Trowa arrives late in the afternoon. Navratil has paid us a visit, just as I expected, declaring Duo in good condition to leave, and yakking on about the proper care and that Duo would need to return if he was feeling woozy or nauseous or when he felt pain… I let the good doctor finish his sentences this time, even though Duo looks like he’s bored to death.
I help Duo with dressing himself, offering to get him a new shirt or that he could even take mine, but Duo just shrugs it off and takes his blood spattered shirt out of my hands.
“I’ll change as soon as we get home,” he promises me, and pulls the garment over his head. There are drops of blood on the fabric where the bullet entered his body, some of them smeared all over the garment. It’s going in the trash as soon as we get home.
I’ve been a bit edgy, waiting for Trowa to arrive. Meanwhile Duo finishes the rest of the fruit -some grapes, one banana and an orange- , having skipped the tasteless sludge they pass off as breakfast and lunch here. He seems as relaxed as before, being his same old self, fortunately, and the little episode of this morning vanishes into the back of my mind. It wasn’t important anyway.
“Good morning, Gergely, Bojan,” Trowa greets us accordingly. He has nothing with him; my stomach rumbles in protest. Nobody asked me if I wanted some breakfast.. or lunch.
“Vavrin! Long time no see. Thanks for the fruit, man.” Duo grins at him, holding up the empty bag and the knife. Trowa returns the grin, a little bit too smug to my taste. “I knew you would like it. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, get me the hell out of here,” Duo growls, jumping off the bed.
“Hey, take it easy,” I snap at him, not liking the way he brushes off this incident. A bullet wound in the shoulder doesn’t handicap you, but Duo of all people should know how it can affect you.
“I’m taking it as easy as I can, pops,” he answers, rolling his eyes. As much as he hates me talking to him patronizingly, I loathe it when he rolls his eyes at me. It always makes me feel rejected, for some reason.
“Let’s go… I take it all the paperwork has been filled out?” Trowa’s quick to intervene, not feeling up to acting as mediator. Not that we often fight, Duo and me- but he knows that sometimes Duo’s quick retorts don’t fall well with me.
“Yes,” I confirm, “we can leave whenever we want to.” Navratil has settled everything in order for us; he will be rewarded with ESUN money sooner or later. Gergely Nemecek will remain a non-descript, inconspicuous patient at this hospital, checked in with a minor bullet wound and checked out without any additional problems the next day.
Trowa dumps the empty brown bag in the waste basket, adding the blunt knife to it. Duo puts on his jacket and looks at me. I see the longing on his face to kiss me, to hold my hand, to wrap his arms around me, to whisper in my ear- but it all will have to wait until we’re on safer ground. I know I wear a similar expression, and suddenly he winks at me again, a movement so fast that only I can catch it- it’s meant for me and it’s his way of saying that everything will be all right.
I put on my own coat, following the other two outside of the room. We leave the hospital, and the first thing I do when walking through the large automatic doors is taking a large gulp of fresh air. Duo does the same, squinting his eyes from the sun; the sky’s rather bright, though the temperature isn’t that high.
Trowa leads us to his car, an old, blue Skoda with a pair of fuzzy dice on the rear view mirror. Duo, who has never seen the car before, teases him mercilessly about it, and Trowa lets it all wash over him, smiling every now and then. I take the back seat of the car; Duo likes to ride up in front.
“Where are we going?” He asks, curious.
“Somewhere out of Prague,” Trowa answers. “You can rest up there from the events.”
“I don’t need to rest,” Duo says, sounding faintly irritated. “I’m feeling fine.”
“We need to keep an eye on the wound, in case of infection,” I voice out loud. He turns around in his seat, twisting the seat belt. “I’m fine, and you heard the nurse. It has already healed pretty well.”
“In any case, you’ve got some free time to catch up,” Trowa says, paying attention to the traffic. It is not that busy, and he waves through the cars without a hitch. We are on the highway before we know it.
“What about the mission?” Duo finally asks. We are perfectly safe in the car, we can talk freely now. “What about the shooter? What...”
Trowa cuts him off. “It was some poor sap who was stupid enough to think he could solve his money problems by agreeing to work temporarily as a hit man.”
“Let me guess, he’s dead.” Duo groans, throwing his head back in the seat. “Damn! Why would he act as a hit man on two lower flunkies of the organisation? So much work down the drain- it’ll take us months and months again to work up our way again- we’re back where we started!”
“We’ll have to discuss with Lady Une what our next step’s going to be,” Trowa glances at Duo, before returning his attention to the road again. “Some... interesting facts have come up in the last 24 hours.”
“Like what?”
“The hit man was decapitated.”
“Holy fuck, that’s gross.”
I don’t correct him on his use of language- Duo swears a lot more easily than me, but mostly if he’s upset or if he doesn’t know how to respond otherwise. He doesn’t do it on purpose or to rile people, and I don’t really care; it’s his way of expressing himself.
“The contacts... the card players...”
“They’re both dead. One was shot by the hit man, the other… well; he didn’t leave the interrogation room alive either.”
“Thorough,” Duo mumbles, obviously thinking that both the kills were jobs from the smuggling organisation we were trying to infiltrate. I’m not so sure about that. Drumming with my fingers on my knee, I look outside the window.
“We’ll be in Jilín soon,” I hear Trowa say. “Another hour or so by highway.”
“What’s there to see?”
“It’s safe and you can take a nap there, even though you obviously don’t need it,” Trowa jabs at him, all in good humour. Duo nods, showing his well-known grin.
“You know, that not-so-needed nap is sounding better and better to me,” he says, stretching in the seat for all he is worth.
“That’s fine,” Trowa only comments, signalling to Duo that he doesn’t mind if he’s going to nap in the car. I shift my position on the backseat, closer to Trowa.
“What about the case?”
“I haven’t briefed Lady Une, I’ve been too busy cleaning up the mess, literally,” he grumbles, shaking his head lightly. “Sedlacek is a good one, but he needs some more experience. We can’t have him blow our cover in his panic.”
I mentally make a note to speak to him about that; I selected Sedlacek myself for this mission, and I don’t like to be proven wrong. I can’t use people who can’t keep their heads cool in times of stress.
A road sign indicates that Jilín is only fourteen miles away now. I can’t wait for some rest and relaxation myself. I always get jittery and worked up when Duo is injured. I know he’s strong enough to overcome everything that is thrown at him- I just don’t want to see him suffer. This time it’s only a bullet wound… but in this line of work, there could be so much more done to him. We’ve had discussions about it before, but Duo keeps on insisting that he can do this work just fine –which he can, of course, no doubt about it- and that I shouldn’t worry. I do worry… more about what will happen to me when something more… fatal happens to him instead of… I break off that train of thought and remain silent for the rest of the trip. Duo has long since fallen asleep.
Jilín is a city not as large as Prague, but large enough for us to disappear anonymously. Trowa has arranged for an apartment in a suburb, and he parks his Skoda in sight of a large building.
“We’re here,” he announces, and pokes Duo in the shoulder. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Heey, not fair,” Duo mutters, sleep drunk. He blinks a few times. “Wow, are we going to stay here?”
“It’s nothing fancy,” Trowa admits, “but it’ll do for now. Get out of the car, you lazy bum.”
We all step out of the car, Duo yawning and me taking in our surroundings. It’s as inconspicuous as they come; nothing out of the ordinary, no one looking up when three young men arrive.
I walk next to Duo, following Trowa to the entrance of the building. He searches in his pockets for the keys, muttering something under his breath. Duo shivers a little.
“You are going straight to bed, young man,” I whisper in his ear. It doesn’t really surprise me when he nods; Duo knows when to listen when it’s really necessary. I notice him using his arms and shoulders as if nothing has happened, and he’s probably overexerting himself. The entrance is clean, and we are waiting for the elevator to arrive. It sounds like an avalanche coming down; great technology here. I put my prejudice aside and stab the button once again; I do not like to wait.
The elevator arrives and we step in. “It’s on the third floor. Two bedroom apartment, kitchen and bathroom, the works. I’ve rented it for a week- you’re free to leave earlier. If you need an extension, just call me and I’ll take it up with the landlord.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I take it the apartment has been thoroughly tidied up?”
“We removed all the spots and stains,” Trowa says, indicating that it’s been swept for bugs and other equipment, and that our own technology has been installed.
I don’t expect anything else from him and refrain from commenting. Duo looks like he’s about to keel over, and I frown; he wasn’t that tired this morning. He has closed his eyes and wears a grim expression on his face, a mixture between… irritation? and fatigue. I quickly run over our conversations, in the car, this morning… did I say something wrong? Have I angered him somehow? I can’t come up with a plausible explanation, so I make a mental note to ask him later, after he has rested properly.
We both follow Trowa like a couple of sheep, allowing him to guide us to the apartment in question. It’s sparsely decorated; only the most basic furniture is present- couches, seats, a large table, and two cupboards. I hear Duo ask where the bedroom is, and while he wanders off after Trowa’s directions, I quickly check the kitchen –plenty of utensils, everything spotlessly clean-, and walk out onto the balcony. The view isn’t that marvellous, just a rather average sight of the city. It’s getting dark.
“I’ve got to go,” Trowa says, checking his watch. “I’ll call you later this evening, okay? I’ll probably have more news then.”
“Thanks for everything,” I say, turning around to face him.
“No problem,” he answers, and smiles a little. “The fridge’s fully stocked, so Duo can pig out if he wants to.”
I laugh. “After that terrible hospital food, I don’t blame him for being extremely hungry. With that said, I’d better start dinner.”
Trowa shows himself out, and I decide to check up on Duo. The two bedrooms are at the end of the small hallway, and before I reach the door, I hear him thrashing and moaning. I open the door and peek inside.
“Duo?”
He’s lying on his back, arm cradled to his chest, fingers buried in his shirt, as if he wants to rip the fabric. “I killed them…” His voice is hoarse, but clear enough; I don’t misunderstand his words.
“Duo, you’re having a nightmare.” I keep my voice neutral and soothing. It’s for the better if he wakes up; he can have something to eat and freshen himself up a little; this will only screw up the sleep cycle of his body. “Duo, you’re having a nightmare,” I repeat.
“I killed them all... wanted to see them dead...”
I haven’t really experienced Duo having a nightmare before. Amongst all of us pilots, he’s the silent one… when he sleeps. Sometimes when I wake up at night I doubt he’s together in the bed with me- usually he’s curled up to the side, hogging a blanket, completely unmoving. I have put my fingers on his neck a few times before, just to check if he was really alive and breathing.
He sounds really disturbed, and beads of sweat have formed on his brow. I put my hand on his shoulder, softly shaking him.
“Duo… Duo, it’s me, love. It’s Heero… shh… it’s a nightmare, everything’s going to be okay.” How many clichés can one put in one sentence? I don’t care, as long as it wakes Duo up or at least consoles him enough to fall into a healthier dream.
“No… no…” There’s a hitch in his voice. “No. No!” Now he cries out, louder, sounding aggressive and irritated. This does it. I shake harder.
“Duo, quit it! Wake up!”
He snaps his eyes open, yelling even louder. “I killed them! I killed them all!”
For a moment, he’s completely unfocused, blinking with his large eyes, pupils looking into every direction for orientation. “H-Heero?”
“That was some nightmare,” I simply say and the next second, he’s lying in my arms, clinging onto me tightly.
“Fucking hell! I thought.. man! It was.. it was awful..”
I smooth his hair, sticky from the sweat. He needs a shower, but who am I to tell him that- at this moment, he needs me more than a shower. I wrap my arms around him securely.
“Talk to me…”
“I dreamt.. that I was back on the battlefield…”
No surprise there- I have my fair share of Gundam-related dreams. I’ve dreamt so vividly about being in Wing Zero again - so vividly that I could smell the inside of the cockpit, the plastics, the material of the pilot seat - that when I woke up, I was ready to report for duty in the closest hangar I could find, expecting to see my Gundam again.
“I was alone.. everybody was dead.. bodies charred and crippled.. it was horrible..”
Guilt. Has any of us pilots ever dreamt without guilt? Guilt about the lives we’ve taken, in the name of peace, about the violence we condoned in the name of peace, to bring peace, to establish a fragile idea of security and friendship around the world and the colonies.. only to wake up from another nightmare- that not everybody wants peace.
“Duo, dreaming about the war isn’t uncommon… it’s normal that you dream about something that has affected…”
“Don’t,” he says, voice a low growl. “Don’t patronize me, Heero.”
I’m so surprised that my hands slide off of him. I pull back, to look him straight in the face. He looks pale, sweat still visible as a thin film, eyes large and still the beautiful mixture between cobalt, blue, purple and violet -yes, that’s my way of describing them-, but his mouth is a tight line, almost disapproving.
“I’m not patronizing you,” I say. “You’re not the only one to have these dreams. I bet that even Wufei has nightmares about the war. We were soldiers, we followed orders, we killed and we were victims. We had to make sacrifices and we saw sacrifices made for us.”
Duo shakes his head, and pulls the sheet from under the blankets, wiping at his brow, making a sound of disgust. He hates sweating.
“You were trained from the beginning. You knew what was trusted upon you, Heero. Not me. I was all for fighting for others.. in the name for others… I had ideals.. I had wishes.. and they didn’t come out. I didn’t know. I didn’t know!”
I bring up my hand again to brush the sweaty bangs out of his face. “My so-called perfect military training didn’t prepare me for everything, Duo. What’s so good about knowing how to take an AK-47 apart blindfolded and put it together backwards and still make it function, when you don’t know how to handle the after-effects of killing people?”
“Sylvia Noventa? You were set up by OZ, Heero. You didn’t kill her grandfather intentionally.”
“I killed him, just like you’ve said ‘I killed them all’. I have blood on my hands, just like you. I know what you’re going through. I’m not patronizing you.”
He wrings his hands, the soaked bed sheet protesting against the firm grip. “You’re right. I’m sorry. That wasn’t... that wasn’t what I meant.”
“It’s okay,” I say, trying to sound as confident as possible. I can’t help but feel a little disturbed because of his initial reaction; I’m not used to Duo reacting as if he was stung by a bee. “We went through the same. We go through the same. That’s why we’re together.”
Duo finally shows me a smile, but it’s a small one.
“I’m glad we are, Heero, really. I love you. I guess it’s just a different way of dealing with things, and I deal with it a little bit differently than you.”
I tentatively brush my lips against his, and feel relieved when he responds; he parts his lips a little, capturing mine. God, this feels so good.. the sweet, soft, warm taste of his lips. The perfect confirmation of his love for me- a gentle kiss that speaks volumes. When he kisses me, I feel the most special person in the world- his kiss, Duo’s kiss, is reserved only for me. Only I am the recipient of this wonderful gesture. He breaks for air, lingering with his lips on mine. I notice the shiver running through him.
“That good?” I ask, trying to lift his spirits. I’m in luck; his smile is wider, almost topped off with some dimples in his cheeks. Not a full-blown smile yet, but I’m getting there. He raises his hand, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
“It’s always that good, handsome,” he says. “But my mind was with the nightmare again.”
“Why was it so frightening?”
He shrugs, apparently not bothered by his shoulder. I make a mental note to check up on his wound after he’s freshened up. It’s an uncomfortable gesture; I can read Duo’s body language pretty well, and this is an ‘I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it’ shrug. Still, I can’t let it go. Him having a nightmare is bad, him having such a bad nightmare that it frightens him is even worse.
“Tell me,” I press the issue.
“It wasn’t the dead bodies.” He drops his hand again, and I inwardly mourn the loss of his touch. I put my hand over his, pressing it into the covers.
“It wasn’t the wailing, the screaming, the pain, the torture, the fire.”
They’re only words, and they’re… unnerving me. I’ve had violent dreams as well -I still do, though not that frequently-, and I can’t imagine why he’s having a nightmare about it right now. The wars ended six years ago, we signed up for working for the ESUN four years ago. We have dealt with peace threats, weapon smuggling, even blowing up a factory about to specialize in Gundanium manufacture, but an all-out war like we’d been fighting in has not reoccurred.
“What was it, then?” My mind races for the possibilities.
He looks at me, and a little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and for a moment, his eyes seem to darken, but the next second, he sighs with exasperation and rubs at his temples.
“I enjoyed it,” he finally whispers. “I enjoyed walking around on the battlefield and seeing people suffer and die. I didn’t do a thing to show them mercy or relief from their pain. I was just watching and enjoying myself.”
“Duo…” I tilt my head a little, not really sure what to say. The same thing again? Spouting some more clichés?
“I never was a soldier,” he says, keeping the same whispering tone in his voice so it makes him hard to hear. I lean a bit forward. “I never had specific training; I only knew I wanted to help… I still want to help. I still want to fight so others don’t have to… won’t have to risk their lives.”
“Your life is precious too, Duo,” I say, but he doesn’t hear me… or ignores me.
“All that I know I learned in life itself… what life threw at me. What life throws at me. It’s not fair.. I never was really prepared. Was I ever prepared? Will I ever be prepared? We can both die at any moment.”
“Duo, please,” I answer, and I put my hand on his again, caressing his fingers. “Please don’t do this to yourself. Where does this come from? Does it have to do with the nightmare?”
This is the first time I’ve heard him talk this bitterly. I know some wounds run deep, just like mine, but Duo always had - or seemed to have – the ability to deal with them in his own way, expressing himself, not burying it and bottling it up like I’ve always done.
“You’re one of the best in your field,” I tell him, “I love you and you have wonderful friends. Everybody likes you…”
“Quatre… Quatre didn’t have to fight for his survival,” Duo suddenly changes topic, looking in front of him as if he’s about to burn a whole in the blanket.
“That’s not true. Quatre gave up his position in his family- he got disowned, even, for the path he chose to take!” I’m baffled. Is Duo jealous of one of his best friends?
“You had your training. Trowa had your training. Quatre had his family to bask in and who cared for him. Wufei had his training and his clan. I had to do everything to survive- and I would do it again.”
“I know,” I say, squeezing his fingers a little. “You’re strong, Duo. You’ve survived your life on the streets, and even though you never had official training, you knew how to pilot a Gundam extremely well.”
He laughs a little. I’m not sure why he’s talking about the others -and me- having had training. We all would’ve exchanged it for a normal family life I guess, but there was a war going on and we were put into a situation where we couldn’t say exactly ‘no’ to the things that were happening to us. What’s he talking about? Just as I’m about to suggest he takes a shower, freshens up and has dinner with me, he starts to talk.
“I should’ve known why I liked it so much on that battlefield.. why I didn’t even care for the people dying.”
The nightmare is really bothering him, and I can understand, though not really relate to it. Whenever I dreamt about the war, it referred mostly to my first failed mission… the girl and her puppy… or to my Gundam.
“Duo, why should you have known? You took the task upon yourself, because you wanted to fight in the name of everybody so they didn’t need to fight…”
“I’m Maxwell’s Demon,” he answers me, lightly chuckling. I lift my eyebrows- he hates it when people refer to him like that, and the last time he referred to himself like that was ages ago. “A burning church, a burning battlefield. Everything to survive, Shinigami.”
His sweat soaked bangs are plastered to his forehead, and his face is still a little pale. The silver crucifix he always wears catches a glimpse of late sunlight- the last of the dying sun, and it sparkles.
“Don’t give me that God of Death crap,” I hiss, “you’re far above that.” I don’t know what I see in his eyes- but I certainly don’t imagine the flicker of pure venom. I gasp. “Duo?”
“You’re right,” he answers me brusquely. “It’s nothing but crap.”
“I think it’s time you took a shower,” I retort, completely deadpan. He barks a short laugh and moves his hands to throw the mess of sheets and blankets off. His shirt rides up when he swings his legs out of bed, showing a fair deal of skin.
“Yes dad,” he says, pulling at the shirt and taking it off. “I could use one.” He flings the garment over the bed, and starts on working off his boxers.
“Towels are in the shower,” I tell him, while I watch his hands flying to his braid to untie it. He hesitates. “Do you really believe…?” He looks up at me, expression unreadable. “How many towels would I need?”
“There are plenty,” I assure him, noticing very well that he was about to say something different. “I’ll start on dinner, and when you’re finished, we’ll have something to eat. Trowa said that the fridge’s been stocked; anything you want in particular?”
“Nah,” he shakes his head and leaves the room before untying his braid, the last strands of the mass of hair visible before he’s out of the door.
Dinner’s ready- I simply cooked a meal of vegetables, potatoes and some chicken. Even though the fridge’s fully stocked, it doesn’t hold the necessary ingredients for traditional Japanese food, and I don’t feel like calling for take-out. The telephone rings. Duo’s still in the shower- the water has been turned off, but he’s undoubtedly busy with drying his hair.
I pick up the phone, announcing myself with my name. The line is absolutely secure- it’s our own equipment.
“Heero, sorry to disturb you. Are you having dinner?”
“I’m waiting for Duo to finish his shower,” I answer. “What do you have for me, Trowa?”
“Nothing, really. No more news concerning Sudzukovic and the case… the last thing I heard was that they’ve finally managed to puzzle the other card player back together. Lady Une has called for a halt on the case.”
“Damnit, Duo’s not going to like this.”
“He has no say in the matter,” Trowa says, a little clipped. “We made preparations and efforts as well, and all our work is down the drain because of some rivalry shoot-out in a café.”
“Don’t take it out on me,” I snap back at him. I hate it when a mission is put on hold or is plain botched. It doesn’t compute in my system.
“How’s he doing?”
I decide not to tell Trowa about the nightmare. Why should I? It’s too personal, and if Duo feels up to it, he can talk to Trowa about it himself. It’s not my place to divulge this kind of information, and Trowa refers more to the bullet wound than anything else.
“I’ll check up on the surgery later,” I confirm. “He uses his arm and shoulder without any trouble, so it seems. I think he’s more… emotionally damaged than physically, though that sounds far more serious than it really is.”
“He certainly seemed a bit off to me today.” Trowa sounds a bit surprised, as if the possibility of Duo being ‘off’ has never crossed his mind before. It’s indeed really rare for Duo to act out of his usual character- I’ve known him for so long, and I think I know all of his moods and behaviour patterns by now. Still, this Shinigami thing is something that bothers me; I was convinced he left that all behind him, and certainly didn’t expect him to start talking about the God of Death today. I can’t imagine that his injury and the bloody scene at the café have triggered his former Shinigami mentality- that certain mood wherein he thinks that he’s responsible for every mistake that has been made, and that all the bad things in life were solely directed at him. It’s not like Duo to be depressive, to wallow in self-misery or to be so emotional that he can’t function- but we all have our moments that we’re up to our limits in our feelings and emotions; tightly bound up in our past, torn by whatever we’re feeling, by whatever we’ve felt.
“I’ve been too hard on him,” I blurt out.
“Excuse me?” Trowa’s still on the line, and apparently he’s been talking for more than five minutes. I severely apologize and ask him to repeat himself, which he grudgingly does. I file away the information he gives me -still about the case and how Lady Une has put a hold on it- and politely listen to him, until I hear the door click. Duo enters the living room, his nose in the ear, sniffing exaggeratedly at the smell of dinner.
“Thank you for the information,” I say, ending the discussion still politely, but abruptly. “I’m going to have dinner now.. we’ll see each other soon, I guess?”
Trowa answers that he’ll be in touch again and hangs up, probably a little irritated by my not so very proper attitude. I’ll make it up to him, but first I’m going to have dinner with my Duo. He’s already at the table, eating a warm potato, and looks at me at exactly the same moment I look at him. He grins; his impish, boyish, lavish grin. He’s only clad in a large shirt and another pair of boxers. The way he stands, his right hip cocked forward, his legs a little spread and his arms half-crossed in front of his chest, his slender fingers trailing his lips which just have tasted the potato. I just know the evening’s going to be special and I suppress my own grin.
“All ready for dinner?” I ask him. He nods, eyeing the plates on the table.
“I could eat a whole horse!”
I walk over to him, closing the distance between us and taking him into an embrace. He immediately clings onto me, pressing a kiss on my neck.
“I missed you…”
“I was afraid you…”
“Shhh…”
“No more death…”
“No more pain..”
“It’s all right.. we’re together..”
He silences me with another kiss. “Heero, I need something to eat otherwise I’ll keel over. That couch looks comfy; what’d you say if we tested it for snuggle capacity after we’ve eaten something, hmmm?”
“You’re right,” I answer, but not before I inhale a hefty dose of the scent of his hair. It’s just a generic shampoo he uses, but for some reason his hair always smells better than mine. Duo moves around the table to take a seat opposite to me, rubbing his hands. I watch him while he serves me, giving me a large helping of potatoes and vegetables, and shoving the largest piece of meat towards me. I don’t protest; not that I’m such a great consumer of food, but because it’s futile discussing this with Duo. He eats between meals, takes a snack every so often and never passes on an opportunity when food is offered; and he can take it, as his metabolism processes everything at top speed. He wants me to eat as much as possible when I’m eating; he knows I despise sugary snacks and he teases me sometimes that I don’t acknowledge the ‘emotional value of having dinner together’. I don’t mind- food is food. I’ve been taught to eat to sustain my body and that is all. Still, seeing Duo eat with such great appetite and obviously enjoying his meal, puts me into motion to eat as well. It tastes even better because I know he likes it as well.
He’s not looking pale, the shower has taken care of any dirt and smudges and he looks healthy- Duo is still eating, not really paying attention to me. He talks about neutral topics, even commenting on the cultural value of Prague. I guess the nightmare was just a temporary fit… even though he talked about Shinigami again. I guess I have never realized before how deeply it runs, while I should’ve known- am I not the one still dreaming about the girl and her puppy, and hadn’t that been as long ago as Duo’s horrible witness to the destruction of his church? I eat the last of my vegetables, vaguely noticing that Duo’s on his second helping.
Only after we’ve done the dishes, tested the couch for its ‘snuggle capacity’ - it ranks in the highest category, according to Duo, and I don’t disagree with him-, does he fall asleep into my arms, exhausted. It’s only then that I suddenly think about his injured shoulder and I slip my fingers between his shirt and skin, prodding around for the bandage. When I lift the pad of gauze up, I suddenly understand why the nurse had been so surprised. There’s nothing to see but a small, coloured patch on his skin; as if he’s been bitten by an insect instead of being hit by a bullet. I tape the gauze back. Doctor Navratil may be a good doctor, but even he couldn’t operate with that kind of precision. It bothers me for half an hour before I fall asleep myself.
--
Eastbourne, England, AC 202
“Fucking shit! You can’t be serious!” Duo laughs, the wonderful rambunctious sound echoes in the small car. He leans with his upper body outside the window, looking extremely amused and amazed at the same time. The landscape is simply stunning in its simplicity; a green meadow, grain fields, flocks of sheep and cows grazing- as if someone has spread out a patchwork blanket. The hills of Eastbourne are breathing calm and quietness, a welcome change in both landscape and surroundings. The sky is a little clouded but a bright blue nonetheless, and the sun is shining, not too warm.
I drive the car, leaving Duo to hang outside the window, allowing the wind to breeze through his chestnut bangs; the rest of his hair in its customary braid- a thick, luscious rope of hair that feels soft and captures and amazes me every time. It’s Duo who lies next to me, it’s Duo who wakes up with me, it’s Duo who shares his life with me, and I don’t want to have it any other way. He’s the one I wish to die for, he’s the one I devote my life to.
“I’m quite serious,” I admonish him, not seeing the reason to swear, even though it’s almost standard in Duo’s vocabulary. It’s a small annoyance, and I sometimes remind him to not use that kind of language, but he merely shrugs it off; even if he’d give it a try, it always returns into his speech pattern.
“It’s great to see Quatre again! I thought he didn’t want to be involved?”
“Quatre has as little to do with the ESUN as possible, yes,” I acknowledge. Quatre is active in another field as us; he’s not really a mission agent anymore like Duo and me. His position in the current political world is far too precarious to risk doing missions. Quatre still has ties with ESUN; he’s the strategic mastermind, especially concerning the long-term planning and the political course to take. Relena holds him in extremely high regards for his advice and insight; he’s one of the most level headed and honest persons to keep the organization far away from corruption or sinking into conflicts of interest.
“He’ll be briefing us as soon as we arrive,” I tell Duo again, and he nods his head. I wonder if it’s not too warm for him with his choice of outfit; black jeans with a black shirt, embroidered with a modest gold-threaded pattern. He wears his baseball cap, which I haven’t seen him wearing in a long time. It’s not that cold outside, though not to warm either, as I’ve already noticed; I’m a bit underdressed for the weather. I can’t pull out a vest right now; the bulk of our luggage has been sent ahead. I’m not going to drive with the blanket from the backseat around my shoulders.
“We’re almost there.” He reads the GPS in the car; I’ve taught him how to work with the navigation system. It’s not that difficult, and certainly someone who piloted a Gundam should be able to read it. Duo didn’t disappoint me; he mastered the system within seconds, and he never uses paper maps anymore. I can’t imagine that we ever used those; paper maps are so ‘passé’, to use another popular expression. “Take a right after two hundred meters…”
“We’re here.” I take the right turn, steering the car onto the driveway, passing through a bronze gate.
Chapter 3 | Chapter 5