Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ First Person Plural ❯ Chapter 6

It starts with the groggy realization that I'm waking up, followed closely by the press of anxiety invisible against my chest that tells me you don't want to wake up after all, the place you're at is so much better. Now I wonder why. For the answer I have to rouse myself enough from my almost peaceful dream state to grasp a conscious memory and put it in the right order. By this time, I'm at that point where I could easily fall back into my slumber with the answer, or bring myself up to take care of the problem. In this case, I want to drop again, but two things stop me. One, it startles me enough to rip me out of that nice hazy place into reality. Two…

"Duo."

Yeah. That.

I lift a hand slowly to shield my eyes from the light when I open them, and when my hand settles against my forehead I feel something soft encircling the palm. Gauze. I open my eyes, and the room is lit only with the bedside lamp. I wonder what time it is.

"It's midnight. Here, take a drink of water."

Damn, he's reading my mind.

Don't be ridiculous. You probably had that scrunched up kind of mole looking up at the sunlight face that's just screaming out, what time it, what time it, what time it.

What the hell are you talking about?

Sorry… It's the stress.

I take the water somewhat awkwardly between my bandaged hands and take a cautious sip. Pushing myself up into a sitting position my hands rub against the gauze and no matter how soft gauze is that simple contact is still painful. I wince and settle my hands on my lap, looking down at them. It's a much better bandaging job then I could have done one handed like I would have had too, but now I have to explain this.

My eyes travel up my arms, where the sleeves have been rolled back, and the bandage on the inside of my left arm has been changed as well. More questions.

"Heero," I say hoarsely.

He sits back a little as if to study me, perched at the edge of the bed, and unconsciously Ara seems to seep into my consciousness, my hands coming up and tucking the loose strands of my hair away nervously. My face feels tight and hot from the crying. Ironic sort of, crying is supposed to make you feel better, but I always feel like shit afterwards.

Heero takes my hands just above the wrist and draws them down to my lap, then lifts my chin so that I'm looking at him. His eyes seem darker in the light, and his mouth is tight, his hands are gentle. He's been worried.

I swallow and he now removes his fingertips from my chin. "Duo, what's going on?"

The tears are pressing against the backs of my eyes now, demanding release, and I sniffle, bringing my left hand up to press against my mouth, up against my nose, and my eyes wander as I force the tears back. Another sniffle and my bottom lip trembles. I hate this...

"Do the others know?" I whisper, looking at a spot on the far wall.

"No." He looks to where my eyes have settled, and then I can feel the heat of his gaze on my face again. "They were ten minutes behind me. You passed out, collapsed, something, after I touched you, and I cleaned up and tucked you away, and told them that you were sleeping the stress of the mission off."

I let out a relieved sigh and rub my eyes. "Now you only have to explain this," he holds up my hands, and then settles them on my lap again. "And this," his fingers brush along the length of the bandage where Meyer cut me. "And this," he holds up the journal that has been sitting on the night table.

I must have paled, it certainly felt as if all the blood drained from my head and wrapped around my heart, squeezing so that I couldn't breathe. Heero shook his head and placed the journal back down. "No, I didn't read it if that's what you think. I wouldn't do that. As I was bringing you in here I knocked it off the table and it fell, open, and my initial glance tells me there's something not right in there. But of course, that brings up these." He leans under the table and brings out one of the bottles, shakes it slightly, brings out another as if to prove a point.

Then I realize that he's bringing them all out and lining them up neatly on the table beside me, the yellow of the lamp casting a sickly glow on the orange bottles, illuminating the pills like little death traps. And then he brings out a single pill and sets it down on top of the bottle that it came from. The Serax, I'm certain, I lost that day. Lost it into his bag.

"I was wondering where that came from," he explained after a moment.

I sink back into the pillows as best I can and close my eyes, forcing calming breaths into my body. Now that I'm settling down, that my mind is shifting and moving back into a semblance of normal, I become aware of the things I had not been aware of at first. Heero's weight pulling the side of the bed down, the heat of his body, and the soft sigh of his breath. It slowly dawns on me that the shirt I'm wearing is not my own, but one of Heero's, made of something soft and Prussian like his eyes. It's only buttoned halfway up to my chest, open enough that the cross I wear is resting in the open, something it's usually not doing for practical reasons.

I look to Heero and then down to the shirt, silently asking a question, and after a moment he relents and seems to decide to let me bide my time on explaining my predicament. "I had no idea the extent of your injuries, and to check that out I had to remove some clothing. Beyond that, you would have been too hot inside with all the clothes on. That's how I found the medications actually." He stopped and picked up one of the bottle, fingers running over the label as his eyes stared at it, uncomprehending. "I was looking for a shirt to change you into and that's the bag I grabbed first, closest. I didn't want to rummage around in your other one, had no idea what I might find. I pulled out one of mine for you. Left you in your boxers."

"How nice," I say faintly, settling my hands on my lap.

"Austin…" Heero says to himself, thumbing the childproof side on the bottle. "Austin Maxwell." I manage a half smile; it feels odd to be called Austin, even if he is reading it off the prescription label.

I look away, to that spot on the wall again that's not really there, and Heero falls silent for a time. We both seem content like this, silently waiting for the inescapable. The axe falls.

He takes my arms just above the wrist and turns them so that the underside is facing up as he runs a thumb along the outer edge of the new dressing he put on. So gentle and tender, not what I've come to know at all. I can't look at his face, but I can't look away either.

"Duo," he sighs, and then looks up at me. "There is something very big that you're hiding," he whispers. "This is self inflicted?" It's a question, but I know he knows that answer to that already.

I can break away from his eyes and I find a place on the blanket and focus there. "Kind of," I whisper at last, voice shaking. I open my mouth to explain more, but there are no other explanations but the truth that will pass, so I just whisper again to him "kind of" and leave it at that.

"And what about this?" His fingers trace an old scar, one of the many that crisscross along my pale arms, forming an awkward pattern of spider webs.

I can feel the tears again, hot and suffocating, and I force them back.

"Kind of, kind of the same," I force out, swallowing convulsively.

He releases that arm and runs his rough fingertips along the sensitive flesh of the other, the scars not nearly as bad here as on the other arm, Meyer not having as much control as I do in using the left hand over the right.

He looks up at me. "Not suicide attempts," Heero murmurs. "Why the self mutilation?"

"I don't know," I answer truthfully.

The others are unusually quiet, leaving me on my own to deal with this.

"Duo," he says softly, drawing my name out, chastising lightly.

He reaches for the one odd bottle out, white instead of sickly orange. "If you're taking Zoloft for that, I'd take a guess that you need a new antidepressant."

For some reason, that casual, simple comment breaks a gate to my emotions, and I'm fighting sobs, reigning myself back in after impatiently wiping the tears making tracks down my cheeks.

I will not cry in front of him. I will not cry in front of him. I will not cry in front of him.

Instead I drag in a calming breath, and another after that. Finally there is soft activity in my mind, ranging from discomfort from the situation at hand to anger that Heero would force me into this place of pain. I bite down hard on my bottom lip to force myself into the present, and glance around, searching.

"Toby?" I whisper softly, looking up at Heero.

"Pardon?" Heero asks me, eyes narrowing slightly.

"The…the bear," I clarify faintly.

"Oh. Yeah." He leans over to the other side of the bed and pulls it out from where it had fallen between the mattress and the bed frame. I take it slowly, trying not to let the relief wash over me visibly, just from holding it, smelling the familiar scent, but there's a new scent, the same scent that is clinging to Heero's shirt, that clings to him.

I look up at him over the top of Toby's head, holding the bear tightly against my chest. "I don't take them often," I tell Heero for explanation. "The Zoloft, I mean." My voice wavers but doesn't break. He picks up the first bottle near him, the Risperdone. "Risper…Risperdone," I sigh softly, resting my cheek against the soft fur of Toby's head. "It um…it slows impulses down, or blocks nerve receptors, slowing the body down, relaxing the body."

"So you use it to relax?"

"Among things."

He gives a nod and I know he's storing information, waiting for a better time to pin down more answers. He puts the Risperdone down and picks up the Serax. "Anxiety," I answer before he can ask. "It reduces anxiety. And the other, that's a sleep aid, knocks you out, no side effects when I take it."

He's silent, and it starts to make me nervous as I watch him play with the top on the Ambien bottle.

"All perfectly acceptable to have. War is stressful, ya know."

I can see that he doesn't believe what I'm telling him, but he won't smash the lie down without something to prove that it holds no weight. Instead he puts the Ambien down and picks up he journal, something I had forgotten until this moment was still sitting there, like a coiled snake waiting to strike me when I least expect it.

"I didn't read it," he restates, tossing it onto my lap. "But I did catch enough to know that there's something a little more there than a simple, `Dear Diary' type thing."

I look down at the cover, and then whisper very quietly, "It's personal."

"Oh." He's silent, and I never see it coming. "Austin, is he the same person that you wanted me to make stop in the kitchen, or is that someone else?"

I drag in a deep breath, forcing back the tears, and then another, but it doesn't seem to be doing any good. Slowly I lean forward against the worn teddy bear, composure crumbling inside and out, and I can't stop the whimpering sobs that escape me, so long I've held them inside, refusing to give in.

I look up at him through my tears, hating him and loving him for stripping me bare like this, and shake my head slowly at him. "You could never understand," I whisper. "You could never understand."

That doesn't stop him from reaching out to me though, pulling me against him in a hug I need, and this simple willing contact breaks free everything I had held back. It gives me permission to be vulnerable, if only for a moment, if only for a night, because someone else will be strong for me. I wrap my arms around him, not caring what he will think come morning, when the sun would cast light on night and not be as kind as darkness, and bury my face against his shoulder, muffling my sobs.

"Why don't you tell me about it?" he whispers once I've calmed in his arms, the tears have stopped falling.

There's nothing inside, good or bad, yes or no. It takes me a couple of deep breaths to decide, and then I pull back slowly.

"Can I get a cup a hot chocolate first?" I ask softly.

"You're not going to run away are you?"

I give him a weak smile and hold up my hands. "Where can I go?"

He nods and gets up, leaving the door partway open to the room. After a moment or so I look around and gather up the blanket covering me, tuck Toby under my chin, and move to the living room couch. When Heero comes out he's surprised to see me there, but allows it just as well and settles next to me, accepting the blanket I toss over him as I arrange myself with the other half. Sitting Toby down on my lap I hold the warm cup between my cold hands and stare at the small marshmallows swimming around inside. "You remembered the marmells," I murmur, looking up at him.

"Yeah, I figured… the what?"

I laugh, relief flooding through me to be temporarily away from all the stress.

"Marmells," I say again, looking back at them. "It's from… when I lived with Father Maxwell, there was a young child there, maybe 4 or 5, and she couldn't say the entire word marshmallows. It kept coming out marmells, and soon that caught on, and I guess… guess it's one of those things that you never really lose."

Silence settles between us heavy and warm, and he eases closer to me, or perhaps he's just propping his socked feet up on the coffee table. I place the cup on my knee, balancing it with one hand, and hold out an arm to him. "Could you, the sleeve?"

He nods and slowly begins to unroll the sleeve, securing it at the wrist, but it's still big, falling down over my hand past my fingers. It makes me smile. I'm not that much smaller than him so it must be large on him as well; a nightshirt perhaps. I bring the bunched up sleeve up to my nose and breathe in. Such an interesting scent.

Heero begins to unroll the other cuff. "Have you ever heard of DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder?"

His fingers pause in their work, and then continue, much more slowly but no less gently.

"What? That's sort of like amnesia stuff or something?"

"Well… kind of. Maybe fugue amnesia, but this is more like Split Personality Disorder… or Multiple Personality Disorder."

He's quiet enough that I look up from my drink. His movements have stopped, but he still has my wrist in a loose hold. I carefully pull my arm back, steadying my cup with two hands.

"Multiple Personality Disorder?" he says softly, in such a way he's looking for me to tell him that yes, that's what I have. I won't disappoint.

"Yeah. That in particular. How much do you know about it?"

"Not very much," he admits.

I nod. "That's to be expected. Not many people do know all that much about it, and there are so many unknowns still. It's not as rare as people think though, and from my own studies a person who has it can be in the system for up to 7 years before it's properly identified and treatment can begin. I was a lucky one, I guess." I give a small shrug, taking a sip of the hot chocolate, letting it rest in my mouth a moment before swallowing.

I let myself slide back into the cushions more, watching his face behind my impassive mask, and waiting for his interest, his rejection, whatever it is he will show me. He sighs deeply and closes his eyes, and while he is focused someplace else I allow myself to study his face in the soft light, now not wary of his seeing where my attention lie. He looks tired, with small lines around his eyes that shouldn't be there for someone so young. But his skin, despite all the hard work he does, still has that generous softness and curve of childhood, reminding all of us that for everything we do we really are still…just children.

I look down at my hands and bring the cup up to my face; the steam soothing as it drifts upward, bringing with it that sweet chocolate scent.

"You have Multiple Personality Disorder?"

"I do," I say into my cup, watching my breath push the liquid around inside.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I tell him with a slight shrug, looking up at him. "Why wouldn't I be okay? It's not like I'm a babbling idiot or anything. I'm just…I'm just a little damaged."

"Why don't you explain Multiple Personality to me."

"I can do that," I tell him brightly, nodding. "We can do that."

"Please don't refer to yourself in first person plural right now."

I nod again. "Okay. Kind of weird right?"

"Just a little."

I ease back into the cushions, making a little hold for the mug so that I won't have to hold it the entire time, and after a moment I give into Ara's insistence in that he should be the one to explain. I can't even be sure if Heero catches the switch, but then again he doesn't know what to look for yet. I'm sure he will soon enough.

Immediately my entire body relaxes everything feels more comfortable, everything seems brighter and better. Ara smiles at Heero somewhat lopsidedly. It's a part of his charm, something he has more than enough of.

"All right. You have to understand primarily that Multiple Personality does not mean that a person's insane or that they're crazy. In case studies Multiple Personality is caused by severe child abuse, but it doesn't have to be child abuse per se, the abuse is just the most likely, and sadly, the most widely occurring catalyst. It simply is something so monstrous that the young mind simply will not, or cannot, allow that to be a part of their memory. As they cannot handle this happening a defense mechanism is triggered, in this case dissociation. That part of the child that is there retreats back into the mind somewhere that is safe, and what happens is taken on by another part of the mind. Once the occurrence has passed it is safe for the child to reemerge and they can continue on living without a major disruption to their life because they don't remember this horrible action taken against them.

"This is actually normal to a lesser degree, everyone at one point or another dissociates; the difference here is that it happens again, or something similar, and the same defense mechanism is drawn up again to be used. Pretty soon this small portion that is taking on all this pain begins to develop away from the main part of the personality, and in doing so slowly creates an entirely separate and new personality. Each time this part has to be drawn out it gains more and more of an independence."

Ara picks up the mug and takes a sip before continuing, only to stop as he begins to speak again with a small grimace. Setting the cup down slowly he barrels on before Heero can comment on it.

Reaching out he pats Heero's knee. "You're following right?"

"Yeah, Duo-"

Pressing a finger to his lips Ara shakes his head no. "Let me finish. Now, you have this separate identity off to the side of the original identity absorbing different things, forming different thoughts, feeling in different ways, and having a different outlook. Then, something happens, and this part of the identity," Ara holds up the hand he had held out away from his body, "Isn't equipped or willing to deal with this new situation. But neither is the child. Another part is used, another dissociation occurs, and what has happened with the first one happens slowly with the second one, until you now have two separate and different personalities. With time these identities fade somewhat into the background, when the threat stops, but they never really leave, can never truly disappear, and one day either something bad happens that triggers them, or things are going right for the person and it's safe for the others to emerge. If it's negative the host, the original personality, is equipped and able to handle the new situation and won't need the defense mechanism, but either way there are problems, conflicts, with the frightening intrusion of another individual in the mind. Do you understand so far?"

Heero nods, an odd comedy of interest and unease.

"Good. In time and with help these alternate personalities, called alters, begin to emerge more fully, without fear, and make themselves known to the host in some way or another, either by way odd actions that can't be explained, or acts that have to be treated, like this cutting." Gently Ara rests his fingertips above the bandage along the arm. "Treatment, I'm sure you're curious about that."

Heero nods again.

Ara lets both of his hands drop to his lap and makes himself comfortable, propping his feet up over Heero's lap. "Well, there's integration, and man I'm not too wild about that, if you know what I'm saying. But in integration a therapist and the host and the alters all work to bring together the fragmented parts to make a whole and complete personality. The other option is finding a way to coexist, to the point that most people would never ever guess there's anything different about the person."

Heero seems to struggle a moment for words, then lets out a breath slowly, looking at Ara carefully. "You're…you're not Duo, are you?"

Ara shakes his head, pursing his lips, and then cocks his head to the left. "I'm Ara," he states at last, holding out his hand. "Understandably we've never been formally introduced."

Heero freezes in place, eyes locked onto Ara. Ara imagined he was having trouble seeing Duo yet knowing it wasn't Duo but someone different. After a second Ara's hand drops and he folds them on his lap, drawing his feet back and bringing his knees up to his chest. He gives a little shrug. "And this is your cue to ask to speak to Duo again and I'll retreat back to where I belong," he tells Heero quietly.

"Is it?"

"Normally. I'm not blind, I may be seeing through Duo's eyes, but I do see. I make you uncomfortable, but that's okay, we tend to make people uncomfortable at first. But then something happens, they get to know each of us, and suddenly we're no longer these fragmented parts, but we're people, who think and act differently. And hopefully some day we'll be accepted individually, and as a whole." Ara gives another shrug. "Or that's the goal."

He turns his head away from Heero, to where the maps have been rolled up and settled on the table, and gives a soft bitter laugh. "Just as soon as we accept ourselves, right?" He cocks his head to one side, listening, and then gives a slight nod.

"Yo, Heero, I'll chat with you later." He looks back to him, eyes suddenly sad. "Maybe."

A shiver runs through my body and my eyes close, and then open again, and I try to place everything where it should be externally and internally.

"Duo?"

I give a nod and smile in a tired sort of way, lifting the drink and sipping it despite the fact that it has cooled considerably during the time Ara was out.

Silence settles between us, me not wanting to say anything that I don't have to, Heero not knowing what to say, what to do. I lean forward and set my drink down, settle back against the couch and look to him, waiting.

"This won't affect your piloting abilities, will it?"

I pick up the couch pillow beside me and hit him with it, hard, since it's only a pillow. "Sure, it's going to affect my piloting abilities now, just because you know about it. Never mind the fact that I was this way long before you met me. Come on Heero, think, use some common sense."

"I had to ask, okay?" he defends, pulling the pillow from my hands. "It's the first question that came to mind."

I narrow my eyes and pull the pillow back, holding it loosely against my chest. "Fine, that's it, it's the only stupid question you're allotted tonight," I tell him.

"I might as well give up now, because I can think of a lot of stupid questions that I might ask if I stick around," he tells me, standing. I grab his hand, gingerly of course, and pull him back down, against me, and he looks over with a lifted eyebrow.

"Are you really interested?" I ask him softly.

He gives it a moment's thought, and then nods slowly, letting his body relax against the couch. "Yeah, I'm really interested Duo. Why don't you tell me what you want me to know?"

I give a slow nod and rearrange my body so that I'm sitting cross-legged beside him, looking at his face to judge the effect my words have on him. "All right," I begin softly, picking at a loose thread coming up from Toby's leg. "You just met Ara, knowing that it was Ara, but you've spent a lot of time around him not knowing that. He's a genius, but he'd never admit it. We've all been tested; his IQ is 189, which if you know anything about IQ scores and stuff, that's like… I can't even find a way to describe this for someone to understand. Math, sciences, psychology, machines, computers, its all child's play for him. What would take me two days to correct on Deathscythe, he can do it in half a day. Any number, any problem, he can work them out, picks up on things of that nature, sees the patterns and the reasons and how it all connects. He speaks something like 7 or 8 languages, all from hearing it spoken, from books, stuff like that. He's older than me, I don't know exactly how old, somewhere around 26 or 27. He's more emotional, quicker to lose his temper, but equally as quick to put it back where it belongs and make everything all right again, sometimes he can be quieter, sometimes he can be louder, it all depends on how he's feeling. The only real problem I have with Ara is that he doesn't like chocolate." I make a face, and then shrug.

"He's older than you?"

"Yeah. There is no set pattern for what can and cannot be. An alter can be male or female, young or old, they may have to wear glasses, or have a speech defect, or write with the left or right hand. Some might be chronically sick, while the body is perfectly healthy any other time. Another may be allergic to cats and the others have no existing allergies. There are so many unknowns in the mind…" my voice trails off, dropping, and I'm sure Heero picks up the awe from my tone, the wonder about the entire thing. He wouldn't be Heero if he didn't.

I wait a moment for Heero to digest this information and find a way to bring it into focus so that it makes sense and while he does that I stand and move to the kitchen for another mug of hot chocolate. Once in the kitchen however it takes a different turn and I bring out a soda instead. Heero doesn't question, or seem to notice.

"How is that possible…?" he whispers softly.

"Buddy, if we knew that we wouldn't be like this," Bailey tells him, popping the top off the soda.

Heero looks up and I smile at him. "People have been studying the mind for years and still there is no ready answer for so many things. You live with it, you have no choice."

Another silence as I sip my drink then put it down, settling, feeling the heat of Heero's leg against mine. "Oh, also Ara is attracted to guys. I don't know how I forgot that, he never lets me."

"You're attracted to girls then I take it?" Heero asks. I can see the regret on his face after he says it, more of an embarrassment than a fear that he's upset me.

I can't help but grin. "Damn, right to the point. Truth is, I have no idea. I'm too busy thinking about other things right now if you know what I mean. I have a lot to work on before I even think about getting into any sort of relationship, whether the person is male or female."

"I didn't say anything about a relationship, I said attraction."

The grin drops into a smile as I let my eyes stray around the room. "I don't know, like I said. There's a lot more on my mind beyond that, I hardly notice things like that. Maybe I can't, you know, maybe Ara can because I can't. I've never even kissed anyone, I have no idea what I would want for anything short or long term."

The smile falters and I try to pick it back up, and then decide that I don't have the strength. Maybe it's time for me to bring down the barriers and stop pretending. "I don't think I ever will," I tell Heero, letting my eyes move to his face for a second, and then fixing my gaze back on the bare wall where the maps had been hanging. Even the bulletin board is down.

"Never?"

"No, it seems a lot more trouble than it's worth. And I wouldn't want to make any connections with someone unless they know, and if someone knows they'll never want me."

"Duo-."

"Sometimes I don't want me."

"Duo-."

"I know I shouldn't talk like that," I sigh, interrupting again. I tug at the thread. "It's not healthy or productive. But I'm just so messed up-."

The rest of my words are muffled by Heero's mouth against mine.