Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Frozen Heart ❯ Chapter 7 ( Chapter 7 )

Frozen Heart 7

He had done it. He had really gone and done it.

Duo drained his glass in one go. The alcohol burned down his throat, but that was just fine. It gave him an excuse for the tears in his eyes. Besides, that fleeting pain was nothing compared to the twisting sense of loss in his heart.

His head felt funny. Too light. Exposed. He shivered, his hand lifting, reaching instinctively for his braid, only to clench around empty air. He swallowed convulsively.

He had had his hair cut.

His mouth twisted.

"Max?" Worry laced the young voice, and belatedly, Duo remembered the boy whom he had persuaded to accompany him to the barber. Jason had been appalled and extremely vocal in his protests, but Duo had been adamant.

"It's my hair, Jason." He had pointed out flatly in a tone that had warned the other boy to hold his tongue.

"I know." Jason had sounded so bewildered. "But you love that braid."

Duo had paused at the truth in that statement; had bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"It wouldn't be the first thing I loved and lost."

The sorrow in the soft voice had shut Jason up.

"Max?"

Duo put the shot glass down gently, then reached out unerringly for the bottle itself.

"Max!" Jason's alarm climbed a couple of notches.

He wished absently that he could bring himself to care.

Perhaps, he mused, it really was a bad idea to insist on toasting his new image so soon after having a huge chunk of his soul exorcised out of his life. But the thought of going home to the silence of his bedroom had been beyond bearable. So he had badgered Jason into coming here instead. The bar, he had discovered in previous forays, served good scotch and the bartender had better things to do than worry about serving alcohol to underage kids. Besides, the blaring rock music distracted from the accusations spinning in his head and the undiluted scotch distracted from the pain in his heart.

He lifted the bottle to his lips.

Only to have it halted in mid-air by his companion's hand.

"Max, I really don't think this is a good idea." Jason held on to the bottle, just stopping short of wresting it away. It was what he should do, he knew, but he didn't quite dare. He had never seen Max so bleakly withdrawn, so singularly determined to get smashed, and it unnerved him.

Duo's fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle.

"Let go, Jason." He advised in a low, dangerous tone and tugged. He wasn't surprised when Jason obeyed almost immediately. Very few people could stand up to his Shinigami persona when unleashed. The God of Death. He shook his head and drank deeply from the bottle.

Shinigami was gone. Just as Duo Maxwell was gone. Everything that he had been, gone. Again.

He had been someone once. A street rat running with Solo's gang. They had been his first family. He'd lost them to street violence and the plague. He had survived that. Had rebuilt himself with Father Maxwell, Sister Helen and the orphanage. Then the war took them away. That loss had triggered Shinigami's birth. The God of Death, filled with rage and the thirst for vengeance, had helped pull him through the worst of the pain.

He had hoped, when the Gundam pilots had come together as a team, that he had found a family that would stay. Unrealistic, considering their mission and the war, but Duo hadn't been able to help himself.

Every man needed a dream to pursue in life, and Duo's dream had always been to have a family. People he cared about and who cared about him.

That was the reason why he had struggled long and hard against telling Heero how he felt. He had known, oh how he had known, that the stoic Wing pilot would not welcome it. For a time he had convinced himself that being around the other pilot was enough. That he can make it be enough. Because the alternative -

Well, he was living the alternative, wasn't he?

Serves you right. Anyone with eyes knows Heero Yuy lives only for the mission. He has a laptop for a heart and machine oil for blood. You should have known better.

His mouth twisted bitterly.

You should have frozen up your heart from the day one.

"I want to help." Jason said softly, his voice echoing his need to ease the pain that he could sense from his friend.

Duo lowered the bottle, focusing his unseeing eyes on the other boy.

"Let me help." Hope flickered inside Jason when it seemed that he had finally gained Max's attention.

For a moment, Duo was tempted to explain. God, he wanted to. But where to start? What to say? How much to reveal? How do you explain the shattering pain of loving and losing thrice over to someone who had never known what it was like to lose anyone? How do you begin to make someone who had never experienced the desperate struggle for survival in an uncaring environment understand the gut-wrenching need to cut your losses, no matter how painful, in order to be able to move on?

"Life is a bitch, Jason." He said finally, lifting the bottle to his lips again. "I hope to God, for your sake, that you never lose her favor."

Jason stared at him helplessly, stunned by the bitterness of his words, scorched by the depth of his pain.

Why won't you let me in, Max? Why?

-o0o-

"Dear Allah…" Quatre clutched at his chest, staring in blatant disbelief at Duo's shorn hair.

He had cut his braid.

Quatre turned to his companion, his eyes wild.

Heero rocked back on his heels, unable to assimilate what his eyes were telling him. They were on the other side of the room, maybe- a trick of the light? But no, no, there was no mistaking that figure. He would know Duo anywhere. He had spent too many days and nights staring at Deathscythe's pilot. He knew every line on the other's face, every gesture, every quirk, every touch.

Loss knifed through him, gutting him from within.

How could you do it? How? You loved that braid.

I loved that braid.

-o0o-

"He's not worth it."

Duo started at the venom in Jason's voice.

"He's not worth it." The younger boy repeated. "You're a great person, and if he can't see that, then he deserves to lose you." He reached out to touch Duo's arm. "Please. Stop punishing yourself for his stupidity."

Heero's eyes narrowed, a snarl forming in his throat. He had no right to touch Duo!

Quatre grabbed his shoulder before he could leave his seat. "Heero!" He hissed. "This is not the time to get territorial!" The glare that Heero threw him made him wince inwardly, but he hung on with grim determination. "Getting into a fight is not going to get Duo back."

Heero processed his meaning, the nodded sharply and sat down again. But his eyes burned with possessive anger. Quatre bit his lip. He had to do something before Jason made another move that brings down the wrath of the Perfect Soldier down his unknowing head.

He's not worth it.

Jason's words reverberated in Duo's ears. Not worth it. In his mind's eye, images flashed of all the times Heero had brushed him off. The other boy had never made secret the fact that he tolerated Duo's presence only for the sake of Deathscythe. Heero didn't care about him as a person. All he had ever seen was pilot 02.

In a tiny corner of his heart, a voice cried out in denial of the damning conclusion. A voice that wanted to remind him of the times Heero had pulled him through despite the danger to himself and the mission. But Duo shut it out harshly.

"You're right." He took a deep breath, exhaling heavily and letting some of the tension leave his body. "He's not worth it." He smiled slightly, forced, but with enough light to bring an answering grin on Jason's face.

Delighted beyond words, Jason threw restraint to the winds and hugged the other boy.

"Dear Allah!" Quatre groaned as Heero's features twisted in a scowl. Making up his mind, he stood. "I'll distract him, you talk to Duo." He moved out before the other could respond. Jason didn't know it, but Quatre had just saved his life.

end Part 7