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Title: The Forsworn ~ Overlooked
Author: Sita Seraph
Genre: Angst
Pairing: Unknown
Rated: R
Warning: Suicide, angst, depression
Summary: None yet.

Archive: Go right ahead. Please e-mail me so I know where you are going to throw it, okay?



You know, I thought I could take anything that stood in my way.

Nothing could keep me down for long; if I had a purpose in the end, I would finish it. I wouldn't let anything block my vision; I refused to be put down. If there had been a bullet aimed for my shoulder, I would have just let it run its course and I would keep running to my destiny. If there had been codes and passwords, I would rip up the stupid blocks that tried to keep me from finding the secret letters underneath. And if there had been a human being that dared to stand in my way, have pity on their soul, for they would be lucky to stand again. I would NOT have anything come in between my mission and me.

This was my purpose in life, nothing more.

Who would have thought that missions ended someday? I never really thought about the end of the war. There had been my missions, a little sideline help, and this had kept me content. It had kept my mind busy, too busy in all honest truth. I really didn't notice anything else but the war and my missions. Anything else was nonsense. I had to stay focused; I did stay focused. But when the war ended, my vision seemed to have become a blur and I could no longer see anything in front of me. The bloodshed was finished, the missions were extinct, and my gun was resting under my bed, building up the dust and cobwebs. My laptop was barely even touched now and that too lay in a corner of my room, silent for once in its long life. If Duo could have seen me now, he would have thrown a celebration party and thrown my machine out the window with a good, cheerful smile upon his lips. Yes, I was quite positive of his actions and it was wonder on when I had taken note of his daily habits, his dreams, and his corny jokes.

Maybe I had taken more notes than even I noticed.

For many months now, I have been watching over Relena from afar. The peace bringer was carrying on well enough now; I knew that someday soon, she would never need my watchful eye. But I really couldn't bring myself to just up and leave. I had nothing else to do; I no longer had a purpose. She was really my only guide light at the moment. It has a sort of irony to it, doesn't it? Even now, after the war, I still need some sort of mission, an order, to be taken out. It was like a threatening need in the pit of my stomach, grumbling whenever my eyes weren't on the last Peacecraft. She really was all I had left now, my only grip on reality. The soldier in me still lived, even when I thought I had buried it to gain back some sort of humanity. But it had to be useless; after so many months, why was I still acting like war was still around and just lying dormant within the clouds. And still, I would think, the thick clouds would grow heavy and darken with rage and they would break apart. The knives of blood would fall and cut down innocent lives again. And I would be in the middle all over again, cut but unharmed nonetheless, and with help from my fellow Gundam pilots, I would scream and the rain would realize I was there. They would take notice and run away. For I was the one who stopped the war. I was the one who would get back up even if my body was full of metal. I would keep standing and I'd drive back war again, to the seas, where they would be swallowed up.

Sort of a selfish thought, right? Hn.

It had been night when I returned home. The lights were off as always and blindly I walked into the darkness. I remember hearing a crinkle under my foot and I looked down. Under my sneakers was an invitation to Quatre's party, something to draw us drifting pilots back together. I cursed mentally and picked up the tattered envelope. I had forgotten the party in my haste of the last two weeks and I had missed the meeting date completely. I knew Quatre would be upset, but not terribly disappointed. I was the Perfect Soldier, remember? If I wish to come, I would go. Still, though, I should have written some sort of note to tell him I was too busy to attend. Too busy watching Relena, anyway.

So I had thrown the letter in the trash and walked over to my unused laptop. A faint trace of dust had grown over the black surface and I sustained the small smile that wished to break through my lips. Duo would have fainted, perhaps, if he saw my computer's condition. As I was taking a seat in my tiny desk and turning my handy companion on, I thought of the long braided baka. I didn't recall any plans from the boy when the war was over and I wondered then at what he had gotten into. He had very few talents like I did, but that didn't mean he'd try at least about everything. Well, except school. I recalled that the 02 pilot had a strong dislike towards the matter of school. And yet again, I surprised myself with my ability to bring up the information of Duo Maxwell like a favorite novel. Which was quite an interesting point. I remembered myself comparing the pilot with a book, a series to be exact, that wasn't quite finished yet. The novels each contained some sort of new chapter, or layer, he had and as the novels went further and further into the story, the more pages that were flipped, the more secrets and mysteries were revealed. Of course, there was the demon in the story that haunted Duo Maxwell's dreams. There was the idealistic look on what his true love would be like. And there would be adventures, plot twists, and such deep feelings that even I could almost feel a trace of it touch my heart. But the series had barely begun and I was positive that there were even more mysteries, more ideas that the pilot kept down deep inside, where darkness crept on its edges like spiders. I even imagined that there was a secret book that would never be published, filled with the darkest ideas, thoughts, feelings, and actions that not even myself could begin to imagine. It was laying in the darkness of Duo's mind, dust covering its withering pages and cobwebs circling it in its tangled web. Yes, Duo must have more secrets than he let on. I didn't even know the half of it, I knew, for all of us pilots had our deepest secrets. Even me.

As the homepage for MSN began to show up so I could send e-mail, I looked away momentarily to watch the heavy mist that was settling over the city and blocking the lights of the town from my gaze. I lived quite high up, away from the noise of cars and drunks. I was more at peace up in my high hill, watching everything below with my hawk-like gaze. I was comfortable. This peace was going to make me lazy, I knew.

As I drew my eyes away from the window, I moved my mouse to click into my e-mail when my hand froze in mid motion. I remember staring at the blue and white for a long moment, the words and pictures in my head not quite comprehending what I was seeing. But then it kicked in and load of questions, words, and thoughts attacked my tired brain.


I had a sudden tightening in my throat, like a strong hand caving in around it, and I found it terribly hard to breathe. I felt like the walls of my throat were brushing together and closing in pure shock and disbelief.

It just wasn't possible. Duo Maxwell would never commit suicide. Not my Duo. I knew Duo, for God's sake! He would never have the nerve, or the need, to do such a crime. To cause his own death? Impossible! Duo was filled with life and dreams; he couldn't bring himself to do this.

Could he?

Did I really know Duo as well as I thought I did? Was his whole attire just some sort of mask that kept even me from seeing the truth? And what about Quatre? He was so much more observant about the little things that even I grew jealous of. No, there was no way Duo could be such a faker. He had to be happy sometimes, that energy and fatigue he had shown off the battlefield wasn't something a depressed person could pull off. Duo was good, but he couldn't be that good. Not against Quatre. Not against me…

So was there a reason? Was there a reason for him slitting his throat or pulling the trigger? What had gotten to him that drove him over the edge for the final time? Would I ever know?

I clicked hastily at the link under his picture. As the page loaded, a bigger picture of him appeared on the screen. His face and eyes were beaming at me, the light of the sun in his eyes as he looked like the happiest and luckiest man in the world. He was giving a wave and cheeky grin to the camera man, his red top snaking up at his neck and his black jacket thrown over one shoulder.

Not dead.

Not dead.

I searched desperately through the list of words under his picture, searching for a sign of life from my pilot friend. I ignored any other sort of pictures in the message, I was afraid to look at them. At what they might show. I scrolled quickly to the bottom of the message and found a faint sweat under my armpits, a nervous chill running down my spine. The chill of fright, I knew, for the thought that I would never see pictures of Duo's happy face again if he were dead. That I would never expect a couple of phone calls from him and hear his cheerful tone scream into my ear. Nor would I ever expect pounding at my door at some ungodly hour as he came to visit me. I wouldn't see his flesh in real life again and the only thing I would have left would be memories. Memories that would grow old and fade, disappearing from my brain. And soon, I would never be able to recall the nice shade of violet his eyes held. Or summon up the light that beamed off him when the walls of darkness and war closed in on us. Never would my mind evoke quite correctly what his voice sounded like.

Shit, I remember screaming. This couldn't have been happening. And then I drew to the end of the long message.

Duo Maxwell now lays in intensive care in Sanctuary Psychiatric Hospital.