa asked worriedly, staring at Heero sitting by himself on the couch and methodically shovelling food into his mouth. Despite the effort, the three of them made in keeping Heero well fed and cared for, the Japanese man was losing weight. There was an increased pallor to his skin and a despondency hovering around him like a shroud.
Most of the time, it was as if Heero wasn't really there. He stopped communicating with them and it was even worse then when they first met when they were fifteen. Heero then didn't have much communication skills, but the Heero now, didn't want to speak with anyone.
The only things that told the others that Heero was still somewhere inside, were the daily visits to Duo's grave. In the beginning, Heero went to sit by Duo's grave the entire day. He still didn't say anything, merely stroking the gravestone lovingly, as if the braided American man was under his caressing fingers.
"He would just run away," Wu Fei predicted, losing appetite and pushing his plate away.
"He is trying to kill himself," Quatre said, stabbing a piece of vegetable with his fork.
The other two paled at that pronouncement. "You felt something?" Trowa jumped on the words of his boyfriend.
Quatre shook his head sadly. "Can't you see? He is deliberately neglecting himself. Perhaps it is unconscious, but whatever the case, he is slowly killing himself."
"Why won't he talk to us?"
They looked at each other silently, not sure how to answer that question.
The object of their worry sat on the couch, with a plate of food on his lap. He wasn't sure what he was eating but he really didn't care. Spoon after spoon went into his mouth and he chewed mechanically.
Chew.
Swallow.
Spoon.
Chew.
Swallow.
Despite what the others feared and suspected, he wasn't cutting or deliberately hurting himself in anyway. But he just didn't see the point of trying to carry on with life as he knew it. After all, the reason for him wanting a life with laughter, joy and picking long hair from the plumbing was gone. And he was the cause of it.
Why did he have to drink? He couldn't hold his alcohol any better than Duo could. But that night they were having so much fun. It was only half a glass, while Duo had downed one and a half, claiming that someone in their relationship should be a 'man' and start learning not to teeter after one measly glass. Then he passed out in Heero's arms. Heero remembered how hard he had laughed, him being a little tipsy himself and since he was the sober one of the two, he had driven them home.
Why couldn't he have called a cab?
He remembered the screeching of tires as the other driver, who was completely inebriated slammed into the passenger side of their car.
Duo's side.
Heero shook himself from painful memories. Even though the drunk driver was at fault, he was to blame as well. In fact, he was more to blame. He should have been more careful, he should have not even gotten behind the wheel of the car.
He killed Duo.
It was his fault. Then, without even thinking, he gave Duo's heart away. Why did he do that?
He hated himself, he didn't deserve to be alive, but how could he kill himself? He promised Duo a long time ago never to hurt himself in any way. Duo would never forgive him, even in death if that happened. So he would live, he would live and he would make sure all the drunk drivers pay.
Bastards.
XXxxXX
Adrian West was glad to be alive. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. Gone was the pale, gaunt complexion and he actually looked human again.
Despite the long scar down his chest, he was healthy again. The doctors were surprised he made such a quick recovery. He couldn't believe the person in the mirror was him. All his life, perhaps it was because of his illness, but he wasn't what anyone would call a good looking man. Recently however, there was a new spring in his step, a healthy glow to his skin and a lustre to his hair.
He rested his palm on his chest, feeling the soft beating of his heart. He was really grateful for the person who donated his heart to him. He had been debating with himself for a long time, but he was sure now; he really wanted to thank the dead man's lover.
He had felt a little sick to find out that the heart that was currently beating in his chest belonged to a homosexual man. All his life, he had had something of a prejudice to those kinds of people. Perhaps it was irony that it was one of 'those kinds' of people that saved his life. Still, it was just to shake the man's hand, that's all.
Whoa, what was this? He leaned in closer to the mirror. Was there just the tiniest hint of violet in his eyes?
XXxxXX
They were ignoring him. Duo couldn't believe it, those idiots actually were ignoring him!
Him, the victim.
He was now shunted to the side of the long table filled with files, papers and other things. He stood there fuming while Solo, Gaylord and the manager from the courier company argued. They were still trying to decide who was to be blamed in this mess.
The administrative department claimed nothing. They didn't know who was going to register until the point of registration.
The couriers blamed Solo. He after all acknowledged receipt. How were they supposed to know if it was the right delivery? They only followed the delivery list.
The PAs claimed ignorance. They didn't know who they were going to be assigned to until the soul reached their office here on Heaven.
And the cycle of finger pointing continued until one brilliant fool suggested that if Duo wasn't in an accident, this would have happened. So, Duo was to blame.
At this point, all three parties turned to Duo and nodded sagely. Yes, it wasn't their fault in the least; it was Duo's fault.
Never before had Duo wished for his Gundam, his darling Deathscythe. He would squish these CYA idiots as flat as a pancake.
"How is it my fault?" Duo growled.
The next ten minutes was spent in explaining to Duo how he should have not been so inconsiderate to get into an accident so close to the hospital. He also should have fought harder to live; the fact that the couriers could extract life in spite of that was forgotten. He also should have called himself Adrian West instead of some silly nonsensical name like Duo Maxwell. He should have also nodded sagely when Gaylord called him Adrian West. Who was going to help the already overworked and stressed Gaylord to file the extra paperwork? Not Duo. No, he would be settling down in his new cushy quarters with his PA holding his hand. Gaylord would be the one slaving over the mound of documentation when he so desperately needed a vacation and some time for himself so he could rest, relax and perhaps clip his toe nails.
Silence descended as Gaylord finished his rant. All eyes were trained on the pair of loafers under the table and they all imagined messily kept feet. It was something that should not be thought of as they all shuddered.
"God should have let the Human Resources department implement the grooming allowance for the backroom staff," Solo muttered to the courier who nodded in complete agreement.
"He said something about people in His service being beautiful already," the courier shrugged.
"Well, He doesn't need to work with them on a daily basis," Solo said, wrinkling his nose at Gaylord's scruffy appearance, apparently oblivious to the growing annoyance of the clerk.
"Hey!" Duo yelled, peeved that they had forgotten him once again. "What are you going to do about me?"
"Since it is technically your fault, there is nothing we can do. You are in Heaven, enjoy," Gaylord dismissed Duo, preparing the lease contracts, a 'How to be useful in Heaven' book written by Archangel Michael, and orientation pack.
It was then Duo lost it.
He was dead because of them. He was missing Heero because of them. He was stuck in this place of perpetual whiteness, red tape and weird corporate terms because of them.
He lunged across the table to try strangling the clerk. He couldn't attack Solo, the courier was a little far but Gaylord was just right.
"What is going on here?" A loud voice echoed through the large hall, shaking its foundations to the core.
"Oh great, another quake, when will these Archangels learn that the admin office can't survive too many of these flagrant shows of power?" Solo muttered, keeping his arms around his still struggling little brother. He remembered this of Duo. When Duo was angry, he was really angry and nothing could stop him. Except, perhaps, a testosterone packed Archangel.
Duo stilled, covering his ears with his hands.
Yes, Solo smothered a laugh. The voice of an Archangel was indeed very piercing. Noisy and pretentious would be a better term but who was Solo to say anything about God's personal army?
Duo stared at the pair that had walked up behind them. Behind the two, the other people waiting for their turn looked absolutely bored. Perhaps this wasn't a very unusual scene? Okay, so Archangels look really scary. Not in the 'I'm in awe over you because you are so fantastic' kind of way. But more like the way a person in a bar would feel for a bouncer in a bar after he harassed a woman. These two dudes were large and tall. There were rippling muscles everywhere and they did looked like they were overloaded on steroids. They looked like they had been in bar brawls all their eternal lives; one of them had a broken nose and the other had a faint scar along one cheek.
"Excuse me, Sir Archangels," Gaylord stood up rather quickly. "We have a misplaced soul, that's all."
"Mi… misplaced? I died before my time!" Duo protested, shooting a glare at Gaylord, who looked like he was trying desperately to cover up everyone's mistake. In the presence of the Archangels, he couldn't very well blame Duo for dying in an inopportune time and place.
Sir Archangel #1, the one with the crooked nose frowned in concentration. "Hmm…this is serious. Have you sent out a mail to inform the other departments of this? The babysit… the Guardians should know that soul is still at large and need tending. You need CC a copy to Archangel Michael."
"But… but…" Gaylord sputtered, giving Duo an evil glare. He knew now that he was in trouble, they all were.
"And how would that help me?" Duo spoke up. "I am still dead, I still have loved ones who grieved for me. I want out!"
"You want out of Heaven?" Sir Archangel #2 gasped and instantly, the clamour of the administrative building fell to a hush.
Duo looked at all the faces, seeing scandalised looks. He realised too late he has said something wrong. "No, I meant I want to live out my natural lifespan."
The Archangels' expression cleared. "Aaah," Sir Archangel #2 relaxed into a smile. "Hmm," he turned, looking through an attaché case that Duo swore wasn't there a second ago. He drew out a thick book that said 'Crisis Operation Manual Made Easy'. He flipped to the content page and starting scanning. "Aah, got it." He turned to the page that read 'When Idiots at the Frontline Screw Up'.
Duo could see the tight expression on each of the 'frontline idiot's' faces. They were not happy.
Sir Archangel #2 smiled, looking up. "In cases like these, you need to fill up Form 34B (iii)," he pulled out a thick sheaf of papers and passed it to Duo, who took it in a dazed manner. "Attach a copy of your entry document into Heaven and a certified true copy of the consignment note signed by your PA. Please allow 6-8 weeks for processing."
"What takes 6-8 weeks for processing?" Duo asked, staring at the burden in his arms with distaste.
"This is a complaint form," Sir Archangel #1 piped in. "We will need 6-8 weeks to investigate the nature of the complaint. After which, if the mistake is truly ours and valid, you would be required to fill another form that would enable you to be reinstated to your body."
"My body? But I am already worm food, it has been six months!"
Sir Archangel #1 smiled, which was a horrifying thing because it came out as a cross between a pained grimace and a feral snarl. "Oh don't worry about that because…" The two Archangels looked at each other and intoned in unison. "God is great."
"Ain't that the greatest tagline?" Sir Archangel #2 smiled at Sir Archangel #1.
Sir Archangel #1 nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, it is even better than our mission statement. So… anyway," he directed a look at Duo. "Anymore questions?"
Duo shook his head mutely.
"If that is the case," Sir Archangel #2 began. "Thank you for picking Heaven as your choice of eternity. We aim to serve you better. As a token of our appreciation for using our services," his hand dipped into his bag and pulled out a small fluffy pair of wings.
"Hey, time to go," Sir Archangel #1 told his partner as a soft beep came from somewhere on the Archangel. He stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a sleek PDA. He removed the stencil from the side and proceeded to press on the screen. "We are already late for the Archangel Action Committee Meeting."
"Wings?" Duo asked Solo after he found his voice again. He stared at the bare backs of the two retreating Archangels. "They don't have wings and neither do you." He played with the small feathery things that had the word 'Heaven' written in what look like Monotype Corsiva font with a halo surrounding it.
Solo shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot. "It's a cliché that angels have wings. God thought it would be a really cute as corporate gifts. It took Him ages to decide on a corporate logo to go with it."
"No wings?"
"Hey, you are able to fly mechas weighing tonnes in space so why can't angels fly without wings?"
"Aah." Duo seemed to be 'aahing' a lot as well.
XXxxXX
Adrian was waiting outside Preventor's headquarters. It has become routine to hang around there for the last few weeks. He didn't know who to ask about the Preventor that gave him his new heart. He also didn't know how.
So, everyday, after classes and work, he would wander around the Preventor's building, agonising over what to do. A strong shoulder barrelled into him.
"Sorry," a low voice muttered. A figure in a Preventor's uniform walked away, not even turning. From the back, Adrian would see the agent had messy chocolate brown hair and he had just a glimpse of pure blue eyes. He looked Asian, though not really.
Adrian was about to say something rude and downright mean, about the lack of courtesy, when abruptly his heart squeezed painfully. With a gasp, he brought his hand to his chest, as he fell to his knees. It was a pain he had never felt before in all his days of illness and convalescence. It felt like his heart was breaking. Then, all of a sudden, his heart sped up, thudding in his chest to overshadow the previous pain he felt.
The fresh smell of cologne filled his sense and he found himself groping after what seemed to be a long forgotten memory.
"Hey…" Someone was calling him. "Hey, are you alright?" Strong hands gripped his arms as the pain slowly eased and the fierce beating in his chest subsided.
Adrian took a deep breath and stared up into deep blue eyes. They were filled with so much pain, regret and guilt that it made his heart ache – again. What happened to make this man hurt so much?
"Are you alright?" The slightly Asian looking man repeated.
Adrian nodded slowly. "Yes, I'm alright. Sorry about that… erm…"
"Agent Yuy, Agent Heero Yuy."
Tbc…