Posted: 10/8/00
Title: Putting the Damage On
Author: Jay / carboxylated@yahoo.com
Archive: All those with prior permission are welcome (and hugged profusely) to archive this.
[Note: all fics accessible @ http://www.oocities.org/fenris_wolf0]
Category: Deathfic. Gomen! Please don't be deterred, however. ::chibi eyes:: I had to suffer through writing it; surely you can suffer through reading it?
Timeline: Post-EW.
Pairings: 1+2
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is quite sadly not mine, but in fact the property of Bandai, Sunrise, and other large corporations and companies I have no affiliation with. (Again, quite sadly.) The title and inspiration is derived from Tori Amos' "Putting the Damage On" which can be found on her "Boys for Pele" album; the specific lyrics are quoted before and after the story.
Warning/Rating: R. It's a deathfic. Enough said. Oh, and sap.
Feedback: Hit me!
Note: I suddenly wrote this (complete impromptu) after I was writing a similar fic-- well, similar in its introduction-- and I decided I wanted to write something that would make someone cry. (I think getting an emotional reaction ranks at the top of what writers hunger for.) I'm not sadistic, I swear, and I did lay on the sap, and while that probably doesn't compensate-- anyway. If you're reading this, I suppose you'll actually read the story.
"...But, now I've got to worry /
cause, boy, you still look pretty /
when you're putting the damage /
when you're putting the damage on."
It was just a piece of worn paper that he refused to look at, creased at the folds. And there was no way he could look at it-- the possible ramifications, the what if's, the questions racing in his mind that he had no desire to have answered-- all contained in an 11 by 8 inch piece of paper, impersonally generated by a central computer somewhere.
Somewhere.
He'd gone to the only place he could go at a time like this. It was deceptively sunny and bright outside, but he dismissed it: colony-controlled climate. It was too synthetic for him to swallow: refusing to acknowledge that the skies were as bright as... he struggled to maintain his composure-- as bright as his eyes were. He let out a soft breath, looking out onto the serene cityscape that glittered like a mirage; he couldn't tell if it was just his eyes blurring rapidly or the dancing light that caused the effect.
Dropping with typical grace, he sat down on the grass, back towards the city again, staring straight ahead.
[one year previous]
"I don't understand."
It was that voice: that dumbstruck, half-incredulous, half-pleading voice that was bordering on hysteria. It was that voice that cut into his heart like so many knives, slicing around flesh and leaking tears like blood. Heero stood, over, dry-eyed, watching the spectrum of emotions flash over Duo's face, as he repeated again, in the voice of a lost child: "I... don't understand."
It was all on the paper.
"No one has this anymore." Duo waved a hand, feebly, for emphasis. "They found a vaccine in the late 22nd century, Heero-- a vaccine. People stopped dying." Voice at a higher pitch now, frantic. "They found a vaccine."
He had to control his voice now-- try to stop that blade that was still carving his heart from leaking into his unsteady vocal chords-- or Duo might break down entirely. "I know," was all he could manage, and look away, watching his life crumble as Duo began to cry, still fisting that piece of paper, clutched tightly in his hand in a vain attempt to make it go away-- change the lettering-- anything that would reverse whatever harsh truth came from the desk of Sally Po, resident medical examiner for the Preventors Organization.
Duo's T4 cell count had dropped, barely hovering above 500. Sally's handwritten letter, scribbled furiously with spots of running ink hinting at tears, offered the one plausible explanation.
"No one gets HIV anymore," Duo choked out. Heero's head spun, dizzy. Searching himself for answers, he came up empty.
"We'll start him off with a protease inhibitor," Sally said briskly. "Nelfinavir." There was a pause-- a crack in her professional façade, allowing for a weary, pained look to cross her face. "And Abacavir," she added, after a moment. "Yes." Her voice was slow, deliberate. "Yes, those two."
Heero stared at his hand, suddenly. His knuckles were white, from squeezing Duo's fingers, but the other boy hardly seemed to notice the pressure against his bones. He nodded dumbly at Sally's every statement, at a loss of words. Heero managed to not look away, and merely fumble with the corner of his shirt, eyes riveted straight ahead of him. He detested the smell of hospitals-- the sterile, dust-free conditions, a certain sense of-- decay under the artificial-pine scent, or a taint beneath its immaculate walls.
"Duo?" Her voice cut into his thoughts, tentative. Heero directed his attention to his lover, dark circles under luminous lilac eyes.
"Yes, Sally?" And a voice like an angel, despite the strain.
Another pause. "Duo... how?"
The silence choked him.
And a soft exhalation followed. "At the end of the war... when-- when I was aboard-- I--" Suddenly, he squeezed back, pressing their palms together as fingers shifted, interwove. He took a deep breath and began again. "One of Dekim's soldiers."
Heero gave a small growl that rumbled from the back of his throat and half-moved up. Duo's fingers crushed against his. "He's dead," he said, gently. "He was already dying when he-- I didn't know he had... I thought, maybe... "
"Why didn't you tell me?" Heero's voice was hoarse, pain lancing through the syllables.
"There was so much," Duo whispered. "The war. The end. The peace. Picking up all the... shattered remains of my life, moving on... the Preventors-- I thought... I thought... there was no time." He took on the tones of a pleading child again, frantic and scared. "Heero, I never--"
Heero brushed one errant strand of chestnut hair back, tucking it behind Duo's ear, lips brushing his cheek. "I love you," he breathed, offering what he could, fumbling again in the intricacies of voicing his thoughts. His heart hurt again.
Sally's voice once again interrupted, colliding with his mental process. "I'll write the prescriptions now," she said, abruptly.
Duo sat, at breakfast, staring at the plate of eggs and toast. "I'm not hungry," he said, eyes traveling over to the pills that clustered over the edge of his plate.
"You have to eat them with food," Heero reminded him, gently. He finished mixing the last of the pills in orange juice, setting it down by Duo's untouched plate "Please. Eat."
Duo took a sip and grimaced. His fingers trembled, shaking the glass. Heero watched, ready to catch the glass if it should fall. It wouldn't have been the first time. Duo glanced over and shook his head. "I'm tired of this already," he said, fatigue wearing through his voice. "The headaches, the pains, the--" The glass of orange juice wobbled and he set it down. "Being weak."
"Take a bite," Heero said, closing his eyes for a moment. They snapped open at the sound of porcelain crashing against the tiles of their kitchen floor.
"I'm tired of this," Duo repeated, tears gathering at the corner of his eyes. He blinked them away, even as Heero knelt to pick up the broken pieces of the plate. "I'm sorry." His voice sounded tired. It wobbled, and then rose. "I'm just-- I want it back so much." The sound of crying filled the room, even as Heero reached out to stroke Duo's pale cheek, flinching at Duo pushed his hands away, begging. "Don't touch me."
"Duo--"
"Don't TOUCH ME!" The shrieking plea cut through the air, and Heero withdrew his hand.
Duo's sobs wracked his body. "I can't even touch you--"
"Duo, you know that you can't infect me by just--"
"I can't touch you." Duo wrapped two arms around his torso, drawing his legs up. His tear-streaked face looked up towards the ceiling, for some heavenly sign: or just to avoid the burning gaze of Prussian eyes.
Heero understood. The left side of his bed had been empty for a little over a month, now.
"What do you mean?" Heero's voice made Sally flinch.
"It's AIDS-related lymphoma," she said, reluctantly. "It explains... the fevers, the night sweats, the weight loss. It explains--"
"Why he blacked out today," Heero said slowly, turning to face the unconscious figure beneath the pristine sheets. Something was tracking his heartbeats, giving regular blips and beeps, green lines rising and falling. Underneath the folded linen, Duo slept, unaware of the tubes invading his veins, one gaunt cheek pressed against the pillow.
"I think it's best if we keep him here. For treatment."
"More treatment?" Heero's voice was teetering on the brink of control, again.
"Chemotherapy." Sally closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "And continuing the antiviral drugs."
"Chemotherapy," Heero repeated, eyes sweeping the length of chestnut hair, as sudden realization hit. "He has cancer."
"It was very common in AIDs patients," Sally hurried to explain. "It was... " She shook her head, seeing the futility of her words. "Heero," she said gently. "There's a good chance nothing will work... I think he might be working up a resistance to the Nelfinavir... maybe a cross-resistance... his cell count... it's dropped below 200... Heero... he might very well--"
Heero looked at her, abruptly. "Do I sleep on the floor, or can I have a cot?" He asked, simply.
"Good morning, beautiful," Heero murmured, brushing Duo's skin with reverent fingers.
Duo shifted, paper gown scratching his back, and smiled. "Shameless flattery will get you anywhere." His hand went up to his head, unconsciously, before pulling down as the smile faded. "It's all gone?"
Heero took a deep breath. "It's the chemo," he said, apologetically, tracing hearts on Duo's cheek.
"My hair is gone," Duo said, quizzically. "All of it."
Heero's voice faltered. "All of it."
Duo paused, before abruptly saying, "I must look like a fright." This was met with fierce opposition, as Heero wrapped one careful arm around his emaciated shoulders, drawing those deep purple eyes into his own.
"Never," he said. "Never in a thousand years, Duo... you're so beautiful, it breaks my heart... " His voice strangled and desperate.
"Why should I believe you?" Duo asked, lightly.
"My name's Heero Yuy," Heero replied. "I run, I hide, but I never lie."
There was a small space of time before Duo spoke up. "You stole my line," he said, eyes twinkling. "Heero... "
"Yes?"
"I think that's the first time I've ever heard you make a joke."
Their soft laughter drifted through the open window.
Heero sat beside Duo, sipping hot soup and waiting for the other boy to wake up. Duo's eyes fluttered, but they remained shut.
"You awake?" Heero asked.
"Yeah," he responded, eyes still closed.
"Everyone visits, you know... but you're asleep, and no one wants to wake you."
"It's okay if they do," was the placid response. Heero's keen ears picked up on some strange difference in the tone.
"Quatre stopped by. He brought flowers. Your favorite. Lilies."
"Did he leave a note?"
"Yes. Would you like to read it?"
"Heero... could you read it to me?"
"Of course, koi. Would you like to look at the lilies?" Heero clutched his soup, some sense of impending doom hanging over his head.
"I... Heero?"
"Yes?"
Duo's head turned towards him, eyes finally opened. There was a strangeness to them-- a kind of blankness Heero couldn't identify; they were clouded, misty.
"Heero." His next words were halting. "I can't see anymore."
"He's not responding," Sally said. "Not to the chemotherapy or the radiation. Not to the antiviral drugs. Nothing except the painkillers, thank God."
"Hn."
"Heero," Sally said gently.
"What is there... without him?" The boy asked, closing his eyes. "What is there... I can't... "
"Heero--"
"Nothing," he continued, firmly. "There's nothing without him, there won't be anything without him." He opened the door, walking in, and shutting it in Sally's distressed face. "Nothing," he murmured to himself.
"Heero?" The voice was so faint, he barely heard it. Striding over to Duo's bed, he knelt, clasping his hands, carefully avoiding the fresh bruises that seemed to appear from the lightest touches.
"Yes?" The figure on the bed was still his Duo, he had to remind himself: the brilliant smile, the glowing, but sightless eyes, the face that was beautiful despite the thinness of his cheeks-- his Duo.
"How am I?"
Heero's eyes traced the green lines on the monitor beside the bed. "Fine," he finally said.
Those eyes turned to him, uncannily, fixing him with a pointed stare. "I thought you never lied," Duo said, softly. Heero stared helplessly, afraid to move, afraid to breath, unsure as his heart skipped successive beats.
Duo closed his eyes, shifting his head. "It's okay," he said calmly. "I'll just... wait."
The final hours flew by rapidly, but the last few minutes and seconds dragged on, slow and tedious, as Heero lay beside Duo, ignoring the tangle of tubes and the hum of machines. Duo's head was cradled against him, as he wept, quietly, leaning down occasionally to press wet skin against the crisp skin of the boy beside him. There was nothing like this slow death, that broke down parts of Duo, chipping away at something that was once so lively, so active-- eating away at the flush of his cheeks, stealing the warmth of his breath, dimming his eyes, silencing the laughter-- the small things he'd taken for granted; the unnerving silences at night, as he lay, sleepless, in his cot, sipping coffee in the mornings, receiving cards of grief and condolences and all he wanted to do was to scream that Duo was still alive. He wanted to scream that flowers wouldn't amend this-- poignant cards, visits, nothing would ever change the situation. This thought process ran through his mind in the last hour, repeating itself until he was pressed against the edge of insanity. It was only Duo that brought him back-- Duo, with all the memories of soft words and glances, and loud laughter; days spent in the sun, lounging, carefree, away from duty, responsibility, war and--
Death. Away from death.
And he was cradling Shinigami in his arms, unwilling to part with someone who had given him life.
And Duo was waiting, patiently, half-asleep, each breath more ragged than the last. Their chests juxtaposed, so that their heartbeats throbbed in a steady time-- Heero's strong, Duo's weak, but together, in a strange symphony that physically hurt Heero to feel; but it was all he had left. This moment was all he had left, as Duo's breathing rattled in his throat. The same heartbeat, as if that clattering organ had left their confining ribcages, or if something had parted-- the space between them-- as if they had melded into the most singular sense, sharing the same rhythm. Heero felt this, as he whispered, crooned, words of adoration, in a steady stream of low whispers, seeing the curve of a smile on Duo's face.
"I love you," he finished, helpless, vulnerable-- as if something really had peeled away the flesh above his heart. "I'll always love you," his voice cracked. "I love you for a thousand reasons, and for nine hundred and ninety reasons I can't put into words... but I love you because I do-- because this is so right that I couldn't think of anything that could make it wrong... not if some reality divided us; because you're half of me, because-- because you are a living testament to the goodness of this world, Duo, koi; please... I love you."
"I love you too." The voice was thin and labored.
The steady beat continued, and Heero could not distinguish between his tears and Duo's, if what he felt was his own skin or someone else's, or between his heart and his lover's, until slowly, one faded and stopped.
[present]
He could not remember why he did not open the paper. It was not pride or vanity, but perhaps the simple conviction of karma or fate; the same kind that collided him with Duo in the first place. But now he felt that it was time; now, as he clutched a fistful of lilies, facing a single headstone. The grass was green, the skies were blue, and birds were singing not far away. It was a beautiful day. The only other text on the slick marble besides the name and the date was a simple: "Beloved."
And now, slowly, carefully, Heero unfolded the paper. There would be a 'positive' or 'negative' in the middle of the page, and one would be circled. The wind blew, sweeping his hair back, as he folded the paper again, and laid it and the lilies on the grave. The wind swept again, scattering white petals.
The light was fading, and Heero got up to go home.
And the bed would be empty on the left side, again.
"...I said /
I'm trying not to move/
it's just your ghost passing through/
it's just your ghost passing through /
and now I'm quite sure..."
[fin]
Notes: I have no idea if Duo would go blind or not. I'm a sadist, so kill me. Or, er, not. And also... I'm pretty sure that if Heero *was* infected with HIV, he'd have shown signs of it (hey, 99/100 times in lemons, they don't use protection) by this time; however, artistic license and whatnot... and who knows, as the perfect soldier, maybe his immune system really kicks ass. I left the ending open again (whether or not it's a pos or neg) deliberately. I tried to do as much research as I could... but this was written in one sitting so I'm sorry if little things are off.
Death threats should be directed here. :-)
Jay