Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters
Author: Karen, The Huntress email@example.com
Warning: post war, angst, language
Feedback: Always appreciated
Slate gray clouds shroud the sky. As wind driven rain pelts the windowpane I study my wavy reflection. Frankly I look like hell. I haven't slept or eaten a substantial meal. I managed a quick shower and changed my shirt but the tattletale bloodstains on my trousers are a persistent reminder of the drug bust gone bad.
A Preventer debriefing agent was here for about an hour this morning. Thankfully he was satisfied with a preliminary statement as long as I promised the detailed report, as he put it, in a "timely fashion". Doesn't the bastard understand that I'm heartsick for my soul mate and that paperwork is the last thing on my mind?
Gulps from a bottle of cheap whisky I smuggled into the room and cupfuls of strong black coffee to counter the alcohol's affects have occupied most of the hours that have crept from one day to the next.
I'm craving a cigarette but they don't allow smoking in the hospital and I'm sure as hell not going out in this downpour for a few hurried puffs. Maybe later if the rain lets up. Maybe. He's been begging me to quit.
The walls of this cold clinical room are beginning to close in on me. There's not even enough room to pace without maneuvering through a maze of equipment and that beeping is really gettin' on my nerves. The monitor is linked to the Nurse's Station so why does the sound have to be on in here? Then there's the IV tubes pumping who knows what through his veins.
Damn what a mess!
I walk over to the bed and straighten the sheets again. It's frustrating not being able to do more than just keep a vigil. He's so pale but I guess that's to be expected considering how much blood he lost. His breathing did improve during the night so Dr. Po disconnected the respirator but nothing was done about that constant beeping.
I wonder if he's aware of that fuckin' irritating noise through the fog of medication? Knowing him, when the racket does finally does filter through, he'll wake up cursing and demanding his pistol so the can blast the damn machine.
Perhaps the beeping isn't so bad after all if it causes him to fight back from four hours in surgery and three days in ICU.
You'd think by now he'd be tired of sleeping. He never slept that much. There was hardly a night he wasn't awake into the early hours sitting at the computer studying recon reposts or cleaning his gun or wandering around the house spurred on by nervous energy.
He was always restless like he was waiting for something to happen. He never seemed to be satisfied with where he was or what he was doing. It was as if the next moment was just beyond his reach and if he didn't keep moving it would slip away.
He sure as hell is settled now. I think this is the longest time he's been at a standstill for at least a year. He once told me he couldn't have a future until his past was put to rest. Now there isn't anyone left from his past but what kind of future will he have?
"Wake up. That elusive calling is still out there. Dammit you can't give up now."
I let out an exhausted sigh and wonder again if he can he hear me through that medicative haze?
I finish the last of the whisky and toss the bottle in the wastebasket. If the staff wants to complain let them...I'm in the mood for a brawl.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Now I'm strongly considering getting my automatic and shooting that hellish machine.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
A low groan can barely be heard above the incessant beeping. I can see his eyes moving under their weakness-laden lids. I take his hand and give it a firm squeeze.
"That"s it, fight back."
Gotta' keep the tremble out of my voice."You have too many things left to do. Don't to give up now."
I brush back damp bangs and kiss his clammy forehead. Sluggishly his eyes open then slide shut. I call his name and increase the pressure on his hand. His eyes open and, this time, they seem more inclined to cooperate. After a couple of blinks their focus steadies up.
When his stunning blue eyes align with my misty sight, I let out the breath I didn't realized I was holding.
"Heero." I repeat. He moves his head to follow my voice "Welcome back love."
In spite of his drugged condition he manages a slight smile. Dry lips part. Whispered words force their way to the surface. I lean closer to hear.
My name struggles through his raspy throat. "Duo."
"I'm here." I answer with a grateful sigh of relief. "Tell me what you want."
Heero cuts his eyes in the monitor's direction. "Stop that damn beeping." he hisses.
"Anything for you my love." I promise as I reach for my pistol.
Vigil--Karen Hickman--August 2005