Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Holiday Arc: To Forget ❯ Chapter 1

Title: To Forget

Author: hostilecrayon

Pairing: 2+1

Rating: PG

Warnings: Medium angst, holiday fic

Disclaimer: I don't own the sexy boys.

Word Count: 4809

Notes: This was written for a contest at <lj comm="ficnpicmc">, and the theme was Song Lyrics: <a href="http://www.animelyrics.com/anime/fullmoon/eternalsnow.htm">Eternal Snow</a>. I'd been thinking of doing a Christmas/New Year's fic, and this gave me the perfect opportunity. Have a Very Angsty Christmas and a Sappy New Year!

 

New and improved thanks to my wonderful beta, Aiko Namika. safith@mindspring.com You should thank her!

 

To Forget

 

What does it mean to forget? I've never found a suitable answer for this worn out question. I can tell you that no amount of time or distance can fully accomplish the feat. It seems to me that only things of no real significance can be completely left behind without the aide of amnesia. I often think I'm quite unlucky to not have a serious case of it.

 

I have, somehow, managed to soften the pain of some of the things I wish I could forget. The war offered closure for a lot of things; the Maxwell Church, the Plague, Solo's Death, Street Life… but not Heero.

 

Never Heero.

 

Then again, nothing seems to work quite the same when love is involved, does it?

 

It's almost time for Quatre's Christmas party. He holds a small get together for the pilots on Christmas Eve every year, and even eight years down the road, this Christmas is no exception. And just like every year before, all the pilots will attend.

 

All but one.

 

That didn't stop me from getting him a present. The others haven't brought something for Heero since the second time he didn't show up. I, on the other hand, have a closet packed with eight birthday presents, eight boxes of Valentine's candy, eight Easter baskets, and seven Christmas presents - soon to be eight. That closet is now marked as off-limits.

 

It's not that I actually think he'll finally show up at one of Quatre's gatherings, though Quatre does his best to extend an invitation through our old war time e-mail addresses. Heero even responds, always polite, but always in the negative. He's been in hiding since the end of the Eve War, and even I haven't been able to track him down, and not for lack of effort, either. No, I'm not under any delusions that this year will somehow be different. I stopped thinking that after year four.

 

The presents are really just for me now. It brings me a sense of connection that I need. I need to feel like Heero is still one of us, and he is, really. He's just not around to show it.

 

I clutch my bags of presents and ring the bell, holding in my sigh. I love the guys, I really do, but I'm just so tired of this routine. Everything feels so dead around the holidays. It's a depressing time, and being around the guys makes it that much more obvious who's missing.

 

The door is answered almost immediately, and I'm ushered through the house by one of Quatre's many kind-hearted maids. I remember her name is Katrina, and I flirt mildly with her, pulling out one of the small, unmarked gifts I bought for the staff and handing it to her. She blushes sweetly and thanks me profusely before leaving me in the den.

 

The others are already here; Trowa sitting with Quatre on the loveseat and Sally - the newest addition to these parties - is seated next to Wufei, her husband, on the couch. I deposit my gifts under the elaborately decorated tree and sit in the recliner; after all, I don't have to worry about accommodating a lover. If only that were as bad as the pain got. But alas, this is only the beginning of the pain that these Christmas parties bring me.

 

“I'm really glad you could make it, Duo.” Quatre begins as usual, and I brace myself for the pain I know his next statement will cause, like some sort of sick tradition. “Heero said he wouldn't be able to make it this year.”

 

I smile for him anyway. “It's alright.” He knows it's not, his Space Heart tells him that much, but he lets me grin and bear it without comment.

 

“Have you spoken with him recently?” That's Sally. She's still new to our little song and dance, but as the question makes me wince, I'm sure Wufei will let her in on a few things she's missed.

 

“I heard from him last week, yes.” It's true, I had. So had everyone else. Heero makes a habit of sending us each an e-mail once a month with the same basic information with slight alterations for a personal touch. We're allowed to send him as many as we'd like, but recently, I've been trying not to send more than one a month to match him, plus one for each holiday. I'll be writing him one when the party ends.

 

“That's good.” She smiles, blissfully unaware of the scab she's just pulled off.

 

We slip back onto familiar ground when Wufei subtly changes the subject, asking Quatre about his business. He takes the cue and launches into the perks and woes of the changing stock market and inter-corporate relations. I do my best to follow along, poking in with comments designed to make everyone laugh here and there. It's like a poorly written play with mediocre actors.

 

We're offered drinks from an elderly man, and I hand him a gift and ask for something strong. He winks and tells me he has just the thing. He returns with a scotch on the rocks and I grin gratefully. This is another tradition of sorts. I manage to get at least slightly drunk at every pilot gathering. Christmas is usually worse than most of the others because I don't have work all week. Even Preventors get to celebrate the end of the year holidays - as long as there isn't a big case, that is. But with Wufei, Trowa and I on the team, not much has the chance to become a big case.

 

The gang waits until I get at least three scotches in me before bringing up the war. Of course it's going to come up. Even after eight years of peace, our roots are in the war. It's where we met and what ties us together. In the history books, we're known as the anonymous defenders of the peace, and though Pilot 01 is the savior of the world, there isn't much they can say about one of us without mentioning all of us, even if all they have to go by are our Pilot numbers and some fuzzy pictures of our Gundams.

 

And so they begin, starting out soft, but it won't be long before even Wufei is talking excitedly about this or that battle, our times being captured and rescuing each other, and even the new addition joins in, bringing up the few times she patched us up. I nod appropriately, laugh in all the right places and make the obligatory “I can't believe you got away with that!” exclamations, but I'm really not listening. I'm nine years in the past.

 

---

 

“Heero, why did you bother to save me?” I shake my head in frustration. You were supposed to let me die. Things would have been so much easier if you had.

 

“I told you, your skills are needed.” You wrap the gauze around my ankle with perfect motions, and I choose to ignore your answer. It's not what I wanted to hear, and so is not something I'm willing to accept. Instead, I just watch you tend to my wounds, wondering if you'll ever realize how I feel for you.

 

It took me a while to realize it myself, but while I quietly gaze at your ever moving fingers as they make quick work of the gash on my knee, there is no denying that I'm falling in love with you. Or maybe I am already in love with you. I think I've been falling since the day we met.

 

You lift my braid, checking my head and shoulders for any damage you have not tended to yet. Your eyes meet mine briefly, and for that moment in time, I feel naked to you. My expression doesn't change, but it feels like you are gazing right through me; beyond the mask that I so carefully wear. Then you look away, and the moment is gone again.

 

Do you really see inside me? Do you know how I feel about you, my forbidden fruit, the one I cannot have? I don't deserve you. I don't deserve anyone, really. I never thought I would have time to fall in love, that this war would kill me, and it might still. After all of the pain in my childhood and all of the horrible things I've done in the name of revenge, I never wanted to fall in love. I've wanted to rest. I've wanted to die.

 

You're finished with your assessment now, and you're turning once again to your laptop. I am alone again, alone in a room of two. Will you see these feelings I hold for you? Or will I be able to push them aside; to kill them off before they get the best of me? As silent and as stealthy as I've been trained to be, the emotions build within me, and I can't seem to stop them.

 

Will you ever see me as more than just a set of skills?

 

I'm being loud and obnoxious again, but you don't seem to notice. It's as if I was never here at all…

 

---

 

I greedily down my fifth scotch; the memories almost visibly shake me. Quatre is looking at me with that worried expression he wears around me so often now, and I know it won't be long before he asks Trowa to try to convince me I've had enough to drink. I don't really care, and it's not often he actually convinces me as much as Quatre tells his staff not to bring me anymore. Until that time, I'm determined to drink my fill, so I ask for another.

 

Sally is also looking at me strangely now. I wonder briefly what Wufei will tell her. I know she'll ask about my mental state. She probably had no idea. She only sees me at the office, and there I'm all smiles and business. Things have to be done and people's lives depend on my performance. Here, there are no lives at risk and there is no one to comment on my behavior. Nothing is riding on this night, and to be perfectly honest, I just don't feel like putting on a front for my friends anymore. The weak smile I hold in place is as far as I ever go with them anymore.

 

The trip down memory lane is over now. It's time for gifts. Quatre moves towards the tree, and I follow, taking a seat next to him to help pass around the presents. I'm very thoughtful with my gifts, often preferring to make them rather than just buy them. My exciting new hobbies are knitting, quilting and crocheting, so this year, I've managed to craft all of my gifts. It took me the better part of the year to finish them all. I'm sure that says a lot for my social life.

 

The gifts are opened one by one, until nothing is left under the tree but the unmarked gifts for the staff, and my gift for Heero.

 

It's Trowa who breaks tradition this time, but at least he has the decency to pull me to the side first. “Duo, why do you keep doing this to yourself? You have to let go.”

 

I look him square in the eyes and say, “If it were Quatre, would you?”

 

He watches me wearily for a moment before resigning his gaze to the blonde across the room. “Fair enough.” He says quietly. “But you're killing yourself, Duo. Honor your memories, but move forward. How much longer can you live stagnant like this?”

 

“I want to forget…” I whisper. I know I'm drunk, letting my tongue move without thought, but it's painfully difficult to hide all the time.

 

The lanky man embraces me, and it is somehow awkward that only now, after eight years, do we have our first real hug. It feels strange, and in my drunkenness, I lean heavily on him. “You can't forget.” He tells me kindly. “But you can take steps to get past the pain. Will you at least consider not bringing presents for him? I don't understand why you would bring them if you realize he's not going to show up.”

 

“They aren't for him. They're for me.” I confess. “I- He's one of us, Trowa. I won't leave him out.”

 

“Duo, he's leaving himself out. He made the choice to find himself away from us. It's true that he may return someday, but you can't base your life off of an uncertainty. You have to be ready for the possibility that he won't come back at all.”

 

“I know.” I whisper, choking back my tears. I will not cry here.

 

He releases me, and I immediately reach for my scotch. Trowa stills my progress with one swift movement and gently shakes his head at me. “That isn't the answer. Perhaps you should go home and get some rest. I know these gatherings are very emotional for you. Quatre will understand.”

 

I give him a genuine smile this time, moving around the room to say my goodbyes. Quatre seems disappointed, but I know Trowa will explain. I grab my gifts and the lone, unclaimed present and make my way to the door. Quatre offers me a ride home, but I refuse, bundling up in my jacket instead. My apartment isn't far, and the scotch will make sure that I stay warm.

 

About halfway home, it starts to snow. It's not long before everything is lightly dusted by the cold, white flurry of ice. I stop in the park across the street from my house and sit on a bench overlooking a field of frozen flowers.

 

Is that what I am? A frozen flower? Maybe it's the alcohol, but it sounds a lot like what Trowa was saying to me. If I am a frozen flower, then Heero is my spring. A thousand pounds of ice could never stop the brilliant glow of warmth that is Heero.

 

I watch the flakes fall without care, covering the flowers a little more; burying them a little deeper. I reach into his gift box and run my fingers over the stitching. I put more work into his gift than any of the others, and the irony of that doesn't escape me. The park is empty, and so I don't bother to hold back my tears when my fingers find the edge of the heavy scarf, tracing over the intricate pattern of Wing Zero.

 

His gift is themed in angels and innocence, much as his former Gundam was. Muted blues, whites and yellows dance across the fabric, offering something that is both of practical use and fashionably symbolic. On one side, his Gundam, wings fully extended, is captured in all its glory. On the other, an angelic version of Heero is lost in thought, reaching out almost absently so that when the scarf hangs around the neck in equal lengths, he is reaching for Wing.

 

I can't bring myself to stop making Heero gifts. As much as I have longed to forget, to move on, to be free of this pain, I cannot release him entirely. I run my fingers over the scarf absent-mindedly again, remembering the one and only gift I was ever actually able to deliver.

 

---

 

“What is it?” Heero's brows crinkle in confusion as he stares at the box I handed him.

 

“I'm not just going to tell you, silly. You have to open it.” I laugh openly at his cute expression, wondering how he will take to this tentative extension of friendship.

 

“A surprise? Duo, do we really have time for this?”

 

“It's Christmas, Heero. We'll make time. I know we have a mission to prep for, but we still have a few hours. This won't take very long. Please just open it.”

 

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Christmas?” He asks, but he moves to open it anyway. The packaging is nothing special; just an old box that once held detonators with some duct tape to close it back up again, but it's not the package I'm worried about. I know things like that don't matter to Heero, if he even bothers to notice them at all. My anticipation builds as he slowly pulls the tape back.

 

“I… Duo- what?” I watch as he fumbles for words, pulling the chain out and examining the small pendant attached. It's an angel with wild hair and extended wings. The features are muted in the heavy metal; just soft curving to suggest what the angel looks like.

 

“I made it for you.” I say quietly. It's a bit of an understatement. I spent much of my free time in the past few months perfecting it for him, using everything I knew about crafting and making up a few tricks of my own when I didn't have the skills needed.

 

“I don't understand… why?” He's staring at it in wonder and bewilderment, as if the angel will flap its wings and fly right out of his grasp.

 

“I told you, it's Christmas. That's my present.”

 

“Present? But I don't have anything for you…”

 

“That's okay. It's the season for giving. I don't need anything in return.” He holds the chain out to me, and I move to put it around his neck.

 

“No one has ever given me a present before.” He turns abruptly and pulls me into a tight hug. It is the first time he has ever embraced me voluntarily, and I hold him just as tightly, absorbing his warmth and breathing in his soft scent of wildflowers. When he pulls away, his eyes hold an odd expression and I think I see a glint of moisture as he whispers, “Thank you.”

 

He doesn't realize that he has just given me a better gift than any material object could ever be.

 

---

 

Once the waterworks start, they just don't seem to stop. Crying freely, I shake an inch of snow off my shoulders and make my way to my apartment. I put Heero's gift in his closet and sit down at my desk. I'm still pretty drunk, which only makes the tears worse, and I know it's a mistake to write Heero's e-mail now even as I open the program. I wipe futilely at my eyes before I begin. Maybe it's time to try to put everything into words. Maybe then I can forget just a little bit.

 

---

 

Dear Heero,

 

I have a lot that I have to say, and I figure I'm drunk enough to be able to finally do this. I have to get things off my chest before they kill me like Trowa said they would. I feel so powerless. I've spent the last eight years trying to forget how I feel; trying to kill it before it consumes me, but like the falling snow, it just piles up around me until I just can't escape it. I've been running from everything, waiting for you to come and slow me down.

 

I hurt, Heero. I've asked you too many times why you left and all you ever say is you went to find yourself. But in leaving, you've taken me with you. I am no longer the person I once was. I fell in love with you, and I've learned the hard way that there is just no going back. I would have been satisfied as your friend, but I don't even have that. I'm a frozen flower, and I'm slowly wilting away in my long wait for spring.

 

I just don't know what to do with myself. I don't go out, I don't socialize, I just work and sleep. My main source of fun consists of picking up various hobbies that serve no purpose other than to keep me busy.

 

The guys are worried about me, I know. Trowa asked me to stop bringing presents to the pilot gatherings for you, but I won't. Even if you aren't here, you are still one of us; still a part of us. Maybe that's part of why I can't let go, because we are incomplete without you. I am incomplete without you.

 

I miss you more than I could ever relate to you electronically. It hurts that you don't want to be a part of us, that you don't want to be around us; to be around me. I love you, and I'm sorry, but I just couldn't hide it anymore. I'm tired of running and hiding. When can I rest? Do you know, Heero?

 

More importantly, do you know how to forget? It feels as if you have forgotten me. Could you offer me the same solstice? I don't want to feel this pain anymore…

 

Duo

 

---

 

My head hurts and my eyes sting. I hold my breath and push the send button, my warm exhale fogging up the screen.

 

I want to scream. I want to open the window and scream at the flurry of ice. I want the snow to stop falling; I don't want to be frozen anymore.

 

Instead, I light a candle that brings me no warmth, crawl under my covers and cry myself to sleep.

 

---

 

It's New Year's Eve. I haven't received any kind of answer from Heero, but then again, no answer is answer enough when it comes to him.

 

The last few days have gone by in a blur. I've don't absolutely nothing, and this is one holiday that I am not obligated to go to any parties or gatherings, so tonight, I'll be staying home. It's just me and my friend Jack. Jack Daniels, that is.

 

I toy with the cap, not quite ready to drink. No, I'll wait until the stroke of midnight. Out with the old and in with the new, right? At the stroke of twelve, I'll drink to another year without Heero. I'll make the resolution to try harder to let him go, even if I know it hasn't worked yet. I'll drown the memories and pray to whatever god will listen that they won't come back this time.

 

But not now. Now, I'm going through my forbidden box of memories. Spread across the table are many things I really shouldn't look at, let alone keep: small parts from Deathscythe, my old makeshift priest uniform, a broken off piece of Zero's wing and pictures galore are all amongst the assortment of wartime memories.

 

I run the small piece of what was once a part of Zero's beautiful wingspan through my fingers as I flip through the pictures taken from various cameras I carried around with me back then. There are various photos of Heero scowling at the camera, some group pictures taken by Howard, and a couple of Heero and me together. I grin nostalgically at the picture with me holding bunny ears over Heero's head while he frowns at the camera, blissfully unaware of my antics.

 

There are pictures of the Gundams, too, and that brings back a whole different kind of nostalgia. The need for the freedom Deathscythe gave to me weighs heavily on me when I'm depressed. Eight years ago, I would have just hopped into my old buddy and fled to the quiet of the stars. I'd turn the artificial gravity off, maybe play some music and just float out there. Ironically enough, with the end of the wars came the end of my freedom.

 

I'm lost in thought when a timid knock sounds on my door. I look over at the clock and frown when I realize it's a little after eleven. With just under an hour to go until the New Year, who could possibly be knocking at my door?

 

I know I probably look like hell, but I don't really care. I wasn't expecting company, and whoever it is can just deal with it. I fling the door open and open my mouth to make some snide remark about having nothing better to do for New Year's, but the comment never makes it past my lips, dying instantly on my tongue.

 

Heero Yuy is standing on my doorstep.

 

At least, I'm pretty sure it's Heero. He looks different, yet still the same. He's taller now with broader shoulders and fuller muscles. His eyes are still brilliantly blue and almond shaped, though his hair is a little longer and even more unruly than before. His face is sharper, his lips still thin but full, and he carries an air of confidence that completely flattens his old wartime self.

 

I just stand in my doorway gaping at him like he's an alien, complete with tentacles and antennae.

 

“Duo.” He says in way of greeting, accompanying the single word with a sharp nod of his head.

 

His voice hasn't changed one bit. Even with that one word, the rich, deep voice rolls over me, and it's like I've transcended time and space to hear the voice from my dreams in reality once again.

 

If I had been drinking already, I'd swear up and down was hallucinating.

 

My voice doesn't seem to be working, so I just step aside and motion for him to come in.

 

He immediately sees the stuff on the table and walks over to examine its contents curiously.

 

“Is this from Wing?” He says in wonder, fingering the curved white metal. I nod slightly. “And these are from Deathscythe?” He motions to the other miscellaneous parts and I nod again. “So this must be your old uniform.” He says, more to himself than to me.

 

He flips through the pictures, examining each of them slowly, fully taking in the memories found within. “I can't believe you still have all this stuff.” He says quietly, setting the pictures down and turning to me.

 

I just continue staring at him. I'm afraid if I speak, he'll disappear.

 

“Duo, say something, please.” He implores, and after all this time, I don't want to disappoint him.

 

“What are you doing here?” Probably not the best first words, but I really don't know what to say to him.

 

“I'm finally finished searching.” He says softly.

 

“Does that mean what I think it does?” I ask anxiously, sounding all too desperate.

 

“Yes. I'm here to stay.”

 

“Do you have a place to live yet?”

 

“Not yet. I checked into a hotel while I look for a suitable place of residence. I'll be joining the Preventors, as well.”

 

“You can stay here if you want!” I blurt before I can stop myself, but to my surprise, he just smiles. After a few minutes of silence, I begin hesitantly, “What did you find? During your search, I mean.”

 

His smiles grows larger and he catches my gaze and holds it for a moment before saying, “You.”

 

My breath catches in my throat and regardless of the absence of alcohol, I'm sure I have to be hallucinating. Either that or dreaming. This man standing in front of me is not Heero Yuy. It can't be.

 

His smile falters a little at my absence of words, and in a hushed voice, he starts to speak. “Look, I'm really sorry. I never knew how you felt. I didn't think it would really matter if I left; I didn't think anyone… cared enough about me for it to bother them. I didn't know what to do after the war. Everyone else seemed to fit in so well, and I… well, I never was a very sociable person. You know that. I just didn't fit in. I needed to change, and I did. I wanted to be better, better for you. You've always been my best friend, and it was your memory that kept me going.

 

“And as for what I found, well, I meant it when I said you. I found out that I'm in love with you, Duo Maxwell. That I've been in love with you long before I was ever able to recognize the emotion for what it was.”

 

I think my jaw is touching the floor. “Heero…” I tentatively reach out for him, and he's quick to embrace me; his warm scent of wildflowers overpowering my senses. Spring washes over me and I feel myself melting in his touch.

 

His hand cups my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I'll never leave you again.” He insists. Then his lips are brushing against mine, and in the midst of bliss, I hear the fireworks signaling the change in year.

 

In that instant, I resolve to make this relationship work. We have a lot to talk about, and I have eight years of pain to work past, but if we try hard enough, we can do anything.

 

This year, I won't be forgetting; I'll be making memories to remember.

 

Out with the old and in with the new, right?