Here we go – we've reached the end again! I really don't know when I'll be posting much of anything for a while. I am expecting again with what has turned into a very difficult pregnancy and so I haven't been doing much writing. But I have had some ideas for one shots in this world as I didn't get to explain as much as I had wanted to – so this may not be the last of this story. ;-P Thank you so much for all of your readership and I hope that you have enjoyed. =)
188 Days Since Last Communication
It felt like a dream that he would be pulled from the first second he dared to hope it was real when he finally made it back to their apartment door, the building still standing, waiting for him – just as it always had been. He caressed the numbers with his fingertips, thinking of all he had done to be here at this moment. LA had been bombed too, the past few weeks slow going as he managed his way through the rubble, unable to locate supplies, hunger gnawing in his gut until it became a dull ache but it hardly mattered. He was home.
Heero didn't expect Duo to be there – just assumed there would be some note left to instruct him of where he had to go to find him. Despite the time that had passed, the city still smelled of death and the reminder would be unbearable to Duo. He knew that. But still it almost didn't matter, the thought of it still being days before he would see Duo again, because he was here. Despite the odds, he'd made it home.
When he turned the handle he found that the door was locked and a quick smile flickered across his lips, made painful as they split against the uncommon action, and he bent down slowly and carefully to grab the key from under the mat.
The apartment was exactly as he had left it – no, better than he had left it. Not a single thing was out of place. No dishes in the sink, no wrappers on the counter, no muddy shoes tracked through the foyer. It added to the surreal, dream-like feeling of being back with everything so perfect and for a moment he hesitated. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel like it was his – not any more.
Memories crowded his brain until he was leaning heavily into the doorframe, breathing hard and feeling faint – every moment of happiness, every argument, every place they'd fucked, dinners and parties and daily rituals overwhelming him now that he was here again, here where all of those things had happened not all that long ago. He felt like a man out of time, lost, that this wasn't his home anymore, not after everything he'd been through to get back here. This was the home of another man, a younger man, a man who still had optimism and hope, a man who hadn't seen the things he'd seen, hadn't selfishly dug the keys off of dead men's rotting corpses and eaten greedily from cans busted open against tile flooring.
Heero's steps were shaky as he wandered through the apartment, halting and heavy, memories assaulting him with each forward movement. Screwing on the floor their first night here, up against the counter once when Duo ambushed him in the middle of the night after he got up to get a glass of water, so many times on the couch... The way he would come home to find Duo absorbed in a book or political talk show or video game when he worked late and how he would lean over the back of the couch, wrap his arms around Duo's neck, and Duo would tilt his head up into his lips, reaching back to slide his fingers through the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. The way he would kiss Duo's forehead every morning and Duo would mumble his typical "love you" back with eyes still closed, but then sometimes he'd only make it halfway down the hall before Duo was running after him, embracing him from behind, arms tight around his waist, lips on the back of his neck, making it nearly impossible to leave.
When he finally made his way into the bathroom, he noted how Duo had left a few gallon jugs of water, a still packaged toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, and clean towels on the counter for him. And then Heero looked in the mirror, really looked, for the first time in months.
His skin was dark with tan and dirt, his hair greasy and matted, beard long and unkempt, eyes sunken, face thin and gaunt like the rest of his body and he dropped his eyes to the counter, opening a drawer, looking for a razor, scissors, something. With trembling hands he trimmed back his beard, poured water in the sink and scrubbed his hair out with soap, combed it out and tied it back with one of Duo's hair ties, washed his face and arms until he felt somewhat presentable. But no amount of scrubbing could lessen the horror he felt when his eyes met his reflection and in the back of his mind he couldn't shut up the little voice telling him that Duo would never want him like this.
Once he'd finished he wandered back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed as maintaining control of his emotions and his memories became difficult in this room, on this bed, where they had shared so much. But he noticed the way the sheets were rumpled as though they had been laid on recently, the only thing out of place, and he rested his hand on what was once his pillow and wondered if Duo had lay there and thought about him, where he was, what he was doing – the way he had thought of Duo every single day.
When he noticed the crack in the nightstand drawer he pulled it open, seeing the unfamiliar notebook within and taking it out. Immediately he wanted to cry but tears were impossible and instead he dragged in ragged breaths, hardly able to read Duo's scrawling penmanship through the shaking of his arms.
Duo had documented so much over the time they were apart – entries written as though letters to him were penned nearly every day in the beginning, the abject misery and sorrow of his tone making Heero's chest ache, knowing intimately how hard it was to be apart from him. He described terrible things – dumping the dead bodies of their neighbors out windows, watching from their balcony as animals picked the bones clean, the way he knew in that moment, four weeks in, as he stared from the top of their apartment building out across the ruins of Los Angeles with the sun rising slowly behind him that he was completely, totally alone.
But then something changed and the entries weren't so devastated, nor were they as frequent. Duo had found someone else who had managed to survive, a woman named Hilde, and then he began detailing how he started working to turn the Gillette Mansion into a home for them. As fascinating as the stories of their post-apocalyptic lives were, at times Heero found it difficult to read, the occasional statement or question clearly glossing over Duo's real concern – that Heero wasn't ever coming back.
"I wonder if you're thinking about me right now," he would write – or worse, "I can't imagine what it would be like to see you again." The fact that Duo still thought of him, the constant repeated mantra of "I miss you" more than he had hoped for and yet he knew he was nothing like Duo would remember, just a wraith of the man that Duo had fallen in love with.
So when he heard his name called cautiously from the living room he froze, fingers digging into the pages, terrified to see the man he still loved so dearly, afraid that time had changed him too much, that the illusion would be shattered and Duo would be disappointed by him, disgusted, even – that everything he fought for over the past six months would have been a lie. But then... Then it was Duo's voice, saying his name again, and all he wanted was to see him, hold him in his arms one last time, smell his skin pressed up against his nose and feel his body warm under his hands and just – just know that they had both made it and that they were both safe. That all of his strife, all of his hard work, everything he did, paid off in the end.
He heard Duo's footsteps approaching and he stood, walking to the door to meet him in the hallway and they both paused when they caught sight of one another, as if neither could believe what was happening, as if the dream had manifested into some kind of nightmare and he would blink and Duo would be gone, just a figment of his imagination. He just looked so much like Heero had remembered – a little thinner, less muscle, but he clearly ate well and strangely it was that which Heero was most gratefully for – that Duo hadn't had to suffer the way he did. But it also made him feel strange and cautious and he waited for Duo to turn around, to walk away, to decide the fantasy of Heero's return was better than the reality – and honestly, Heero wouldn't blame him if he did.
But he didn't. Instead, Heero barely had time to register what was happening as Duo barrelled into him, throwing his arms around him and dragging them both to the floor under his weight as his knees gave out. Heero registered that Duo was crying, could hear the sobs as though from a distance and he felt the wetness on his neck as though it weren't happening to him, the blood rushing in his ears, heart pounding so loud he could hardly hear anything else, feeling dizzy and light-headed and he wanted to cry to but he couldn't. He just trembled in Duo's arms, pressed his nose against his neck and breathed in the smell of him, warm and soft and familiar.
"I thought I would never see you again," Duo managed, burying his fingers in his hair, in his shirt, determined not to let him go, holding him tight against his body and Heero opened his mouth to reply but nothing came out, his voice gone from lack of use and he felt his chest heave in a sob but there were no tears.
All he wanted was to show Duo something, say something, and he couldn't. He couldn't do anything but hold him back with weak, shaking limbs and feel Duo's body, real and tangible and here, now, with him.
"I tried to believe, you know, I tried not to let it get to me, but fuck, I'm sorry." Heero could barely understand him through the tears. "I'm sorry I doubted you. I never should've doubted you. I love you, I love you too much to have doubted you."
Heero swallowed hard as Duo peppered hasty kisses to his neck and jaw, whispering "I love you's" after each one making him feel weak, making him feel useless that he couldn't do anything but sit there and accept Duo's affection and he tried to speak once again. The soft sound he made was nothing, not even a word, nowhere near able to describe the depths of his emotion for Duo and yet Duo drew back, wiped his eyes on the back of his hands and held him at arm's length and looked him in the eye, patience written all over his face but Heero was heartbroken. He had nothing, no way to express the depths of his heart, tell Duo how he felt and he –
And then he remembered. He bit his cracked and broken bottom lip as he slid his hand in his pocket, the only offering he had to give – afraid of the rejection but afraid that if he didn't say it now, even without words, he might never get another chance and he – he couldn't bear the thought of never getting another chance. The poor little box, worn with dirt and hardship, no longer beautiful in any way, so representative of himself that Heero could hardly stand to look at it as he drew it out but it was all he had left – that box and a stupid hope that Duo might still say yes.
He held it out carefully, unable to meet Duo's eyes, just hoping that Duo could see beyond the harsh exterior to the sentiment inside, and when Duo realized what it was, tears began spilling renewed down his cheeks, an unmaintainable smile desperately trying to find purchase on his face as he gathered Heero back up in his arms, his name a sob caught in Duo's throat.
"It's like I told you, babe," Duo said, his voice cracking, his words so quiet muffled against his shoulder that Heero had to strain to hear them. "Even if there ain't a single person left on the planet but us – I'd choose you. Every fuckin' time."
