Title: Perfect Wing
Author: shanna seanachai
Part: all
Warnings: angst, death, limey situations
Disclaimer: don't own either GW or 'Sister Janet', by Tori Amos
Summary: written for the fake 1979 2x3 fanfic contest: http://homepages.go.com/~fake1979/gwcontest/index.html
Pairing: Duo x Trowa
Archive? You bet your ass.
Feedback: Would be wonderful! And if you like it, go and vote for my fic, once it's up ...

Perfect Wing by shanna seanachai

 

master shaman I have come
with my dolly from the shadow side
with a demon and an Englishman

 

Once there were two boys who came across a line drawn in the sand.

As the first approached, he stared at it, long and hard. He weighed the pros and cons of crossing it. He shivered with indecision. He tiptoed across it, looked back, and wanted to burst into tears. He didn't want to go back. But he didn't want to be on this side, either. So he put on his mask of silence, so no one would know the tears that screamed and crowded at the floodgates of his eyes.

The second boy approached the line, and turned around, looking at what he was leaving behind. It was nothing but pain, and the idea of the turning back was repellent. He knew the other side would be bad. But he would not turn back. He stepped over the line, and into his new life, assuredly. He accepted it. He put on his guise of death, he cloaked himself in the evil, he breathed it in, and let it settle. It was better than being a victim. If you can't beat them, join them, that had always been his motto.

Those were the differences between Duo and Trowa.

 

I'm my mother
I'm my son

 

We are ruined.

That was all he could think.

It was like being led into a little box, a box that held infinite possibilities, and when he turned around, the lid had snapped shut. He was trapped here, and Duo was banging on the other side of the barrier between them, calling for him to come out.

We are ruined, and it is my fault.

He hadn't been able to help himself. He hadn't been able to resist temptation. And Duo hated him, now. For his indecision.
He'd wanted Quatre, from the moment that he had met him. He had made a little saint of him, and then Duo had come along, so dark and sinuous and wonderfully dangerous and appealing. He'd forgotten Quatre, for awhile. And he'd been...happy.

 

nobody else is slipping the blade in easy

 

You are so strange, Duo would tell him. Like no one else I've ever met. That's why I love you, Trowa.

Then the kisses would come, like water, and Trowa would close his eyes, and let himself surrender to the current. To passion. To the millions of little phrases that rippled through his mind, and the startling pulse that rose from his lips in the form of soft, loving words. And, sometimes, to the sorrow, which dripped down his cheeks in salty tracks. Duo kissed it away. Duo kissed it all away, until it subsided, and, for a few moments before sleep, he reached that higher state of understanding and comfort he had always desired. Duo could give him that.

Why had he suddenly, irrationally, wanted more - thought there could be more?

 

nobody else is slipping the blade in the marmalade

 

Thrown it all away, to bask in the glory of an angel, who did not feel the same feelings he did. Quatre was celibate. He'd told him that much, one night, when Trowa had tried to kiss him. He did not want to be close to a person like that. It made him sick.
It made sense, in a strange way. Quatre was affectionate and caring and beautiful. He gave it all, until it bled, because he could not bring himself to give that one part. Not ever; or maybe, as Trowa expected, ever again. He did not know the particulars of Quatre's past, and he would not ask, for he did not want to tell his own.

 

all the angels and all the wizards black and white
are lighting candles in our hands

 

He had realized then what he had done. He retreated, in shock, a sense of loss covering him, and it was shattered, shattered.

What do you think I am? Duo had hissed at him when he returned, when he tried to hold him. I am not a slut for you. I'm not your whore!

No matter what he had said, Duo would not listen. Go back to your angel, he'd said, pushing him away. Go back to Quatre - you've already established that I'm not good enough for you.

He'd let it go. He'd known he had ruined it. He let it go.

Duo had been hurt. He had let Duo down. Duo hated him. And now he hated himself. Which was why he was going to do this.

 

can you feel them, yes, touching hands before our eyes
and I can even see sweet Marianne

 

Duo would not listen to him and so he had to reach him another way.

That was why he had locked himself in the small bathroom adjacent to his room and had taken down the bottle of Bayer Aspirin from the medicine cabinet.

He lined up the pills on the sink in a straight line, counting them out, until there were fifty, which seemed a sufficient amount to do the job. He carefully closed the bottle and threw it out in the wastebasket. He picked up a paper cup from the side of the sink and filled it with water. Then he began to swallow the pills, one by one, watching himself in the mirror. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see what he looked like before he died.

He was halfway through. Images were flashing through his head, quick and precise. Every person he had ever known. Every place he had ever been. Ever song he had ever heard, every bed he had ever slept in. Every kiss he had ever given Duo. Every desperate look he had given Quatre.

That was it. There were no more pills. He looked down in the sink. The overhead light was off, and the only light was the small lamp attached to the mirror. It made the whole room strange and yellowy. The porcelain was cold but it looked so warm. It looked alive. He rubbed his hands over it, over the smoothness. He groaned. He was going to die. It was over and now he was going to die! He yelled, angry, and began to beat his fists against sink. Yelling and yelling. What was he yelling?

Help, help, help.

His knees were bending, his legs folding. His voice was strange and squeaky. His hands, bleeding from the attack on the sink, encountered the bathrug. Pounding, pounding, Duo was pounding on that wall that was between them, separating them forever. He was trapped in this box, and it was his own fault. Duo couldn't get to him, anymore.

Let me in, Trowa!

 

sister janet you have come
from the woman clothed with the sun
your veil is quietly becoming none

 

It took him a moment to realize that it was really happening. Duo was banging on the door, trying to get in the bathroom.
Trowa! he was yelling. His voice was panicky. Trowa, are you all right?

He wanted to speak, but he found he couldn't open his mouth. He could barely breath. He was dying.

God damnit, Trowa, let me in here now!

The darkness was closing in. He was beginning to fall down. One last chance. He forced himself to lift his arm, a slow, repulsive thing, and grappled the doorknob. His thumb searched for the lock. His body weighed too much, and his arm was being pulled down. Then the door made a clicking noise.

 

call the Wanderer
he has gone

 

Duo had heard the screams from the living room. At first he thought it was part of the television program. He wasn't really paying attention to it. Then suddenly he recognized it. It was Trowa, though to hear Trowa's voice raised in such a way was unthinkable.

"Help! Help! Help!"

He sat there for a second, puzzled. Then, suddenly, the screams stopped. A cold and irrational fear filled him. He stood up, breathlessly, and ran to the bathroom.

"Trowa? Trowa!"

No answer. He banged on the door, calling for him to open the door. No answer! Oh, no. He pitched himself at the door, but all it did was shutter and bounce him off; impenetrable. He stepped back. Something hot and wet was in his eyes. He wrapped his darkclad arms around his torso, shivering. And the lock on the door clicked.

There was a thump, on the other side of the door.

He grabbed the doorknob and jerked it open. The door bumped into something thick, blocking the way - Trowa's body. He was passed out on the floor, and Duo slid through the barely opened the doorway and jumped over his body.

"Trowa?"

The boy was silent. Duo looked around, frantic, and then he saw the empty bottle of aspirin in the basket. He was frozen for a second, and then it came to him.

"Oh, no..."

Call an ambulance, call an ambulance, he thought. Before it's too late.

 

and all those up there are making it look so easy

 

"Hi there," Duo whispered to him.

Trowa opened his mouth, but his throat hurt from the stomach pump. He couldn't speak. Duo put his fingers over his mouth and shook his head.

"Don't," he whispered. He smiled, a little, and began to stroke Trowa's face. Trowa's eyes brimmed over. He was alive. He was in a hospital. He hadn't died, and here was Duo.

I'm sorry, he wanted to say. He couldn't make his voice work. He mouthed it.

I'm sorry.

Duo shook his head. "Trowa -"

I love you.

Duo lowered his head. His voice came up, shaking and violent. "If you love me, then why did you do it?"

 

with your perfect wing
a wing can cover all sorts of things

 

Trowa shook his head, crying. He couldn't have said why, even if he could speak. It was too complicated.
Duo shook his head. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know you can't speak." But he hadn't forgiven him.

I love you, Trowa mouthed again.

Duo nodded, unconvincingly.

Trowa closed his eyes. What could he do? There was nothing. Nothing he could do. He closed his eyes, and he would not open them, even when Duo finally left.

 

and all the angels all the wizards black and white
are lighting candles in our hands

 

"He loves you," Quatre said.

Duo said nothing.

"Don't you know that?"

"He loves you, Quatre."

Quatre shook his head. "He was fascinated with me. He loves you."

Duo growled. "Then why did he desert me for you?"

"We didn't have sex, you know."

Duo shook his head. "I know that! It isn't the point. If he loved me, I would have been enough."

Quatre sighed. "Duo...Trowa has problems. He's scared to make decisions. He acts indifferent, but he's terrified that what he chooses will be wrong."

"Well," Duo muttered, "I suppose it was selfish to think he would feel any different about me."

"Duo!" Quatre looked almost angry. "You don't understand. He's had nothing but misery all his life."

"Well, I haven't exactly the most picturesque history myself, Quatre," Duo said, sneering. "Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that. The worst problems you had growing up were your sisters putting you in dresses, huh?"

Quatre stood up, furious. "Fuck you, Duo. You have no idea what you are talking about." He began to leave. "Screw it. Why should I care if you throw away your one chance at happiness? Go ahead. Do it. It's nothing to me." He was gone. Duo was alone. He stared down. He'd almost lost Trowa, today. Forever; he could have died. But who was it to say that Trowa had tried to kill himself because he'd angered Duo? Duo knew that wasn't it. Trowa had tried to suicide because Quatre didn't love him. It was plain as day. To him, anyway.

If he was so certain, though, why was he crying right now? Why did it hurt so much....why couldn't he let it go...get it through his head that it was over?

It's over. Time to walk away and start again. But for the first time in his life, he couldn't start again. He was empty, and suddenly he knew why; because he belonged to Trowa. He couldn't put himself together. He needed Trowa. Oh, god, he needed him, and Trowa didn't love him.

 

can you feel them, yes, touching hands before our eyes
and I can even see sweet Marianne

 

If I can make him see, Trowa thought. I can talk now. I can tell him that I love him; I can make him believe me. If only he would come!

But Duo wasn't coming. He waited and waited, there in the hospital, and Duo didn't come. It was getting late. Finally the door opened; he looked up, expectantly. But it wasn't Duo. It was Quatre.

The blond boy stared at him for a moment. "He hasn't been to see you?"

Trowa shook his head.

"I tried to talk to him. I...I'm sorry this happened, Trowa. I never intended it."

"It's not your fault. It's mine. Thank you for trying. What did he say...?"

Quatre walked over to the window and played with the shade. "I think...I think he believes you don't love him."

"But I do..." Trowa said softly.

Quatre nodded. "I know that but - he's hurt, you know?"

"How can I make him see?"

The other boy thought for a moment. "All right," he said. "Are you up to leaving here?"

Trowa nodded. If it meant getting Duo back, yes, he was.

"Then get dressed. We're going, now."

 

hey, yes, this again

 

The glass was full.

It was so deep he could drown in it, drown in the dark brown liquid. But then, that's what he wanted to do. He couldn't stop thinking about it, and he needed a distraction. Distract me, please, from thought of him. Those eyes, sleepy and warm and watching him from under a sheet, as the lay in bed in the early hours of the morning. Those hands - how he'd always liked them! They were firm and sturdy and capable, and he felt safe when they touched him. They made him shiver. Oh, god, how he missed those hands. A tear slid down his nose and he sniffled.

The glass was overflowing.

Oh, dear, whoops, look at that mess. He lifted the glass up and moved it to another spot on the table and began mopping up the spilled alcohol with his sleeve. It made the sleeve wet and unpleasantly cold and the stench covered him, wrapped him up, drove away the memories. Forget about it, the smell was saying to him. He took a drink, and smiled kind of crookedly.

"Duo?"

Oh, no, he was remembering again. Not a good thing to do. He tried to shut out that voice, but it was impossible. Trowa's smell came back to him, overpowering the stench of liquor. Hm, he'd loved that sweet, sugary boy. Loved to kiss him and lick him and nibble, here and there, just a little. Dizzy, it made him dizzy.

Hand on his shoulder. "Duo..."

Why did he keep hearing Trowa? He looked up, and there he was, his beautiful toast colored skin yellowed, the bags under his eyes shockingly apparent.

"You...you're in the hospital...?" Duo murmured.

Trowa said nothing.

Duo sat up, blinking. "You didn't die, did you? And come back to haunt me as a ghost or something?"

Trowa looked slightly startled and amused and shook his head.

"Oh." Duo peered at him and shrugged. "Why are you here then?"

"I..I need to talk to you."

Duo drank deep, trying to cover up the trembling positions his mouth kept performing.

"Going after Quatre was a mistake. I know that. You..you know I regret it, don't you?"

Duo shrugged again.

"I regret going after him, because I wasn't in my right mind at the time. I was confused. I regret that but I...I don't regret being with you. Never, Duo, I would never regret that."

Duo rubbed his face hard, trying to banish the tears that wanted to come. "Sure," he murmured. "Whatever you say."

"Duo!" Trowa put an arm around him - oh, it would be so nice to close his eyes and lean into him, wouldn't it? He couldn't let himself, though. "Duo, please listen to me. I love you, more than words can even express. I would die for you." There was a moment of strange silence. Duo thought to himself, he almost did. The thought about Trowa killing himself for Quatre burbled up again, but Trowa's eyes were pleading with him. They were saying exactly what his mouth was saying; there was no inconsistency. "I love you, and only you. I think of only you. My every movement is for you. My every breath. You are what I need to stay alive."

Duo shivered. Need.

"I need you," Trowa whispered. He was very close, and Duo thought he would faint from his proximity.

"I need you, too," he breathed, his voice coming out funny from his pent up tears and his drunkenness.

Trowa made a slight sobbing noise. "Oh, Duo..." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Duo's forehead, and Duo swayed into his arms, closing his eyes and drowning in Trowa as surely as he had been drowning in the alcohol. He needed Trowa, yes, like a junkie needs his fix. "I love you..."

Trowa kissed him, slowly, smiling a little as he pulled away. "You're drunk," he said in a soft, deep, amused voice.

"Well, so I am," Duo answered, as though surprised. He blinked. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"It's not right, to be drunk at a time like this..."

"It's okay. " Trowa kissed him again and laughed a little. "There's plenty of time to have Times Like This. We have all the time in the world."

Duo nodded. "Forever."

well, I think I could try this once again.