Author: Chauni
Email: Asukalangley2nd@yahoo.com
Website: www.oocities.org/asukalangley2nd/
Warnings: Yaoi, Slight Heero bastardization, Slight Scientist
bastardization, Angst, Limey
scenes.
Pairing: 1x2
Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own Gundam Wing,
the characters, or the song “The Becoming” from Nine Inch Nails, and no matter
how many damn stars I wish on every night, I don’t think I ever will. Please
don’t sue me, I am but a poor college girl. ^-^
I beat my machine
It's a part of me it's inside of me
I'm stuck in this dream
It's changing me
I am becoming.
Why did everything seem so weird, in this haze of blinding whiteness that blocked out all color, all life? It felt so disconnecting, so far away, even with the paddles against his chest, so warm, so burning, as they seared away the beginnings of maturity that would never return. The tubing his mouth choked him, scraped the passages of his throat, but it didn’t hurt. Why didn’t it hurt? Why didn’t anything hurt anymore?
Oh, and why was he lying down and staring into that artificial supernova, as it remained the suspended cornerstone of his current existence. The light relieved the pain; it gave peace, as he floated on the waves of it all, as he ignored the probing tubes and the beeping machines that claimed the facts of his life. Something didn’t seem right, but in his existence, it rarely did.
Was this the hazy fact or the nightmarish fiction that beat at one’s subconscious with nocturnal gloves? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t tell where it ceased its division and melded into one being. But it was delicate, all fragile glass, as his eyes were half-lidded and drugged, as the people above him were ghosts in their white linen and slurred speech, as he was gone and floating above them all.
Not dead, no, but gone, high above the pain the worries, above the confines of that iron flesh and repetitive missions. Away from the hurt, the need to kill, to destroy, and away from the guilt, high above that dirty hand. Away from that girl. Damn her. Damn and damn and damn them all.
The words were beginning to lose their fuzzy texture, starting to become lightly familiar sounds that tickled his ear. In an instant, he was slammed back down to awareness, that exploding star of radiance, the alien men that were ghosts in their hospital gowns, the pain in his chest finally dissipating and only replaced with one in his head, a thumping migraine that made the world explode into asteroids.
“You did it?”
“Mmhm, though I still don’t agree with this entire procedure.”
“A weapon had a glitch and we merely fixed it. Must you look at everything in such a philosophical manner? There is no color sometimes. There only is.”
“This is all rainbow.”
“You need to be colorblind.”
“Then it’s all gray and you lose again.”
“I know what I am doing.”
“So you say.”
And again, it was all replaced with white noise as his body convulsed on the table, his back arching off the cold sterilized metal, and falling back down with a slap. Cerulean eyes were wide and unseeing, unfeeling as he was tampered with, reconnected with the life he was forced into, not the one he desired.
The me that you know he had some second thoughts
He's covered with scabs he is broken and sore
The me that you know he doesn't come around much
That part of me isn't here anymore
Glaring into the mirror brought no answers to him at three-thirteen in the morning, hours before the sun even thought of revealing itself and waking the region. The reflective glass showed nothing more than azure eyes that were flat and hard, like chips of sapphires set in golden rings. The desire to punch the inanimate betraying piece of bathroom novelty was almost overwhelming, but he quelled all need.
Would not be prudent to have the others questioning my actions.
The pajama bottoms clung to his lower body in a fit of desperation, and he wanted to take the cotton drawstring things off and toss them in a corner. Sleeping naked was the logical thing to do, but aside from that, it was the most comfortable. However the company within the room forbid any such luxury, as it were, and his gentle breaths cut through the air like a knife to the trained ears of the woken boy. Even in the obsidian layers of night that hung throughout the dorm room, he could see the definite outline of that body, the slim line of tense muscle, even in the throes of slumber. The war had touched them all, consumed them whole, every portion, and nothing, not even sleep, was sacred anymore, nor was it truly theirs.
Whimpering drew his immediate attention; most would say he was jumpy, the intelligent ones would say he’s tuned. Panther movements brought him to his comrade’s bed, and with an almost feminine grace, he found himself sitting down beside him.
The American’s face was wrinkled, troubled as sleeping tears squeezed out between chestnut lashes and over the defined cheekbones. They would be dried, gone, chips of crystal never to be marveled over in a matter of moments, but for right now, they were intriguing, hypnotizing to look at, wonder over.
What is he dreaming of?
The idea that this was eavesdropping, that this was personal and an invasion of the braided boys privacy threatened to force him to back away, but he stood his ground as new incoherent mutters of slumber slipped forth. Too much, the way the lush lips moved in lazy circles as a gentle cry issued forth, new tears seeping forth. Arms twitched, legs spasmed, and finally, Heero could make out one word:
“Mother.”
Nothing so difficult as the boy dreaming of his mother, of his happier days when he was born unto a caring family and not a child bestowed to the cruel hand of fate, a name born of death. A boy dreaming of a life that was, that might have been, that forever could be in the throes of some night excursions.
A breath hitched and amethyst eyes fluttered open, lashes revealing the jewels beneath. “Heero?”
His voice was muddy and so heavy with sleep, that he cleared his throat and sat up on one elbow, the plait his hair was in half strewn about the crisp starch sheets. “What…were you watching me?”
The answer was birthed from his throat before the words were formed in his mind. “You were being loud; I came to see what was the matter.”
“Was that all, Heeeerrooo?” The name was purred from his lips as well as his eyes, sensual, both of them, hypnotizing and captivating.
A slight tick, right beside the corner of his eyes developed, twitching and pulsating a few times before it was devoured by training, by operations, by schematics. Hands that had unconsciously twisted themselves in the sheets below uncurled like lazy felines, pushing him to his feet, toes slipping through the plush thick strands of carpet as he made his way to the neighboring twin bed. Lying down under the starch sheets left him feeling uncomfortable, clinical, dead.
“Yes, that was all, Duo.”
A moment of inevitable silence, thick as fog.
“Thank you for caring.”
All pain disappears
It's the nature of, of my circuitry
Drowns out all I hear
No escape from this my new consciousness
“He’s going to die, damnit, and you’re not going to do anything but stand there?!”
The enraged voice of the familiar Chinese pilot filled Wing’s cockpit with shouts of dishonor, screams of betrayal. The equally infuriated face of the soldier accompanied the yells on the view screen, flowers of crimson blooming in his cheeks like lust from his shouts.
“I am following my orders, as should you, Chang.”
“Our orders do not include letting comrades die, Yuy!” The picture filled with static for a moment, wavering like gas fumes as the massive weapon was hit and driven back a few paces. More screams, this time directed at the enemy, carried clear into the other cockpit, ringing off computers and mechanics.
“My order is to guard point C-7, and not remove myself from it.”
“You’re going to let Duo die!” A grunt, a hiss, some random words in Chinese. “If you cannot think of him as a friend, then think of him as a weapon, damnit! Do not let him perish! We need him!”
Weapon. A force to be reckoned with. An advantage. Tactically speaking, he did need Duo, needed the Gundam and his skill as a pilot, although the risk of losing himself in the battle, and thus, losing two different pieces of priceless arsenal was a great factor.
The radar blinked in red, flashing like drops of blood, as he peered at with a dispassionate eye. He could handle them; a hundred and three mobile suits was almost nothing between him and the American, except the American was tired and damaged from the readouts that flashed over pixilated screens before his rapidly moving eyes.
Death is nothing but the end of the gift given, so the idea didn’t bother him on his own behalf. Yet, something quaked, twinged at the thought of his companion, no, comrade, perishing in the battle that raged a half of mile away.
…weapon, man, weapon, man…
What was he fighting for? There was nothing in this world, other than the life he had been sent to protect. There was no room for outwardly action, for freewill, when everything balanced on a thin spike of ice. There was no room to save a life, if it meant the sacrificing of everything else there was. There was-
“Can’t you think like a fucking human being for once?!”
That angry scream brought him around, got him moving, but the idea never occurred to him that it wasn’t Wufei’s voice this time.
It was his own.
The me that you know he used to have feelings
But the blood has stopped pumping and he is left to decay
The me that you know is now made up of wires
And even when I'm right with you I'm so far away
He made no outward movements as he heard the groan that floated through the room under the blankets some feet away; his eyes never left the black and green screen that lived eternally before his eyes, flickering as if almost alive in such a mockery of all that was born unto the earth. His shoulders were stiffly squared and tightened, his face nothing more than a screen itself, a screen whose picture had faded away to nothing.
“…you saved me…”
The innocence projected in the words would have been almost overwhelming to anyone else, although to this particular individual, it was nothing more than a slight infliction of words, a sound reverberated from vocal chords.
“I saved a weapon.”
Silence cascaded down, aside from the clacking of the keys along the laptop. Shuffling of sheets and light, unsteady footsteps signaled the movement of the American boy, announced his departure, his abandonment of the situation.
Cerulean eyes were covered behind the thin flap of an lid, then were opened once again as he peered over his shoulder to spy on the blood covered braided companion, as his clothes stuck to him, stained darker than black could ever be. His hair, matted and half out of its customary plait, trailed down his back, wisps floating around like angel’s breath. His face was contorted into a mask of fine determination and frustration as he gripped the wall like a drowning man and made small steps towards the bathroom, bruises like blooming violets across one cheek.
“Gonna help me, or gonna stare?”
“Neither,” and the soldier turned back to his laptop and began to type away once more, a small percussion in the room. He looked the epitome of a mannequin, with his movements stiff and plastic.
Heero awaited the growling words, “Fuck you, then!” but no such statement struck his ears. Instead, the sound of shuffling, grunting, and muttered curses to one’s self filled the room, just barely above that clicking repetition. The reflection of his shock was staring back at him on the emerald and black screen as he typed out a mission report, and his hands faltered just for a moment, out of stunned admiration.
He’s stronger than I thought, more mature than I perceived.
Of course, he was making an observation, not a heartfelt compliment. People like him did not do such things, such as… It just wasn’t in the itinerary. It hadn’t been programmed, hadn’t been trained and drilled with the tools of a war he was born to die in.
“Were you always this way?”
“For as long as I can remember, Duo. For as long as it mattered, anyway.”
“What matters to you, and what matters in general are two different things,” the velvet tone of his voice whispered. “Just remember, you’re not always right.”
And then, there was nothing, for machines never feel anything at all.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Heero said, with his usual apathy. “You’re speaking nonsense.”
But there was something beating within the cage of his flesh, wanting to get out like a rabid dog, clawing at his insides just underneath his grasp of the consciousness. His hands twitched for a moment, aching to grip his pounding temples, before going back to reassembling his now clean gun that was lying meticulously atop the crisp comforter on the bed.
“This is war, Duo; that is what this comes down to. We have been given a duty, one that must accomplished at the cost of our lives, or the lives of anyone else. We are fighting for peace, and justice, and for the colonies.”
The endless hue of violet peered at him as if he was a magnet and his eyes were metal. Five digits curled around several bullets on the bed, clutching them so hard that they left tattoos of points and cylinders in the pale flesh.
“If you don’t care for the lives we are fighting for, if you are willing to shoot anyone that gets in your way, then you are no better than they are, Heero.”
Azure snapped up, leaving the mechanical death in his hands to be forgotten for the moment. “That doesn’t matter. In the end, we all come from the same mold. We are all just soldiers, robots with our active programs inside ourselves since the day we were created. We are nothing more than orders.”
I can try to scratch away the sound in my ears
“You really believe that line of bullshit, don’t ya?” the braided boy said, moving a bit to stretch out across the hotel linen. The small clings of the bullets slipping through his fingers to roll across the bed filled the rented room for a moment and the low light from the streetlamp outside did nothing for the bruise that was still livid and alive across his cheek. “You seriously can’t accept the fact that once you forget the value of life, of every life, you have disgraced the colonies, tainted your peace, and everything you have fought for.”
“This coming from Shinigami,” Heero muttered, his lips barely moving as he picked up the discarded bullets and loaded them one by one into the cartridge.
“I kill ‘cause I have to,” the other whispered, looking up at the top of the canopy, a pale violet that hung like silk above them. “But I don’t forget, and I don’t take it for granted. That’s the difference; I still hold the precedence of it all.
“And Heero, I understand sometimes sacrifices need to be made, and I accept that. But I refuse to allow needless blood to be strewn about everywhere! Just because I’m Shinigami, doesn’t mean I gotta kill everything I see, without a second thought.”
The lashes of ebony slipped down for a second, then slowly rose once more. “I...don’t…”
“You’ve wanted to, almost did a couple times, with me and Relena,” the other whispered, his liquid eyes moving to his companion. “But, you found other ways out. You’re getting better, can’t you see that?” A smirk slipped onto his lips like a lazy calico cat. “Who knows, someday, you might just turn out to be a real human boy!”
The dusk faded away to reveal the thick blanket of a fall night, the sounds of soft gusts of winds banging gently against the window like a persistent solicitor. Beside him, Duo slept silently in his boxers, curled into a loose ball of limbs and almost completely buried beneath several blankets, even though it was not chilly in the room.
The hotel had only one room open, a suite with a canopied king sized bed, a living room, and a seductive bathroom of marble and tile, a jacuzzi tub just ready to be bubbling away amongst the throes of passion.
You might just turn out to be a real human boy!
A joke it might have been, but it had struck a chord within the self-proclaimed hollow shell, causing him to bear a sleepless night. Thank Kami for no missions the next day, or else he would be slow and nearly useless, wound up in the lag of sleep. Damnit all.
The whimper of the boy beside him drew his attention, causing him to peer over at the troubled face of the fey creature in curiosity. Another nightmare. Another word.
“Solo.”
Hm, he had heard the random rambling of his companion one drunken night, had heard him mention his childhood friend and protector who had died on the streets.
He dreams of his past, nightmares all of them. Would mine be the same way?
But, yet, why should it matter to him? Dreams, whether his or the other boy’s, were nothing more than a tired mind’s adventures in an imaginary realm of make-believe and imagination.
Do I have an imagination?
Of course he did; he planned out the missions, didn’t he? Thought of every possible outcome, of every possible angle.
Am I human?
The boy snorted gently in his sleep, shifting loudly under the tight sheets laced with professional care, his arms snaking over to the thigh of the other war-god, and lightly embracing it, as if it were no more than the pillow that propped up his slumbering head.
Damnit, stop this.
I don't want to listen, but it's all too clear
The gentle slope of his throat looked almost too enticing, and he cursed the boy and the fate that caused them to meet. This wasn’t right; he wasn’t brought up to feel this way, not about anything other than his cause, his mission, that which was his destiny, handed down by the joint hands of God and Fate.
I want…
But it didn’t matter what he wanted, didn’t matter what he cared about, or what silhouettes were hidden in the gleaming supernovas of his dreams! What mattered was the waging war at hand, the screams of peace and politics that poured through citizens’ mouths as they were abused and raped by one faction or another. What were his feelings, anyway, but another travesty upon the hands that he was fighting against?
I want…
The tender curve of a set of tiers, pursed ever so slightly, cried to him as he watched them with intense raptness, as if the center of his universe had been born inside that gentle mouth. Lashes, darkened in the shadows of the evening, twitched, threatening to open, but never prying apart to reveal the liquid cobalt beneath.
“In the end, we all come from the same mold. We are all just soldiers, robots with our active programs inside ourselves since the day we were created. We are nothing more than orders.”
But, he wasn’t like this boy, so curled up against the steel of his leg, murmuring about a life he couldn’t remember aside from the nightly excursions into a realm where reality was a horror that held no rule over him. He wasn’t the same carefree person, who could joke and find life in even the smallest raindrop. And even though this small creature was called Shinigami, his true soul…it was clean.
And I’m not…I want… absolution…
This mockery of organized religion, this true path of God and forgiveness, this true path to peace, this was what was meant to be, what he needed. He answered the call of the lips, meeting them with his own, slipping his tongue between the parted teeth, until he felt the heat of the mouth below and the call of it’s calm waters.
I lean backwards and sideaways I feel so unafraid
Annie, hold me a little tighter, I might just slip away
He could feel the jolt of shock that poured from the body beneath him, electricity rising in the air and crackling it around him, but he paid no mind to such things. Thin fingers, so deft with their thieving tendencies, curled around his iron shoulders and attempted to push him away, but he refused to move even the slightest inch, plundering the sweet cavern with a lust no one could ever have imagined.
Take…take the communion…
His own digits found the faded black ribbon (“Solo used to wear this in his hair when we were little…”) at the base of his plait, untying it with blind eyes, and finally slipping his hand through the rippling mass of silken treasure as he unwound it. Lips pried themselves free to work their way down to the slope of a swan-like neck, tongue slipping out to taste the salt of his skin.
“What…what’re you doin’, Heero?”
Pushing himself up onto his hands, he found himself glaring at the panting boy, watching the way the flush just barely stood out in the darkness of the room, spreading across his cheeks and nose like crushed red velvet. Loose strands of shimmering caramel had slipped across the boy’s bare chest, slipping along the thin muscled chest like strings of bronze. The lower tier he had kissed so intensely quivered lightly, barely noticeable as the American tried to back away just a tad, pulling himself up along the bed towards the pillows once more.
“What does it look like, Duo?”
“Do you even realize…?”
Of course he did, didn’t he? Implications? That was simple: he was becoming what he could, turning to a real human boy, as Duo had so delicately put it. He was cleaning his hands on the purity of this murderer, on the innocence of this killer. They were the same, they were one, and yet, amid it all, they were the opposites, polar and complete. He didn’t want to fall, didn’t want the agony of his mechanical wings and their black feathers any longer, didn’t want to be the hated, the loathed of God, of life, of himself.
“Of course I do…of…course…”
It won't give up it wants me dead
Goddamn this noise inside my head
Are you
becoming like him, or are you pulling him to where you are? Are you here to
find the purity of yourself or to defile him? Complete or destroy?
For a moment, he lost himself in the salvation of those amethyst pools, full of a hushed lucidity that graced everything in the room, that lit upon his skin like fireflies, that warmed the granite edges of his well-worn soul. Calloused fingers, digits that had pulled the triggers of many guns, that had pressed small red buttons that marked death, slid down the expanse of one delicate arm that held the scythe of revolution in it’s grasp.
Damn him to the life you have…you know that’s your ultimate goal, don’t you? It's so lonely here in hell, you just want some company, don’t you, soldier boy?
Lips curled around one pointed nipple, and the gasp that rang in his ears reduced his spirit to shudders. His tongue dipped across the top, teeth clenching and pulling, as his fingers slid over a boxer-clad hip, fingernails digging lightly into the material below. He could feel it, feel the heat that radiated off him in waves like the water effects on a dry desert highway.
This isn’t your path, Heero Yuy. Yours is the walk of destruction; your absolution is in missions, your meaning in war. He wishes to take that from you, wants to deter you from your true goal.
“…shut up…”
“W-what, Heero?”
But he refused to answer, dipping his head down into the flat stomach, his tongue slipping to run across the rim of fabric that began the boxers. Sweat danced along his tongue, salty, natural, real, so perfectly imperfect.
Kill
him. You speak of innocence, of complexity in the simple world…You don’t need
him. Kill that which makes you weak, that which makes you forget.
“…Shut up…”
“Heero?”
He couldn’t hear now; he was out past the buoys, past the point of reality, intoxicated by the aroma of salvation and God that rested inside this one boy’s small body. Teeth dug into the flesh of the abdomen beneath him, growling deep in his throat, as if the sound could drown out the white noise of haunted hateful words that rang like madness inside his head.
“H-Heero…?”
Listen to him as he tries to sway you. That voice, those eyes, they’re all a lie, one crafted to unmake you, all that you are. He’s like they are…he’s one of them. If they aren’t with us, they’re against us. There is not room for doubt, no second thoughts. Kill him…Kill him…Kill him…
“Shut up…it’s a lie…a fucking lie…”
The rustle of sheets filled his ears as his would-be lover attempted to sit up, to push away from the confused madness that spouted from his muttering mouth. “Heero, what’s goin’ on? Are you okay?”
A hand not unlike that of their Gundam’s blocked his path, pushed him down onto the stiff hotel mattress and threatened to push him through it with his strength. A soft grunt slipped through the honeyed lips of the longhaired boy, and try as he might, physically, he was no match for the Japanese soldier, as his skill was stealth, not power.
Kill him…Unravel him before he does it to you…Kill…
Without tearing his eyes away from the wiggling form on the bed, his hands curled around the familiar weapon that sat on the nightstand, ready for a taste of blood. A steady hand swung the weapon around, pressing the gaping barrel against the chestnut bangs and the forehead beneath, trying to keep a blank look on his face, that dispassionate look forever in his eyes.
“You’re trying to change me,” he muttered under his breath, cocking the hammer back with his thumb. “You are a threat to the mission, to me, to the world. You must be eliminated.”
The wiggling boy stopped moving, turning his amethyst jewels up to the face of his companion. Hands, open and palm up, found their way to the sides of him as he slowly blinked, lashes falling endlessly down to lick across flushed cheeks, only to rise once more like the morning sun. Lips trembled once, as if caught in the throes of some indecision, and finally softened into a smile that crept up slowly to his eyes.
“I forgive you, Heero.”
Silence like a flannel blanket slipped over the room, and Heero slid himself up the boy’s body, until he sat upon his chest, his hand pushing the deadly tip down a bit harder. “What did you say?”
“If you think that I’m that much of a danger to you and everything we’re fighting for, then I won’t stop you,” he whispered, one hand reaching up to gently cup the boy’s soft, impassive cheek. “I believe in you, in your judgment, always have. I forgive you.”
The gun shook ever so slightly, the finger tightening on the trigger with the slightest amount of pressure. “I…”
“Don’t say anything, Heero…I know.”
Cast away, discarded, it clattered down off the side of the bed, as a child felt the hand of God against his cheeks, and the soft words of, “I know, love…I know…” in his ears.
There is another way…I’ve reached my peace, and I’ve seen God. He is a paradox of androgyny, with long hair and hypnotizing eyes, and the heart of a universe encased in a body of human perfection. I have my absolution at long last…and I’ve regained what I lost in a pathetic hotel room.
“Duo…”
“You don’t have to say a thing.”
“I told you, J, it’s all a rainbow.”
“You created nothing but a martyr, something to interfere with my plans.”
“I created a way out, something of an Eden in the form of a boy.”
“You are no better than I am, G.”
“Look at them now, and say that again…and mean it.”
“…”
“There is more gray in the world than black and white, and more color than the human eye can conceive of. This is the brightest of them all.”