Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ In the Arms of the Angel ❯ Duo - 5 ( Chapter 11 )

Part XI

Heero gazed out of the window with his chin in his hand. The sun was just above the horizon, vast and burning in its final glory. The rough brush strokes of vivid paints and charcoals spread stately across the sky. He didn't think, he didn't want to think. If he thought than he would have to face the truth, and he wanted to remain ignorant for a few moments more. The truth was, was that it hurt too much to know the truth, and therefore, Heero wanted nothing to do with it. He was tired of hurting, tired of pain. But no matter how hard he tried to fool himself, he had glimpsed the truth, and that meant that he knew the truth and could no longer hide from its rearing head. He had to face this head on and hope beyond hope that he would survive. It didn't matter what he did or did not want; he had fallen into the trap and now had to escape. Not only did he have to escape, but he had to bring Duo out of the pit as well.

Duo.

This added an unbearable strain to the problem considering that Duo didn't even think he had an addiction. Duo didn't think he had a problem.

They had gotten into another argument a few hours before. He didn't understand how Duo could be so attached to Heroin and not think he had a problem. Duo didn't understand why Heero thought that he had a problem.

Heero slowly shook his head, closing his eyes. How was he going to solve this? Was it even his problem to solve?

What if he couldn't? What if he failed?

He stood, stretching the kinks and knots out of his muscles from sitting curled up in the window for so long. He turned away from the splendor of the sunset and moved into the darkening house. He needed something to help him sort everything out -- or at least calm him down and relax him so he could at least think straight. He moved into the living room, stopping in front of the stereo system.

When he and Quatre had been hiding in the Sanc Kingdom during the war, Quatre had introduced him to music. Late at night, Quatre would be curled up in a wing-backed chair, silently weeping. Glorious music would be drifting around him. His eyes would be closed and various emotions of fear, pride, sorrow, anger, passion and regret would pass across his face, flickering like a silent black and white movie. He would watch Quatre from the shadows, observing the effect the music had on him. Soon enough, the music infected him as well. He could feel his heart swell as the music soared, and he furiously wiped away bitter tears when the music cried. It was almost as if he could see what the composer was seeing, as if the composer was whispering in his ear what each note, each chord meant, eventhough the composer was centuries gone.

One night, as Quatre's shoulders shook with every echoing sob, Heero stepped out of the shadows. Quatre didn't notice. He could hear Quatre's raspy breath as he tried ineffectually to breathe between every self-condemning wail. Heero silently approached Quatre.

The music was some sort of piano feature; at least it was the piano that seemed the most prominate. There were strings as well, but there was always the piano. The piano was soft and solemn. He could hear the grieving voices of the Horns and the subdued winds. It seemed as if the music were speaking of a past wrong, perhaps a mistake, one that could never be forgiven. There were subtle changes in the tonality of the music, intricacies that were woven into the texture of the music. Slow swells in dynamics seemed to bring more tears to Quatre's eyes, as he peeked out between fingers at something only he could see.

After a climax in the music, it seemed to remember happiness, though it was chaotic and almost unorganized, as if it weren't truly happy, as if were putting on a happy face for the comfort of others -- or perhaps to fool itself. Then the music came to an abrupt halt.

The piano began a cadenza and Quatre's sobs seemed to paralyze in the spaces between notes.

Heero stood just behind and slightly to the right of Quatre's chair. Quatre had made no move as to acknowledge his presence.

The music took on a melancholy aura and Heero sank to his knees as the strings drifted into the mix with the soft melody. Heero placed a hand on Quatre's shaking back as the piano crescendoed abruptly into an emotion filled climax. Quatre cried harder as the piano seemed to speak of bittersweet memories that couldn't fade with time. The block chords dug into the heart showing immense sorrow diluting the previous passion -- like a betrayal.

Heero found out later that the piece Quatre had been listening to that night was Rachmaninov's Second Piano Concerto and the second movement is what had affected Quatre so much.

Quatre had shown him so much more, and they had listened to a different piece every night until their departure from the peaceful country.

It was Beethoven that he placed in the CD player now. One of his favorite pieces, a piece that always reinvented him every time he listened to it. It was one of those works that held a different meaning every time you listened to it. It suited your mood, whether that mood was jovial or sorrowful, it opened new doors specific to the mood.

He turned the volume up, not caring if it bothered the neighbors or even if it bothered Duo. This was his time; he needed this to get his equilibrium back. He had been sent for a loop and had stumbled along the way, and now he needed something to get his stride back, to reset his cadence. He had lost sight of the correct path, and now he needed someone to point his way home.

He relaxed on the couch, resting his head on the back of the couch as he stretched his arms along the back. He propped his feet up on the coffee table, his ankles crossed. He had just settled into the cushions when the first strains of music floated from the speakers.

Perfect fourths and fifths moving in a downward spiral gave the hollowness of pain. Soft strains of strings told of a future happiness before slowing into mockery. Winds explained past troubles in a soft light, leaving out all of the difficult parts. The timpani told of what was happening as the orchestra finally melded together into one voice screaming about hardships. This was the first movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, and Heero let it wash over him with a grim understanding. He could hear Duo move into the room and sit quietly beside him.

"It's beautiful. What is it?"

"Beethoven's Ninth." Heero kept his eyes closed even as he answered Duo query.

"Oh." The music crescendoed from virtually nothing before returning to nothingness. It came back with more fury, again dropping away into acceptance. The music was like life: it sang with emotion rising in and out of mental torment.

The second movement entered with a bang, suddenly disappearing into a void described by the cellos. Heero swayed to the crescendo into the main theme of staccato and accented strings that spoke of a happier time. He was carried away by the flowing theme, dropped unexpectedly, as the music seemed to ask: "Where did it go? What happened?" He tried not to think; he just wanted to be swept away by the music.

He didn't want to feel.

"I didn't know you listened to classical music, Heero." He could feel Duo's eyes on him, but he didn't turn to meet his gaze.

"Quatre introduced me to this during the war." The music swelled into the second theme, highlighting the wistfullness of memory, as you felt taken by bittersweet memories. At least the bad parts of the memories were forgotten -- for the time being.

"Why listen to it?"

"It makes me feel better."

"Why don't you listen to it all of the time?" Heero put his forefinger to his lips.

"Shh. Just listen." The bittersweetness finally turned, foreshadowing into a sustained minor chord before retreating to the relative safety of the first theme. Heero flinched at the accentuated solo timpani; feeling as if he had been punched. The music quickly moved onto happier times.

Heero held his breath for the third movement. It drifted in on a gentle breeze from the echoing silence. It seemed to build power without building loudness. It was quiet strength, strength not usually recognized as such because it was not obvious. Repeated chords gave extra strength and Heero's heart swelled with the music. It laid back into the background -- almost as if it didn't want to be noticed. When the violas took the melody, Duo stirred restlessly. Heero reached out and put his hand on Duo's shoulder in a restraining manner.

"Just listen." He whispered, stressing the 'listen'. He didn't move his hand.

The violins returned in their simple way, swelling the music in pitch rather than volume. Other instruments mimicked the violins, keeping the serene atmosphere. For the first time in weeks, Heero felt as though he could make it over this hurdle he was facing. He felt as though he could make it through this mess with Duo and drugs. He would survive, and Duo would survive too. There were no timpani in this movement -- nothing to make him doubt himself, and when the Horns moved scale-wise upward, giving the violins more room to showcase their strength, Heero could see no reason to have ever doubted himself. So when the brass entered with their slow fanfare, it seemed more of a triumphant call rather than a call to arms. He was being welcomed home after winning the war. He could see himself sitting tall on his great white steed, highstepping through the streets of his city. To him, it didn't matter that he hadn't yet set out to the war, he had already won it. And it wasn't until the fourth movement that everything came crashing down in fury.

Who was he kidding? Duo was on Heroin. That shit could kill. What was he going to do? How would he pull through this? He liked to think that he was strong enough, but was Duo?

He almost didn't hear the humble beginnings of the Ode To Joy theme. But he began to soar on the gentle wings of the violas as they joined the basses and cellos. It was nothing except the ability to fly on your own strength and power. It was the realization that it didn't matter how difficult the path -- it could be traveled. No, matter how high the mountain -- it could be conquered. Sure, there were doubts -- there would always be doubts. But he could find the way. And Duo could use him for support. And, as the voices began to soar, Heero knew that he had friends he could turn to -- the very friend who had shown him such beauty in the world as Beethoven's music. An immortal soul that would continue to amaze centuries and millennium after his time. If Beethoven could create immortality, then Heero could admit weakness.

He couldn't handle this on his own.

He finally turned to study the emotions flickering across Duo's visage during the sustained choir chord before the Turkish interlude, which abruptly broke off into heavy silence, which weighted the very air down, in a suffocating blanket of oppression. Out of the silence came the bass drum, triangle and cymbals for the Turkish interlude, which seemed to mock Heero, taunting that he couldn't accomplish his task, that he couldn't help Duo.

He would talk to Duo, find out how they could fix this, how he could help. He would do whatever he had to in order to convince Duo that he did in fact have a problem, one that needed to be fixed. Then, whatever Duo needed, he would give. And if Duo needed more than he could give, he would lean on Quatre.

As the choir broke out into the Ode To Joy theme, soaring with the orchestra, he knew the path would be virtually impassable, but together with Duo, he would be able to conquer the unconquerable.

Duo snuggled up to him, whispering.

"Please put your arm around me." Heero happily complied, slowly drawing Duo closer, reaching out to stroke his long hair.

The choir sang on, and Heero was able to listen to the remaining piece with internal peace.