Pairing: none, really. Heero wants Duo, but never gets him
Categories: dark angst, yaoi, death
Warnings: crossdressing, deathfic!
Notes: based on Dacia's "At Seventeen" plot bunny from her site
Disclaimer: I do not own the g-boys, nor do I own the song that this plot
bunny is based on ("At Seventeen" by Janis Ian)
Dedicated to Dacia
The shower water streams down
the side of the tub, splashing against the cold tile, sluicing almost
violently over the skull of a young man huddled at the bottom of the shower
stall. His knees are crushed against his chest and his head is bent, buried
under clouds of soaking chestnut hair; he whimpers periodically but does
not stir, choosing instead to ignore the water -- rapidly cooling -- that
is battering his body. Outside of the stall the mirror is completely opaque
with steam and the window has been left open in an attempt to combat it.
The only success is that the freezing winter breezes keep sweeping over
the young man, still motionless at the bottom of his shower. He looks
up after awhile, catching water in his eyes, obscuring any tears that
may have been lurking there. He lifts one hand, examines it, turns it
backwards and forwards in front of his face -- trying to comprehend. He
presses his fingernail against the grout and exerts all of his strength,
snapping the short nail backwards and causing tiny drops of blood to curve
over his fingertip. The water slips over his finger and reddens before
disappearing down the drain.
"Such an impossible concept," he mutters aloud to himself. "That
these slender fingers, battered and half-broken, could have been the cause
of so much destruction -- and all in the name of peace." He gazes
up into the falling, chlorinated water again, ignoring the burning as
it floods his eyes.
"No warmer than tears or blood," he observes, disregarding the
sharp pain. "It would have been so much easier--"
Duo stood in front of the glass door, a book clutched to his chest. The
war had been over for six months and Heero had created fictional identities
for all of them -- Duo was Regan, a young middle- class female who had
just transferred schools. She was starting in September along with everyone
else; yet all the other girls who already knew each other were chatting
and laughing. Heero had promised Duo that once a full year had passed
he could resume his own gender and his own name, but first they had to
lie low. Many people had praised the gundam pilots for their courage and
tenacity; there were also many people who did not look kindly on the idea
that there were terrorists in their midst. One of the loveliest girls
-- whose name he'd overheard to be Anne Marshall -- skipped up the steps
towards the entrance. He smiled at her, attempting to make some sort of
contact so he wouldn't be so lonely, but she ignored him. He opened the
door, held it for her and was rewarded with a rather- disgusted full-body
glance. Apparently she was unsatisfied with Duo's appearance. Duo sighed.
He supposed that making friends took time, and after all, the only experience
he'd had was with street children.
Later on that morning he was sitting quietly in his first class; then
the teacher glanced over at him and smiled cheerfully and phonily.
"Class, we have a new student this year. It isn't often that happens,
is it? Regan Maxwell, would you stand up and introduce yourself?"
she directed at the window. He stood, smoothed down the front of his pleated
skirt, and opened his mouth.
"Well, that's nice, isn't it everyone?" the teacher made a gesture
that he should sit again and then turned her face to the old- fashioned
chalkboard. He lowered himself back into his seat and avoided the eyes
of the others. Anne Marshall in particular snickered and whispered loudly
to her neighbor,
"She's certainly intriguing. I bet she turns loose within
the first week." she stifled a smirk. The girl in the next seat over
"I say we--" but she was cut off by the teacher's furious glance,
and quickly everything except higher algebra was forgotten. When the bell
rang, Duo stood, careful not to trip over his books that lay at his feet.
He bent over and lifted them, then looked up. Standing not ten feet away
was the most gorgeous guy Duo had ever laid eyes upon; with the possible
exception of Heero -- who was seven hundred miles away. He grinned lazily
in Duo's direction and began walking over. Duo's heart nearly stopped,
then restarted beating about four times as fast. Duo scrambled to his
feet and tried not to drop the heavy books. He turned on his brilliant,
trademarked Duo- smile and prepared to say something clever; something
intelligent. Just as the incredible guy reached him, Anne Marshall came
up beside Duo, threw her arm through the guy's, and simpered,
"Alain! I'm so happy you made it to our date last night!"
"Elementary," he replied, his grin widening as he gazed down
at the shrew. He inclined his beautiful profile and proceeded to kiss
her deeply. Duo's smile halted half-way, then dropped off of his face
altogether. The handsome, incomparable Alain was Anne's boyfriend, and
he had been smiling at her -- behind Duo -- all along.
His second period teacher was male, middle-aged but well- enough looking
with salt-sprinkled brown hair and twinkling green eyes. He instructed
all of the students to get into groups of four to begin a new project
that they would be working on all semester. All of the other teenagers
scrambled into groups with people they liked; Duo was left by himself
in the corner, mouth half-open in the middle of one of his usual wisecracks.
The teacher -- a Mr. Coffee -- smiled warmly at him and examined the crowd
of teams. Finally, his eyes lit up and he motioned to Duo to join the
only group with three students. Thankfully Duo didn't recognize anyone
in the group except the unattainable Alain. He groaned inwardly as he
realized that Alain was apparently also the leader. Anne Marshall was
not in that particular class, else Duo was certain she would have been
glommed onto her boyfriend -- the fourth person in the group. As it was
Duo found himself surrounded by two young men and one homely girl. She
was not attractive, but apparently she was amusing, because both Alain
and the as-yet-unnamed fellow were laughing at something she had said.
"Chalin, Alain, and Devon -- this is Regan. She'll be part of your
group for the rest of the semester. Try not to exclude her too much, all
right? Even though your topic is the Eve Wars, and I know she has no background
in that. Help her out, okay?" he told them. Duo looked over at the
others, but they barely acknowledged him.
"Sure, Mr. Coffee. We'll help `er out." they chorused, then
huddled together. The teacher wandered off and left them to their own
"I know about the Eve Wars, and Operation Meteor -- I don't know
why he thought I wouldn't," Duo announced, glancing at them expectantly.
They kept working as though he had not spoken.
"Hey. Hey, guys? I can help. Hey! Wanna hear a joke?" he offered,
a feeble attempt to get their attention. They'd laughed at Chalin's humor.
Finally Alain's eyes flickered over in his direction, then lit up. Again
Duo felt his heart jump; again hope sprang into his chest. And again,
Anne came rushing up from behind him. She gave her boyfriend a hot, heavy
kiss, than leaned back, panting.
"I'm sorry I'm late. What's our topic?" she asked cheerfully.
"Uh, Anne -- Mr. Coffee put her in our group. She doesn't
even know anything," Alain said in a loud, mock-whisper.
"What?" she exclaimed in outrage. "But I've been planning
to do this project with you forever!" Tears thickened her
"Aww, now baby, don't cry. I'm sure he'll rethink when he realizes
how useless it is to have someone who knows nothing about the topic
in the group." Alain comforted. Her face brightened.
Duo continued standing by the window, still waiting for one of them to
accept his offer to assist. Chalin was rattling off facts about the Eve
Wars; then she got one wrong and Duo quickly corrected her. It was an
important date and she was off by three months; if they turned in their
project with the date that far off their points could get seriously docked.
Chalin kept talking, however, until finally Devon broke in.
"It's April 5th, Chalin," he corrected gently.
She blushed, but smiled up at him -- he was much taller than she. "Thanks,
Devon. It's good to know that you, at least, have all of your facts straight!"
she gave him a bright-eyed look, then returned to her list of factual
information, all the while scribbling in a small blue notebook. After
several minutes she looked up. "Hey, Regan? Could you go get me a
red pencil from Mr. Coffee? I can show you where in space the gundam pilots
were fighting." She gestured at him, her face friendly enough. He
jumped down from the window ledge where he'd finally sat down.
"Sure! But, uh, I already know where they fought. I met one of them
at the after-war convention -- Quatre Raberba Winner."
"Oh, stop lying, you did not!" she laughed, apparently
assuming it was a joke. She punched his arm and then shoved him towards
the teacher. "Don't tell stories, Regan, they don't like that here."
then she bent back over her book.
Duo sighed. Didn't anyone listen; pay attention anymore? War wasn't just
facts, it was people. People that fought and murdered; people that
fought and died. He got the red pencil and carried it to her.
"You know, Chalin, war isn't about dates. It's about the people that
survived, but most of all, it's the ones that sacrificed their li--"
he began. She cut him off.
"And what do you know about war, Miss Regan? My daddy fought
in it. He was a good soldier. All you can say is you met one of the Gundam
pilots -- and not only is that a tall tale, but Quatre Raberba Winner
didn't fight. His father wouldn't allow him," she informed Duo smugly.
His opinion of her dropped down several notches. He sat down again and
resolved not to say another word. But when the teacher passed by them,
cheerily asking how their work was going, Duo just couldn't keep his mouth
"I met Quatre Raberba Winner, one of the pilots. Chalin says that
"Regan," Mr. Coffee warned in a low voice, "don't make
things up. Just listen to your teammates and they'll help you, all right?"
"But I did, and I know that things were different then she
says--" Duo protested, but then Chalin was speaking, and the teacher
was nodding at her and smiling, apparently accepting everything she said.
Duo shut his mouth. It didn't matter, did it? They didn't notice; didn't
care that a war was more than just cold facts on paper. It was paid for
in human flesh, the colonies had drunk the blood of those who'd fought
to free them. But here it was nothing more than a few battles depicted
in black-and-white. The worst was when Chalin began outlining the Gundam
"No-one knows who piloted 04," she announced, "but everyone
knows that a boy -- a street rat from L2 -- piloted the bloodthirsty Deathscythe.
He was one of the best fighters, really strong, really hardened. Being
on the street his whole life meant he was more than accustomed to fighting
for survival; and some say, even killing. He was a hero -- but he died
when Deathscythe went into the sun. According to reports, all of the other
pilots sent the Gundams up empty -- but Duo Maxwell insisted that he go
with his beloved. It's a shame, he'd have made a great assassin. Must
be easy, having no conscience..."
Duo heard enough. His conscience, in fact, was screaming at him to set
her straight, to tell everyone just who he was and how much he'd hated
the endless murder; the ceaseless screams that wrenched out of the soldiers'
throats long after the battled had ended and they'd been silenced by death.
Duo settled for turning pale and leaving the room. He walked home slowly,
feet scuffing the sidewalk, eyes averted from anyone and anything.
Heero finally gathered his courage and turned on the vid- screen, quickly
dialing Quatre. The blond answered the call efficiently enough, smiled
hugely when he recognized the finely- wrought features of Wing's pilot,
"Heero! It's really nice to see your face again. But, you look grim.
"Duo might say the sky," Heero deadpanned, then continued, "actually,
it's Duo. He hasn't checked in yet, and it's been two months. We had scheduled
check-ins for every month -- just to make sure everyone's adjusting --
and I've heard from everyone except Duo. I'm worried." Heero finished.
Quatre's eyes widened.
"You? Worried? And about Duo -- what aren't you telling me?"
Quatre inquired curiously. Heero fidgeted -- definitely something was
up, that was highly unusual -- and then held up a thin strip of silver.
"I bought this. After we separated, I had a lot of time to think;
lots of time to change and mature. Time to get used to peacetime life.
Just two weeks ago I realized that Duo meant a lot to me. So I bought
this, it seemed like the sort of thing he'd like. I--" Heero paused.
"I think I love him, Quat. I don't know where this came from, and
I feel so different from who I remember being. But I love him -- I-I want
to ask him to stay with me forever, be my soulmate and lover. I want us
to create a life together. He's going to be seventeen soon -- we once
set his birthday as the day he met Father Maxwell -- and I think it's
the perfect gift. Myself." Heero exhaled nervously. "Do you
think he'll agree?"
"Well," Quatre began, examining Heero's earnest face, "I
think that's fantastic. I can't think of anything that would make him
happier, honestly. But you said--?" Quatre prompted.
"Yeah. Not a word from him. I know where he's staying, though, and
I think I'll send the ring with a note. I want it to be inconspicuous.
I want him to realize that I love him, but it's quiet, enduring. That
it flares up into something hot and huge but that mostly it just simmers
under the surface -- permanent."
Chalin was laughing, as usual, as she handed out sheafs of invitations
to everyone. They were small folded squares, cream- colored with pink
roses twining over the edges. "My brother is going away to college,
and my parents are driving him. That means that this weekend I will be
having a huge party; alcohol is allowed, so is smoking, and I'm inviting
everyone! I figure the bigger the better," she grinned. Everyone
in Mr. Coffee's class tore into their invitations, reading the directions
to her house and the instructions on what to bring and how to dress.
Well, except for Duo. He was sitting silently in his seat; essentially
"There, is that-- Shit! Gee, Regan, I'm sorry. I must've forgotten
to have one printed for you. Oh, and damn. There's only enough food and
stuff to go around for 25 people, and there's always been exactly 25 in
my classes here..." she trailed off, giving him an apologetic and
vaguely pitying look. He shrugged.
"It's okay, Chalin. I'll be fine -- I'll be home practicing my song
for the Christmas play, anyway." He screwed up his face into a fake
smile. She reciprocated, then turned pensive again.
"Uh, Regan? You can't be in the play -- it's only for the
kids who live here. The ones with, you know, prestige. Money. And the
pretty ones. I won't be in it, either; maybe you should just go to the
bar and get trashed-ass-drunk? That usually works..." she was trying,
he'd give her that, but she was not succeeding. The other kids left him
out of everything. He sighed again, then whirled on his pointed heel and
He'd given out a valentine -- signed anonymously of course -- to Alain;
later he'd found it torn to shreds in bottom of a urinal.
He wandered aimlessly and listessly through town until he found his way
back to his tiny apartment. He climbed the steps, checked the mail; he
hadn't gotten anything in weeks. He'd forgotten to check-in with Heero,
he realized abruptly. He was on the verge of flipping on the vid-screen
when his hand dropped. It was doubtful that Heero had even noticed he
was gone, except perhaps that it was probably deathly silent wherever
Heero was residing. He blew out a huge breath. It was winter, his fingers
were still icy right to the bone. He went into his small kitchen and his
eyes caught sight of the calendar.
It was his birthday.
He was seventeen today, he thought dispassionately. Seventeen and unwanted.
He began to hum the tune of some long-forgotten song as he made himself
a sandwich. Once, the phone rang, but it was a wrong- number. He fancied
in passing that it was Heero, calling to declare his completely-improbable
love, but then he'd lost his nerve. Duo ate the sandwich slowly as he
meandered from room to room. At last he decided to shower -- maybe it
would wash away the shame, the cold ache that had settled into his soul.
"It would have been so much easier--" he cries, the sentence
practically ripped from his dry throat. The porcelain underneath him as
stained slightly red from his broken nail, but he does not notice. The
water is now freezing; the hot-water heater had been shut off by the landlord
hours earlier. The unfairness of life, of the uncaring world sinks like
a heavy stone into the bottom of his stomach.
He'd tried to make Heero understand that there was more to life than missions;
than battles. He had done the best he could to draw the other pilots together
as a team. But now, on his seventeenth birthday, he is invisible to everyone.
He is entirely alone. His hair streams over his naked, scarred and lanky
body. He sits, knees still up against his chest, eyes still wide-open
but not seeing. Heero had never seen anything more than the cheerful,
chatty appearance that Duo had cultivated.
"As if happiness is anything more than a high-priced illusion!"
he shouts, remembering the cost of peace -- the lives wasted. "As
if I could possibly be worth the admiration -- the love of anyone!
" He reminds himself that Heero could never seem to look at him
for more than a few seconds; the love that Duo has been hiding from everyone
finally takes hold and he wishes he could cry. "It would be so much
easier..so much so, if only I could tell him--"
It ceases to matter.
In a sudden burst of movement Duo is on his feet, tearing the shower curtain
aside. Water runs over the side, gushing onto the floor, but he ignores
it. The sharp knife from his street days lies against the side of the
toilet; left there when he undressed for his shower.
The dress he was wearing has crumpled into a heap on the floor and is
quickly becoming saturated.
In four seconds the knife has flashed lengthwise, twice. Duo collapses
back into the bottom of the tub, a geyser of sharp ruby liquid painting
the shower curtain and dyeing the clean, cool water.
Outside, the mailman puts a small box inside Duo's mailbox. A glittering
sterling ring is carefully showcased inside a jeweller's box and the note
accompanying it is written in ornate script:
Duo, will you spend the rest of
your life with me?
I love you...
P.S. Happy seventeenth birthday!
[back to Singles l - z]