For Love of Duo Maxwell

Notes & Disclaimer:
This is sad, a death fic. For those hardcore Relena/Hilde haters I warn
you that it contains sympathetic versions of both. Not really much in the way
of warning. AU, I suppose, and probably some form of OOC. (Perhaps that's
what you'd consider the scenes that contain Relena and Hilde.) Gundam Wing is
copyrighted to companies like Sunrise, Sotsu Agency, TV Asahi, Bandai
Entertainment, Cartoon Network, and special people like Yoshiyuki Tomino and
Hajime Ikeda.

For Love of Duo Maxwell
by Cobalt Doll

    It had been one year. One painful, darkened year that seemed to span over
much more time then a mere 365 days. Sometimes the sun had set and risen fast
enough to make those left behind dizzy, and on other occasions time had
frozen for distant, happy memories to be recalled. Memories that made people
laugh or smile. Even in death Duo had that much power over those that knew
him. But this was not a day for giggles or grins. It was an anniversary that
elicited no celebration. One beautiful, braided boy with amethyst eyes had
died today. Today, one year ago. He had survived tragedies and parties,
laughter and tears. He had fought a war and lived to see the beginning of
peace. He had defeated the crisis of Marimeia and finally had the guts to
admit his feelings to the boy he loved. He had seen hurt and rejection,
attention and affection. And all that had been stolen away from him
rollerblading down the street not three blocks from the apartment he lived in
with his Prussian eyed lover. It happened for a lot of reasons. Because Duo
Maxwell always wore black and that made his outline so hard to see at night.
Because he himself hadn't seen the small rock that tripped him up and made
him fall. Because if the invincible Shinigami had survived a war he decided
he really didn't need to wear a helmet. Because the intoxicated driver of a
bright red Mazda was paying a lot more attention to the hooker sitting next
to him then anything on the road. It happened for a lot of reasons, but none
of them made any sense.
    It was a small, green hill located on Earth. A planet that Duo had come
to love. A place with water for everyone and clean air. The hill didn't
actually stand out at all. Except for the cross. A small, obsidian cross no
more then a foot high. Unobtrusive but profound, shadowed tragedy in a
beautiful place. The exact opposite of Duo Maxwell in life, and yet somehow
the very same. It was early in the morning. There was no breeze, and the red
sun was just beginning to rise far in the east. A small Asian boy stood at
the grave, watching it. His stare was as intense as if he expected the stone
grave marker to tap-dance. He did not. He was trying to make sense of things.
The death of one of his closest friends, whether he admitted the friendship
or not, had changed his entire world. It went deeper then the loss of a
friend, because that friend was also a comrade. Another fighter against
impossible odds. It went almost absurdly far enough to be a blood brother of
sort, for all of them had spilled enough blood. The death of Duo Maxwell had
been so illogical, so unjust, so unexplained and unfair. It had not been a
calculated risk or a necessary sacrifice. It had been pointless. It made
Wufei want to scream.
    But he did not. Wufei was perfectly disciplined. Discipline that seemed
so completely irrelevant to his situation now. It prevailed nonetheless. He
continued to kneel rigidly, unfathomable black eyes shining with tears. He
had not cried since the death of Treize Khushrenada, and he did not intend to
cry now. That death had been his fault. The glorious ending to a man that
deserved nothing less. There was no such glory for Duo Maxwell, laying
unnaturally on the asphalt, blood seeping from a minor wound on his shoulder.
Internal bleeding slowly putting pressure on his brain. Never to reopen his
eyes or regain consciousness. Perhaps that had been a mercy. The only
justice. None in the fact that the driver of the car had driven like hell to
get away from there and that it was his whore that called the police while
the man slept. Nothing fair about the fact that Duo would have lived if they
had called an ambulance immediately after running over the brunette. Tears
did slide down his cheeks. More irony, he thought, that the memories made him
cry when the actual event had not. His mind told him it had been shock, but
his heart had doubts.
    Doubts that Duo would have easily dismissed had he been around to take
care of them. Wufei knew that. It was the simple fact that Duo wasn't around
to take care of them that was killing him. He bowed his head in either silent
prayer or gesture of respect. Warm, salt water fell from his cheeks to the
grass that grew six feet above his fallen friend. The sun rose higher into
the sky, the entire golden sphere now almost visible from Wufei's vantage on
the hill. He drew himself up, not noticing nor caring about the new grass
stains on his meticulous white pants. Some things became less important, he
realized. And Wufei turned his head away from the cross as the last of his
tears fell. He walked slowly away from the grave and down the mild hill to
his motorcycle. He did not used to wear a helmet. He didn't now because he
actually had any fear that he would die in an accident. Wufei did not fear
death. The protection was simply another way to remember Duo. As if it would
have been possible to forget.
----------------------------------------------------------------*
    The high afternoon sun glinted off the cross glaringly. Quatre looked at
it and swallowed audibly. Trowa squeezed his hand for support. Judging by the
single rose Wufei had already been there. There was a time when the Asian
would have scoffed at the idea of leaving roses anywhere. Perhaps the man he
had killed had rubbed off on him. Quatre himself also held a bouquet of
roses. White. As pure as Duo Maxwell might have been. As pure as any of them
might have been had they not been tarnished by war and circumstance. Even
without their destined fates they would not have lived charmed lives. But
dwelling on what could have been was no better then dwelling on the past. No
better then dwelling on doubts and 'what ifs.' Because there were a lot of
'ifs.' If Duo hadn't called to return those doujinshi at that particular
moment. If Quatre's line hadn't been busy because he was talking to Iria for
the first time in weeks. If Duo had left then instead of, for one of the only
times in history, being a polite individual and waiting until he could call
Quatre and warn the blonde he was coming over. If Quatre had not given him a
lecture in anger only a few days before about why people called before just
showing up at people's houses. If Quatre had offered to pick them up or had
told Duo not to worry about it. If Quatre had told him to just keep them
until tomorrow. If Duo hadn't been able to find one of his blades and had
been delayed five minutes. If only, if only...
    "It's not your fault you know," whispered Trowa softly. Quatre turned to
look at him. The afternoon sun above them was blinding.
    "I know," replied Quatre. But the tremble in his voice revealed how
little faith he had in the words. Trowa pulled the Arabian into his arms as
the other shed tears. There were things he wanted to say to the blonde.
Things that were almost words of comfort but not quite. Why did Quatre blame
himself like this? As if the small boy had the power to change the past or
move mountains. It could almost have been a form of arrogance. On other
people it would have been. But with Quatre it was just a heavy feeling of
guilt for things he had no control over. Trowa tightened his hold on the
sobbing bundle in his arms. In the back of his mind was guilt too. It could
have been Quatre that had died. And despite the anguish he felt at the loss
of Duo there was the faint relief inside that it had not been. He placed a
feather-light kiss on the blonde head. Quatre's small fists gripped the
material of Trowa's shirt. The tears were not just for Duo. They were for the
people the fey boy had left behind. He sniffled and pulled away from his koi.
Trowa let him go. Both faces turned back to the simple, understated grave.
    "Do you think," asked Quatre, "that Duo can see us, or hear what we're
saying?" His voice was soft and Trowa could hear the echo of his freshly shed
tears. The green-eyed boy hesitated before answering.
    "I don't know," he replied. Another doubt was settling into his mind, and
he took a step back away from Quatre. The blonde didn't notice. Was it wrong
that he and Quatre visited the grave together? That they were still lovers
when Duo could no longer be with his own? What if he could look down and see
them? The answer came at once and almost made him smile. Duo would never have
become a vengeful spirit. He had been that in life, the death of darkness.
Someone enemies rarely lived to see twice. For his friends, his almost
family, Duo would not begrudge happiness he could not share. And if Duo could
watch them, he could surely watch Heero. What sweet torture that would be, to
watch the one you love but never be able to touch them. Quatre had drifted
back towards him without realizing it, and absently Trowa put his arms around
the other. It was a torture he hoped he would never have to know. Quatre
bowed his head to the grave, eyes closed and expression sorrowful. Trowa
watched it with the same dispassionate green gaze that he watched everything
else with. Only Quatre understood his grief. And together they walked away
from the beauty that was marred only by what they knew lay beneath it.
----------------------------------------------------------------*
    The fiery colors of sunset dominated the sky and gave the air a faint
tint of light. Relena Peacecraft did not notice the stunning colors. Her eyes
were focused on the black cross that seemed to absorb light. She knew that
that was her imagination only. Of course the polished stone reflected the
brightness. Most surfaces did in conditions like this. In her hand she
clutched flowers, and she could see that she was not the first person to
visit the grave with gifts. A part of her had not wanted to come, much less
bring roses. But she felt that she owed it to Duo. If she had not paid him
back in life she could at least begin to do so in his death. She owed him a
lot. For all of the times she had run screeching up to Heero and interrupting
whatever conversation Duo had been attempting, for all the times she looked
down on him with contempt for his morbid sense of humor and lack of breeding,
for all the times she had been disgusted that he seemed to think of war as a
game. For a million other things. For all that she had delayed and destroyed
in her quest for Heero. It had not been that she loved him, and he had proved
that he did not love her. From the first time she saw him, she knew that he
was different. Heero would not ever fit into her world of absolute pacifism,
party planning, and pink limousines. Heero had been a taste of something
different. A stranger to fixate on when her own life became unbearable for so
many different reasons. She had been about to step out into the big blue
world, and Heero had been something like a guide. She had clung to him and
followed him and so desperately tried to be a part of him. But people didn't
get guides for things like this. Growing up and reaching out was not like
seeing Venice, you couldn't skip over the parts you disliked or have people
explain every little thing. But Relena had wanted a guide, and what she got
was Heero.
    So there had been no love. But there had been no hate. There was simply
an undeniable connection that kept both of them going in their separate
directions without coming together or drifting totally apart. Their fates had
been too heavily intertwined from the beginning. Two opposite colors of yarn
that nevertheless meshed together and were sewn with the same needle. And Duo
Maxwell was like discord incarnate, a third wheel and a color that didn't
match with anything but almost looked good with everything. He had been
neither safe nor polite, and only respectful when it suited him. He had kept
Relena from pursuing Heero any harder then she had and probably saved the
Prussian eyed pilot from suicide. As surely as she herself had. So yes, she
owed him. An explanation, and an apology, and as many roses as Duo would ever
want. But she had the feeling that Duo would not be so fond of roses,
especially ones from her hand. Their relationship had been off kilter since
he saved her life and she yelled at him for it. Friendship was not meant to
be. He was not like Wufei, who disapproved of any onna wielding such power,
or Quatre who loved everyone, or Trowa who didn't appear to care one way or
another. Duo hadn't really liked Relena for Relena. Nothing against what she
stood for or the people that stood behind her. For the most popular girl at
the St. Gabriel Institute and temporary queen of the world that was saying a
lot. Very few people had bothered to get to know the person behind the face,
and he was the only person that really didn't like her for her. She had been
at first surprised and then disbelieving and then simply returning the
feeling of dislike. It was humbling and insulting and it hurt. Relena
Peacecraft did not like to be hurt. So she had lashed out at Duo in more ways
then one.
    If he were here, would she apologize, her mind asked itself. Now that he
was gone it was safe to make such vows and apologies and appearances. It was
another form of cowardice. She felt disgusted with herself. None of the
Gundam pilots had shown cowardice, though Wufei regularly berated himself for
imagined offences. And she doubted she would even have the courage to admit
that she was wrong and apologize to one of them if he had been here. It was a
hollow feeling.
    "I'm sorry Duo," she whispered into the three roses she still held. "Do
you hear me? I'm sorry..." The soft petals muffled her words, but she could
still hear them. She wondered if anyone else could. If Duo could, from heaven
or hell. He deserved to go to heaven, she thought. He had killed so many
people, but for such a beautiful reason. Biblical lessons rang through her
head, a solemn voice intoning the teaching of the devil. The end justifies
the means. But hadn't this been different? Hadn't it? Of course it had. The
God of Death need be so no longer. He could retire to the clouds with the
wings of an angel and await his loved ones to join him. That was how Relena
liked to think of it. And in the meantime she could continue to atone for the
sins against him that were real and imaginary. She knew, as she put her roses
to rest on the grass beside the grave, that she would have the guts to tell
to Duo Maxwell what she thought now. And someday, she determined, when the
opportunity presented itself, she would.
----------------------------------------------------------------*
    The skies had turned from the bright blue of day to the brilliant colors
of sunset and were now taken over by a twilight amethyst. It was, Hilde
realized, the shade of Duo's eyes. A beautiful, pure shade that held within
in it the promise of night. Her hands were clenched as she tried to keep from
crying. It was a losing battle. What had she been to this boy? If he had
asked she would have been his mother, sister, lover, friend. He hadn't asked
for any of it but she had pushed her way into his life. And she had become a
friend. He claimed not to understand why she had risked her life for him,
stayed with him, cared about him. Because even if Hilde had been nothing to
Duo Maxwell, he had been everything to her. She let out a painful sob but
still no tears came. He had been more then just a pretty face. Duo had
represented freedom, intense belief, strength. A boy with conviction in a
world that lacked just that. He had come into her life when she most needed
someone to give her direction and hadn't even realized she was lost. A
purpose, a goal, and a reason to fight. That was what Duo Maxwell was to her.
    The flowers she had placed at his grave didn't mix with anyone else's. A
single red rose, a bouquet of white, and three pink ones tied together with a
thin white ribbon had already been laid there. Her flowers were wild, an odd
species that grew only on Colony L-2. No one understood how the flower that
thrived on that destitute colony had died so quickly on Earth. Ragged violet
petals that surrounded a blue center. Like roses, they had thorns. Tiny,
almost invisible needles that stung to touch. They looked poor and
insignificant next to the other rich blooms. But anyone that knew what it was
to be in lost and alone in space knew their importance. The flowers had been
a source of hope, beauty that grew when nothing else would. Something they
had that the Earth never would. Probably the only thing. Hilde threw her arms
to the sky and yelled to it.
    "Duo!" she called. Her own voice echoed back to her, empty and pointless.
Without the war, without a reason, without Duo, that was what her life had
become. Even when she knew that he did not love her and never would as she
loved him, he had not left her life. After he moved in with Heero they used
to talk over the phone for hours at a time. Sometimes about nothing and other
times helping each other heal war wounds. They both had enough of them.
Though his hurts were deeper, she thought that he had helped her more then
she had helped him. Hilde had no way of knowing that Duo had thought along
exactly opposite lines. A fragile friendship that had withstood battle and
peace. Even she had not realized how much it meant to her until it had been
taken. The gentleness had not been warped, because they had not let it.
    Tiredness crept into her body even as the shadows were lost to darkness.
Hilde bent to the ground and lay down, stretching out her small frame over
the grass. The grass was still warmer then the air, a memory of the golden
sun's heat. Her eyes looked up to the sky, contemplating the change of color
from cobalt to a darker blue. The color of Heero's eyes. But right now she
did not want to think of Heero. They had both lost someone close to their
hearts, but she did not disillusion herself enough to think that they might
ever comfort each other. They were both solitary people, and would mourn Duo
as they had lived their lives. Alone.
    "Hey Duo," she whispered. Her voice was hoarse with the crying she had
done before she had come. "'Sup? Yeah, well it still sucks to be alive. You
know what I mean. Nothing's happened to disrupt the peace. A lot of people
are getting restless. That probably doesn't bode well. It'll be fine though.
I mean, it seems like the goodguys always come out on top in the end. So far.
If you can even tell who the goodguys are anymore." She paused. The back of
her mind told her how crazy it was to talk to a dead person. But Hilde knew
that she wasn't talking to a dead person. She was the only one to hear her
own voice. The shadow of a grin hesitated around her lips. It was like Duo
always complained about. That dead people probably would have been more
receptive then the guys he worked with. Hilde could now absolutely assure him
that that wasn't true. Dead people just did not make good conversationalists.
Even the ones that had never shut up while they were alive. Then the smile
broke out. And with it the tears. He used to be able to make her laugh until
she cried when he wanted to. Even thinking of him seemed to be doing the same
thing. She kissed two fingers and rolled over so that she was on her stomach.
Hilde pressed the fingertips against the cross that marked Duo's resting
place.
    "I love you," she whispered. The slight breeze carried her words away,
but Hilde knew that somehow Duo would have to hear them. He had always known
she loved him. That was life, she thought as she pulled herself to her feet.
So what, she wondered, was death?
----------------------------------------------------------------*
It was almost midnight. The stars were covered over with clouds so that Heero
Yuy could not even see into the space he had been so much a part of. Only the
moon was visible. His eyes flicked around uncharacteristically, falling on
everything around him. The way the wind blew the grass slightly and made it
rustle, the road far away that was currently empty, the darkness of the hill
he stood on. In fact, he took in everything but the object in front of him,
that which he had come to see. When he finally glanced at it he found his
gaze locked into place. He saw flowers all around the grave. So that was what
everyone else had left. Tears and flowers. He himself had neither. The gift
he intended to offer to Shinigami was far greater. The gift of another soul,
more lifeblood to drain away. Heero had gone on for a year, without missions,
without meaning, without Duo. Quatre had tried so hard to help him, and
Trowa, and even Wufei. Relena had offered her condolences and then slowly,
with grace, begun to withdraw from his life in an almost apologetic way. He
had been half afraid that Hilde would seek him out, but she had not. There
was no replacement for Duo. His world had ended at the same time as the
braided Gundam pilot. It was only his body that continued stubbornly onward,
and now that too would come to an end. He pulled a blade from his pocket.
These were jean shorts, not the spandex everyone had grown used to seeing him
in. The moonlight behind him created a featureless silhouette reflected in
the blade. It was made of a steel alloy. Simple, tough, almost pure. Because
of that it was actually weak. High purity steel was very fragile, and the
knife was for display and not combat. Like himself. A useless soldier too
fragile to fight even if there had been cause to, left only to be seen as a
reminder of the painful year AC 195 and the brief battle with Marimeia that
had come after. A decoration for the halls of war. He was disgusted with what
he had fallen to. Quatre still had his father's company and twenty-eight
sisters to re-meet and get to know. Trowa had his circus performances and his
single sister. And of course they had each other. Wufei, he thought, might
understand. The other boy had lost not only his wife but his entire clan and
an enemy that somehow represented more then just the other side. Heero did
not want someone that would understand him. He wanted only rest and to see
the violet eyes that haunted his dreams.
    Above him clouds cast over the moon and hid its light. Through the
darkness he again sought his reflection in the steel. It was barely visible,
a half-wraith from the shadows. He did not push himself in training as he
once had and because of that he seemed to be softer. But he was pale, and
though his eyes were bright they were sunken. He had grown to hate mirrors
because of what he saw there, and he found that he liked it better when he
had been merely a bare profile in the face of the knife. He touched the flat
to his wrist, welcoming the cold and letting it seep through him. He closed
his eyes and raised his face skywards. He would have liked to send some sort
of prayer, for Duo. But that seemed pointless. He realized that he was
stalling and the thought almost made him laugh. The notoriously suicidal
fighter for revolution shying from death? The irony was as cold as the metal
still pressed to his skin. Against his eyelids Duo's image appeared. He
looked pissed. He was moving his hands to emphasize his words like he always
did, though Heero couldn't hear what words those might be. He recognized the
expression Duo always wore when he was yelling at Heero about his latest
self-inflicted brush with death. The braided boy stopped, obviously waiting
for Heero's reply. Without meaning to he gave out-loud the reply he had
always given.
    "Hn. It was for the mission." The hallucination Duo threw up his hands.
His words were almost audible.
    "The mission! You're no good to the mission if you fucking get yourself
killed! How fucking stupid are you!?" Duo had always cussed most when he was
upset. Again Heero voiced his reply to the grave that was unseen beyond his
closed eyes.
    "Hn." Most of the time at this point Duo would walk away muttering about
'some people' and their 'fucking obsessions with killing themselves.' But
this time he didn't. He stayed right there, and his face scrunched up like he
was about to cry. Being Duo, he didn't.
    "Dammit Heero! Obviously you don't mean much to yourself, but what about
the rest of us? What about the rest of us!?" It was a scene he had very
firmly committed to memory. The fight before they had both said what they'd
wanted to and confessed what they'd hid from.
    "What rest of us?" Heero had asked.
    "Me! Quatre! Trowa and Wufei! Even Relena! What about us you selfish
bastard?" His voice broke but still he didn't cry.
    "What about you?" Heero repeated as he opened his. He did not expect to
see Duo there, had not let the illusion creep up on him. But his heart tore
because he didn't see him, because he couldn't. In a fast and precise motion
he whipped the knife around so that the sharp side kissed his wrist and then
brought it down to slice through.
    But it didn't. It barely pierced the vein, so that blood welled up pooled
on his skin. He had not pushed it any farther. He threw the knife to his feet
and it plunged into the dirt hilt deep. With that hand he took a single white
rose from Quatre's bouquet and touched it to his wrist. A splotch of crimson
marred the perfect cream color.
    "What about you?" Heero whispered again, to himself. And he set the
tainted rose down against the cross before turning on heel and walking away.
His form was engulfed by the night before the moon came out again to shine
brightly on the peaceful scene that was Duo Maxwell's grave.
    And far away, in the Midwest of America, a violet eyed boy was born to
parents that swore to keep and treasure forever the gift that surely God
himself had bestowed upon them. They named him Maxwell, which was his
mother's maiden name. But as he grew older his friends would give him the
nickname 'Duo,' after the braided war hero he would grow up to resemble in
everything from stature to psychotic laugh...

---------------------------------------------------------Owari

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