Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ What Good Am I? ❯ One-Shot

Title: What Good Am I?
Author: Sylvia Spivey (SS.)
Warnings: Shonen ai of the 1+2 variety
Summary: Heero wakes to find Duo crying.
Note: Written for Ash's Bob Dylan songfic contest in February 2002. Lyrics are indicated by italics.

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I wake suddenly and silently, keeping my eyes closed as I assess the situation. My body, taut, tuned to the point of precision, tells me that it is near 3:00 a.m. I open one eye cautiously and scan the room. It is empty. Then I hear it again, the soft sound that sifted into my consciousness and woke me from my slumber. Duo is crying in his sleep. Again.

I sit up quietly. The rasp of cotton sheets is a whisper that goes unheard. I stare at Duo's pale form, curled up unhappily in the bed next to mine. Duo's breathing is ragged, his thin chest rising and falling rapidly. One hand fists the sheets as he sobs in his sleep. He's having the nightmare again. He's had it every night this week. Pretty morbid behavior for a guy who danced around in smiley-face boxers singing bad rock 'n' roll songs all morning. Baka. I briefly consider forcing myself to go back to sleep. But only briefly.

What good am I if I'm like all the rest,
If I just turn away, when I see how you're dressed,
If I shut myself off so I can't hear you cry,
What good am I?

I walk hesitantly to the side of his bed, bare feet padding on the cold hardwood floor. I curl my toes up for a moment in indecision. Should I wake him? No. He would be upset. I wouldn't know what to say to him.

What good am I if I know and don't do,
If I see and don't say, if I look right through you,
If I turn a deaf ear to the thunderin' sky,
What good am I?

A tear trembles on the edge of an eyelash, glistening in the shadows on Duo's delicate face. When he is asleep, quiet and still, Duo is so ... beautiful. So much more approachable than when he is awake, challenging me and trying to goad me into showing emotions that a soldier should not feel. I should not be standing here. It is not necessary to the mission. I nearly turn back to my bed, but Duo whispers something in the midst of his nightmare. Involuntarily, I lean closer to catch those words from his lips. He says ... my name.

What good am I while you softly weep
And I hear in my head what you say in your sleep,
And I freeze in the moment like the rest who don't try,
What good am I?

I don't know what to do. The soldier in me says to disregard it and return to bed. Mission parameters require a solid night's sleep. Duo's problem is exactly that - Duo's problem.

But he looks so miserable and small, so utterly heartbroken and unloved. He twists in the thin sheets, as if trying to escape something horrible. He mewls my name again, in pain, and then gasps "No!" Am I hurting him? Am I hurting this beautiful boy? Aa. I have threatened him, insulted him, pushed him away, punished him time and time again. Why? All he has done is show me that he cares about me as a person. He has tried to make me feel that I am worth caring about.

The soldier in me says that is the problem. I cannot care about anyone or anything except the mission. Anything else will make me vulnerable and endanger its success. My training on that lesson was ... painfully clear. I find myself gritting my teeth at the memory, and force myself to stop. All of that training to become the perfect soldier, and I can't even relate to the people who would be my friends.

Inside, I'm just too afraid that they will be taken from me too.

What good am I then to others and me
If I've had every chance and yet still fail to see
If my hands are tied must I not wonder within
Who tied them and why and where must I have been

I don't want to care about anyone, especially that braided baka. I don't want to wake up one morning without - him - here. I remember the time that he was captured by our enemies. I remember his small, bruised, frame and the sad look in his violet eyes when I broke into his cell and raised the gun, leveling it at him. I could barely keep my hand steady at the time. My orders were to eliminate him. I could not, but guilt followed me like a wraith. Guilt for my failed mission. Guilt for the look on Duo's face at that moment.

I think that day haunts him as well. I think he is dreaming of it now. He relives the moment where I raise the gun and point it at him, telling him 'omae o korosu' in a cold and unfeeling monotone. "No," he pleads feverishly into his pillow.

What good am I if I say foolish things
And I laugh in the face of what sorrow brings
And I just turn my back while you silently die,
What good am I?

I know that I am killing him in his dream. I … cannot allow it. I push my training aside, remembering another teacher who once told me to follow my heart. I lean down and touch his face, stroking it with my fingertips.

"Duo," I say softly. He is calming under my touch, his breathing evening out and becoming more steady. I stroke his face lightly, unable to pull away from his silken skin. He sighs in his sleep, leaning into my touch.

"Ssh. I will never hurt you."