| Rating: mild R
Pairing: 2+1, 2x2 Genre: Angst, Psychological Warnings: Not-quite-deathfic (because we all know Heero Is Not Dead), lots of philosophing, religious themes (and, deal with it, I do believe in God, just not in the same way the pope does...) Song: �Um Mitternacht�, composed by Gustav Mahler (1860 � 1911), words by Friedrich R�ckert (1788 � 1866) Lyrics attached at the end of the story Summary: Duo is alone in the desert at night, trying to come to terms with Heero�s self-destruction. Duo�s POV. Author�s Notes: The story is following the direction of the lyrics but also the theory of the 5 Stages of Grief, a model created by Elisabeth K�bler-Ross (1926 � 2004). (Those stages are: denial, bargainig, anger, depression, acceptance). I know they cannot normally be experienced in only one night. But, hey, to my knowledge 15-year-olds also don�t survive jumping from a skyscraper, usually. Dear mic-chan, Happy Birthday, again and belatedly - may it be a wonderful year for you! Disclaimer: I am dis-claiming. I am. Do you really need to hear the sermon? Um Mitternacht I thought I might meet you here. I left Quatre and the Maguanacs, the safe shelter they provided, to find you. I had to. It�s almost midnight and there is no trace of you. No trace, not even here, within the lands of your people, amidst the desert they claim you led them through. One might think the imprint of you had to have remained somewhere upon the harsh rocks or buried beneath the sands. So where are you now? I guess they have been wrong after all. Even my own traces are lost within the quiet loneliness. Restlessly I wander, and my heart is so heavy. How could I sleep peacefully tonight? There is nothing here, nothing but sand and darkness and the cold, forlorn stars so far away, so unreachable. What is a star to me but another restless sphere, created, blossoming, fading, a light that promises life but might long be dead instead. Stars hold no hope, no dreamy sighs to me, no soothing glimmer and no sparkling laughter. What might a star be to you, the one who supposedly placed them upon the night�s canvas, whose knowledge should encompass their every story? And what might a star be to him, to the one who cares for neither life nor death, who so carelessly threw everything away for the sake of peace? How could I sleep tonight, knowing he will never share his opinion with me, will never watch the stars together with me, nor watch them alone with a leaden heart beating within his chest, as mine does, heavy with longing? You give no answer. Only the stars are twinkling innocently, like endless golden showers filling my vision whenever I tilt my head back, spreading my arms, trying to encompass them and imagining them all within my embrace. An illusion I fathom, a shameful hope that if I possessed them all, you might finally recognise me, the lonely wanderer in the desert. If only you existed. The universe tells the tale of your power, but can I believe it? I do not think I can trust you. After all you did not seem to care a lot for my wellbeing, did you? How old was I when my real parents died? Would you even know? Would you care? I know for a fact that you had no mercy on the three people closest to me during my childhood, the only human beings who were by my side, who saved me from the cruel fangs of this world. Only death you gave to them, undeserved, too early. Shinigami I called you therefore, and how can you hold it against me? It is the only side of you I ever truly experienced. Believe how much I wished I could see the loving side, the kind shepherd looking for the lost sheep, the delinquent ones, the suffering. From the moment I first had a mere grain of that power within my own hands, I strived to conquer death, to become Shinigami and show you how it was done. A vengeful god I would be, but a just one. Never would death be administered to innocents if I could help it. Now I realise that I lacked to see the true pattern of justice and injustice. Life has never followed the simple logic of a chess board with its black and white squares, and I have lost myself within its labyrinth. I dared not admit this to myself for I feared to jeopardise my effectiveness in battle. Spoken like a true soldier, is it not? Would he approve? My will to fight is gone now, so I may as well be honest with myself. Can I believe in what I am doing any longer? He believed in it unconditionally, tied his entire existence to the sole purpose the five of us seemed to be living for. I wish I could trust that you know the pattern of right and wrong. I wish I could count on your lead to take the right path. But between my mission orders and my own interpretation of good and evil there is only a narrow corridor to follow, almost a tightrope walk indeed. How often may I have taken a fatal step already? How bitter the thought that there might be no forgiveness! There is none in this life, that�s for sure. Blood can be washed away but the stain never leaves your heart, and even if everyone else had forgiven your wrongs, you would not be able to forgive yourself. Perhaps he was eager on self-imposing the punishment he thought he deserved. But it is more likely he simply followed an order, the way he has always done. I did not scream. Before I had always been fast to realise the reality of what had happened, there had never been room or reason for petty denial. This time there was neither shock nor weakness nor sorrow. I was waiting for him to get up. From the moment he fell - even though I am sure any rational thought I had left was telling me no man could survive this - I was expecting him to stand, frowning, biting back pain with an expression of distaste on his face, but alive. Just like that one time when he had jumped off the skyscraper without opening his parachute. There had never seemed to be another option with him. The Perfect Soldier could not go down. Even when Trowa had lifted him up and Zechs Marquise had refused to continue the fight, even when I directed Deathscythe to follow the others, even when I had seen the bloody spot on the floor in passing I was convinced he would survive. It was Trowa�s voice that finally snapped me out of my daze, and it was probably because of the deception within his usual calm tone. �Don�t lag behind, 02. We cannot trust them. They might still attack, now that one of us is down.� Now that one of us is down� Dead. I gasp it into the still night, halting mid-movement. I have not used the word in connection with the incident before. And yet, who am I trying to fool? Somehow I cannot accept this. It never occurred to me that I might miss any of the others. I barely know them, their first names at best and even that only now after sharing those small discoveries with Quatre. I thought there was no room in my heart for another hole that cannot be filled. Needless to say that it is pointless to ask you why. Too many people have done that and never have they found an answer. I cannot help it, though, after experiencing this kind of loss for the third time within a span of time so short. Of course I cannot really compare this time to the other two, to the deaths of Solo, Father Maxwell or Sister Helen. I barely knew him after all. Yet, he was some sort of leader to us, a motivation that kept me going when I dared to allow myself a moment of doubt. But that is not the only reason. Letting go this time is just as hard as it was back then, and probably that�s because of the chances I missed with him. Solo and the orphanage were such a huge part of my life, belonged into it to such an extent that I got the feeling there were only pieces of myself left when they were gone. He never had the chance to weave his being into the pattern of my life like this. I never had the chance to really get to know him. Why are you taking them all away? Why? What do you gain from my loss? Couldn�t you ask for another price? Couldn�t you make do with something else? What would you want? But I guess it is about what I can offer. Haven�t I sacrificed enough to you, Shinigami? Blood, so much blood � You can hardly complain about a lack of human sacrifices. Lives, so many lives � I offered you those of my victims as well as my own. Or do you want my tears, my despair? Do you want to make me beg? If that is what you want you are never going to get it. Much like a pact with the devil�Yes, sometimes the storytellers indulge in that option. And it is tempting to be able to ask for anything you want in exchange for something as intangible as your soul. Not even that I can give away for I already sold my soul to the war. What can I give you? There must be something to make this pain go away. There has to be some kind of outlet. Some people would cut their wrists with a razor. But physical pain cannot help me. I was trained too well to ignore it, to never allow for it to consume me. And somehow it takes away the thrill of self-mutilation to know exactly how deep the cut would have to be, exactly how much force it takes to slice through the vein. And I do not have tears to cry instead. You are not going to negotiate with me, are you? Ah, I should know best that nothing is negotiable with death. So, is there any reason why you are taking the lives of my loved ones again and again? Or is your choice no more than arbitrary? If it is not, as those who believe in a loving God use to preach, then why can�t you just give me a reason? Something my mind cannot object to, something that convinces me of the necessity. But you watch as we�re stumbling blindly amidst your labyrinth, hurting from each impact with one of the merciless walls. So, struggling onwards, we reach a lonely desert and suddenly the sense of disorientation becomes even greater. The desert is empty. No matter how big the labyrinth, all paths lead to nothing. Is that what life is like? Damn it, is that what it is? And is that what you are like, Shinigami? Am I really right? I always believed in you � never worshipped you and never will � but I thought I knew you well enough to fight you and to finally be stronger than you. All you do is continue to watch me stumble on, silent, emotionless, unreachable. Is that how you are punishing me for wanting to surpass you, for challenging you? After all I am nothing but your servant, right? You made me your tool from the start, you were using me, weren�t you? And a good little puppet I was! A faithful puppet dealing death and laughing into your face when I believed you would accept one death instead of another, that the murder of one guilty soul would save the life of a loved one. Your silence is mocking me. Your believers would tell me I�m not really listening. But here I am, straining to hear something, anything within the very stillness of the sands. Nothing. So hear me, Shinigami! This is your humble servant calling, calling to you for an answer! Ah, but I guess I made a pact with the devil indeed�. I don�t want this, don�t want to believe this! Answer me! Answer me now! Why did you kill him?! Why him, why now, why in this fashion! Why, why, damnit, answer me! I finally notice I am screaming the words into the emptiness of the dunes, screaming them up to the silent stars. The realisation does not quench the sheer wrath welling up inside me. My hands grasp at the rocks behind me, they find stones and I hurl them away from me, a scream following the path of each of them, an exclamation charged with the full force of my anger and still it refuses to subside. It encompasses me with such a terribly fierce grip. I scream. I free my entire voice until I am hoarse, until I fall to my knees panting violently. Then I curse. I curse Une and Dr J who made him do this. I curse him for accepting the order. I curse the war. And I curse you, Shinigami. In shuddering waves the flow of heated emotion ebbs from my body. Eventually the curses die on my lips. My heartbeats are loud within the sudden quiet and each of them is painful. I feel them when I place my hand on my chest directly above their source. My heart is straining against the flesh imprisoning it, straining towards you where it expects to find the ones it is tied to. Are you keeping them safe at the very least? Ah, how inhuman, to take everything that matters from me and expect me to go on�Why won�t you take me as well, right now? I would go willingly, no matter where you�d take me, even without the certain hope of seeing them again. Anything to end this pain. So easy, it is, for a heart to stop beating. But I�ve always been fighting for their memory, have I not? He would frown at me for giving up now, he would not tolerate this moment of weakness. At night, the desert is cold. Now that my body is slowly calming down I begin to shiver. In order to warm myself I wrap my arms around my chest and sink back to rest my weight on my haunches, closer to the sand where some of the day�s merciless heat is still preserved. It feels like the embrace of a lover. Not that it is something I've ever experienced. Would he have been a lover to me? Would he ever have become that? Could we have gotten that far, after the war perhaps? I cannot deny that this is what I truly want. No, it is not just his body. I tried to tell myself that, in the beginning, to explain this strange fascinated infatuation, to explain why I saved him when I didn�t even know him. I have always strived to gain his respect, have always admired him and cursed him alike. He is the intense magnetic force holding me together. Everything he does is powerful. He has strong hands. They can be very graceful, though, fingers wrapped expertly around his gun. They can be so accurate and precise, so very careful when working on his Gundam. They are agile from typing on his laptop and they are flexible from wielding all kinds of weapons. If only he were here now�I would take his hands�would ignore his glares and threats�and just feel them with my own. Maybe he�d let me. And maybe it would be enough. Ah, but then it would never be for there is always the possibility of his hand moving against mine, returning my unconscious caress. Our fingers might be intertwining, but they would break free again to search for more. My hand might be cradling his, fingertips dancing across his knuckles. My thumb might distance itself from their path and slip into his palm, drawing circles there. Sometimes our hands might barely be brushing, sometimes they might smother each other, wrapping around each other in undulating motions�. �like slow fucking� I�d bring his hand to my lips and kiss the back. Then I would turn it around ever so gently and allow my lips to find the pulse point, to slide over it repeatedly before softly nipping their way up his forearm until I were able to dip my tongue into the crook of his elbow. Maybe he�d do the same to me� My body has moved far beyond my imagination. By the time I am thinking about his tongue on my wrist my own hand has found its way into my clothes, into my boxers. It is stroking all but breathlessly, struggling to keep up a calm pace matching the gentleness of my fantasy. Each stroke�feels like a needle stuck into my very heart. They are the stings of loss. But ah, how painful to lose something you never had in the first place! This is the only way I can have him, now. �his mouth might move to my throat and hover just above my collarbone before tracing its outline with his lips. They�d be dry upon my skin, but so soft. We�d be close now, so close my nose could nuzzle into his hair, and I would reach for his arms, holding onto them. Then his lips might move gently against my neck and I�d have to close my eyes for there would be waves of need rippling through my lower stomach� How disgusting � giving into my need for him in that way. Almost like necrophilia. But have I ever been a moralist? I do not possess this kind of bitter irony. I dare you to strike me down with lightning, Shinigami�but I doubt you�d care. My soul is already lost. It is sold to you. My hand is moving fast. I brace myself against the stone behind me and tilt my head back to look at the stars� �What would his kiss feel like? Full of controlled passion, that�s what it would be like, what he would be like. I would not want that control, I�d welcome it if he could just be with me in all his passion, with all his soul. I�d pull him closer from his kneeling position before me, until one of his thighs would slide between my own. How delicious it would be to feel his groin against my thigh and know that he might be experiencing the same feelings that are now overwhelming me�. I am biting my lower lip to control my whimpers. They are whimpers of both pain and pleasure. My hips begin to move with the rhythm of my hand� �He is kissing my neck, licking it, tasting it and his moans are a low rumbling sound muffled just below my ear. One of his hands reaches for one of mine, takes it and roughly traps it against the stone behind me. His tongue moves across the inside of my caged wrist, just like before but so much more confidently, and now each swipe of his tongue is intentionally erotic. I have to stifle my moans within his shoulder� �My hips are moving faster, my need is overwhelming. Tears of urgent pleasure and deep sorrow begin to fill my eyes and I am helpless to stop it now that my soul is all but turning from the inside out, now that everything I am seems to be spilling over. And so I surrender to the torrent, let myself be caught by the undertow and sucked into the vortex. Please� Please, Shinigami�.give him back to me�.please�.I�d�.do anything. I cry out softly. Violent shudders shake my body as I sink down into the warm sand. There...I did it. I wept, I begged, I gave up everything that I am. And I finally have to admit that what I feel for him is stronger than anything I have ever experienced and stronger than I will ever be. I look down at my shaking hand, and I am fascinated by the way it suddenly tells me everything about myself, fascinated, because suddenly there is an answer. It is a strong hand, well built to pick locks and create explosives, to pilot a mobile suit, but also to play a silly ball game and to pat Heero Yuy�s shoulder with a cheerful smile on my face. Upon my hand there is a red smear of blood from a cut caused by one of the stones I threw in my anger. A hand covered in blood...yes that is what I am, a terrorist, a murderer. There is saliva I wiped off my mouth � the liquid of bitterness and anger, but also that of an incessant flow of words that conceals more than it reveals. There is also sweat on it, speaking of hard, tireless work, of exertion and struggles, of determination to achieve a goal. There is come...the essence of my dark, consuming need, my disgusting hunger for emotion. And finally there are tears...the one and only sign of my humanity, the last visible shred of the little boy dormant within my heart. All those fluids are mingled upon my hand, mingled because of what I did, mingled because I allowed them to be. At this midnight hour I allowed myself to be everything that I am. Never have I felt so truly alive. Staring at my hand I finally realise. Life is a mingling of essences, too. A mixture of joy and pain, anger and need, despair and determination. In the end there remain only two driving forces that our lives are built upon: Love and Death. What more is there? Any other emotion can be traced back to these two origins. None of these two can exist without the other. I know better than anyone that Love is stronger than Death � but if there was nothing Love had to struggle against it would not grow, would never become more powerful. If there was nothing to lose for those who love, their emotions would never become solid and real, would never be more than a dream. If I had not lost him now, I would never know how much it is possible to love, to yearn, to need. And if there were no Love, Death would lose its power. For why would it matter if we lived or died if we did not have anything we loved too much to let go? The only way to live is to experience both, Death and Love. And I want to live, for, if I am honest enough, dying is not an option to me. I will not give up. I will continue to be Shinigami for Solo and the Maxwell Church, for peace, but I will conquer Death by continuing to love. And you, Shinigami...I guess you also unite Love and Death within your being, you contain their endless battle against each other. You are their balance. That I can believe in. I have been lying on the ground for a long time. But when the sun is preparing to rise and the brilliance of his flaming coat is brightening the horizon, I am standing upon the rocks to watch his ascent, ready to leave. I feel drained, having bared my soul so entirely to the desert tonight. The fresh sunlight slowly fills me with the energy to leave. Onto the desert sands I have spilled my entire being. I leave it here for you, Shinigami. I entrust my life to the balance of Love and Death now, I command myself, all my power, into this balance, into you. Have I found you, finally?...Are you the god Father Maxwell believed in? You whom I call Shinigami, are you that god? The sun is rising and fills me with life. That�s you as well, isn�t it? Whoever you are, you gave me an answer � an answer I can live with. I smile and lower my head. Then I turn around and walk back to Quatre, to the Maguanacs. |
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| picture taken by myself during a holiday in Jordan, on the road through the desert |
| "Um Mitternacht" , by Desidera |
| LYRICS Um Mitternacht Friedrich R�ckert (music by Gustav Mahler, English translation by myself) |
| Um Mitternacht
Hab' ich gewacht Und aufgeblickt zum Himmel; Kein Stern vom Sterngewimmel Hat mir gelacht Um Mitternacht. Um Mitternacht Hab' ich gedacht Hinaus in dunkle Schranken; Es hat kein Lichtgedanken Mir Trost gebracht Um Mitternacht. Um Mitternacht Nahm ich in Acht Die Schl�ge meines Herzens; Ein einz'ger Puls des Schmerzens War angefacht Um Mitternacht. Um Mitternacht K�mpft' ich die Schlacht O Menschheit deiner Leiden; Nicht konnt' ich sie entscheiden Mit meiner Macht Um Mitternacht. Um Mitternacht Hab' ich die Macht In deine Hand gegeben: Herr �ber Tod und Leben, Du h�ltst die Wacht Um Mitternacht. |
| At midnight
I was vigilant And looked up to the sky. No star from the starry throng Was laughing for me, At midnight. At midnight I was thinking Out into dark boundaries. No thought of light Gave me comfort, At midnight. At midnight, I was careful Of my heartbeats. A solitary pulse of pain Was kindled, At midnight. At midnight, I was fighting the battle, Oh mankind, of your woes. It was not in my power To decide it, At midnight. At midnight, I gave all power Into Your hands, Lord of Life and Death. You are keeping watch, At midnight. |