Mechanics of Relationships:

Sorrow and Anger

Hiiro x Duo

 

Tawnya Kisaragi

 

Wufei stifled a yawn as he unlocked the front door of the safehouse.  It was nearly three weeks after the warehouse fiasco.  Quatre had been upgraded from critical to stable and moved out of the intensive care unit, though he still hadn’t awaken yet.  Trowa, of course, remained with Quatre.  Duo could have fallen off the face of the earth for all they knew about him.  He had holed himself up in the back of the house right after arriving and had not been seen since.  Every once in a while, they could hear him moving about.

Frankly, he was getting really sick of all this foolishness.  Three out of five Gundam pilots were unable or unwilling to fight, so he and Hiiro had to pick up the slack.

But each of them also had a valid reason in his eyes.  Trowa needed to be with Quatre, if only for his own sanity.  Plus it kept him away from Duo.  Every time the Shenlong pilot went down to the hospital, which was practically every other day, to check on Trowa, the Heavyarms pilot would run possible means of murder and ask for his opinion.  Thus far, he had dissuaded Trowa, but he was running out of excuses quickly.

Hiiro wasn’t exactly a Gods-send either.  He was rather…torqued… at Duo’s dereliction of duty.  Picking up Quatre’s and Trowa’s assignments the stoic pilot didn’t mind.  But in Hiiro’s eyes, Duo was abandoning the mission…an unforgivable sin.

Wufei shook his head.  Duo probably got the worst end of this deal.  He felt bad about Quatre, Trowa had publicly denounced him and Hiiro was on his case every five minutes.  The poor guy wasn’t giving himself any slack either.  The mission had been a setup, a trap from the get-go, but Duo wouldn’t hear any of it.  Outwardly, Wufei didn’t care.  Inwardly, he knew exactly how Duo must feel.  He knew how it felt to mess up so bad and not be given a chance to make amends.

Between the mission and the constant personal problems, when did he have time to sleep?

He walked into the kitchen, tossing his keys onto the counter where Hiiro sat clicking at his laptop.

“Any new mission updates?” he inquired wearily.

“Iie.”

“Good.  I’m dead tired.”  Wufei began rummaging in one of the many cupboards.  “Where’s Duo?”

“Still hiding from his problems and responsibilities.”

“Seriously, Yui.”

“Taking a shower since no one’s upstairs.  You can hear the water running.”

The Chinese youth cocked his head to one side and nodded when he heard the splash of water above him.  He returned to his hunt for something to eat.

Hiiro sat blindly at his computer, absently tapping different keys to make it look like he was checking for mission updates.  He was worried about Duo.  He was now freely willing to admit that to himself.  He hadn’t seen the Deathscythe pilot since they had first arrived.  He was positive that Duo hadn’t been eating anything, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

He shoved aside all the ‘what if’ scenarios that ran through his head about possible things that could be happening to the braided boy.  Sometimes, in the dead of night, he could hear Duo scream out.  Then he’d end up spending the night outside the bedroom door, gun in hand, just in case.

The silence was what cut him to the soul, though.  He was so tired of the silence.  He wanted to hear Duo’s voice, hear one of his horrible jokes, hear his laughter.  Gods, he just wanted the Duo he knew back; the grinning fool that annoyed the hell out of him every chance he got.

Wufei’s search yielded and apple and a half load of bread.  He began rooting through a drawer.  Not finding what he wanted, he closed it and tried another drawer.  Not successful again, he slammed the drawer shut and tried a third.

“Gods-damn it!  Where the hell is the knife?”

Suddenly, the sound of running water above their heads was painfully obvious.  Hiiro’s heart skipped a beat as he and Wufei exchanged a fearful look, each of their true feelings showing through.

“He--he wouldn’t…” Wufei stammered.  “Would he?”

The Wing Zero pilot jumped into action, knocking his laptop and chair to the floor in his haste.  Wufei was only a split second behind him.  Together, they raced to the back of the building, up the only flight of stairs in the entire place, and back down the hall to the bathroom, nearly knocking over an expensive bust in the process.

Grabbing at the door handle, Hiiro jerked.  Locked.  Duo had locked the bathroom door, just like his bedroom door and every door in every room that he could.   He pounded on the door.

“Duo!” he shouted.  “Duo, Goddamn it!  Open this fucking door!”

There was silence, then a meek, “…Hi--Hiiro?…”

“Yes!  Damn it, Duo!  Open up!”

“…I--I’m sorry, Hiiro…  Please for--forgive me…”

“Duuuuoooo!”  Hiiro threw himself at door, but to no avail.  Wufei turned and left as Hiiro began banging on the door again and cursing.

“Here.”  The Shenlong pilot held out the bust from the hall.  “Use it to break the lock.  Under the circumstances, I think Quatre would understand.”

Hiiro nodded his thanks and began to beat on the door handle until it broke.  Dropping the statue head, he kicked in the door, and felt his blood turn to ice at the scene before him.

Duo stood with his back to the door, his long chestnut locks unbound from their normal braid.  Steam filled the room, a product of the shower running.  His shirt lay in a puddle next to his feet in an ever-growing pool of blood.  He half turned in surprise to see Hiiro and Wufei staring at him.  This action allowed them to see a dozen or so oozing cuts on his wrists and forearms, the blood staining his flush ivory skin dark red.  In his hands was the knife Wufei had been searching for earlier.  His tear-stained violet eyes meet Hiiro’s shocked cobalt eyes for a moment, then he raised the knife to his throat…

“NO!”  Hiiro didn’t even realize the cry was his as he leapt forward, his lightning quick hands darting around either side of Duo’s body, grabbing onto his wrist and pulling the knife away from his throat.  The American gave out a cry of dismay as the cold, blood-soaked metal was ripped from his grasp.

“No!  Hiiro!  Please!” he cried, struggling against his partner’s grip.  “Please! Damn it!  Just let me die!”

The Japanese youth wrapped his arms around the Deathscythe pilot, still holding firmly to his wrists.  The other boy collapsed against him, sobbing brokenly about how Hiiro should let him go so he could finish what he had started.  Hiiro gently lowered them to the ground.

And there they sat, Hiiro holding a crying Duo in his strong arms as water from the shower hissed from the faucet head, Wufei already to the stairs to call a doctor.

 

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