7-22-2001

Title: Too much coffee, revised
Author; Sunday
Parts: 1/?
E-mail: all_in_leather@yahoo.com
Notes: yadda, yadda, blablabla. I decided to make “TmC” even more fucked up then it was before. Joy. Anyway, this is just a bunch of random babble which I happened to have scrawled onto paper. There is something wrong with Duo…wow…I mean, THAT is a first in my writing. la sigh, oh well. Anyway, usual things apply, I do not own GW, or anything to do with it, I do on the other hand own the story, don’t take it (although I would have no clue why you would want to do that.)

As for the lurking…*shrug* …I hardly have time to get to my puter anymore. I am on the verge of giving everything up. Currently I’m finishing off the stuff on my hard-drive, working on SeaO and a couple more fics, as well as some left over pictures. After that…who knows? Maybe I’ll off, and start writing * gasp * ORIGINAL works… egad! As always, I have to thank LIZ!!!! * super glomp* she listens to me * breaks out crying *.

Jaden: remember boys and girls, blood and gore are good things, as long as it is not your own that are painting the town red.

 

 

Too Much Coffee (revised)
Sunday.

 

I know of a place where there are so many dead that the ground bleeds red into the clear tears of rivers. There is rust that pours off of the deformed bodies of the sky-scrapers like sweat, and mingles with the acid of the puddles.

I know of the people that live within the shadows of those bodies, and drink the few pure tears that seep from the artificial sky.

They raise their adoring hands to it when the sky blesses them with its grief.

They bring the misery to their parched lips, drinking it long and hard and deep.

It seeps into their bones and absorbs itself into their blood.

They bleed, red like the sweat of the metallic mammoths beneath which they cower each damned day. Their blood spilt into the dark puddles, past the trash and the ruined faces of the streets.

I know this place well.

* * *

The cold air had long since ceased its moans against the panes of glass. The frosted windows cooling the surroundings, sipping the illusion of warmth away from the room, like one would suck the sweet nectar of a saccharine fruit.

Not that it mattered. They were far beyond caring, staring silently at the pale figure that sat in the middle of the room, his long hair having long since fallen from his braid, cascading in nonsensical patterns upon the cold concrete floor. Softly the waves of chestnut washed against the cool air, whispering of things that were warm and right, and, at the same time, screaming of all the wrongs.

Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty more wrongs.

Eventually jaded violet eyes turned to the few that were watching, sparkling like jovial jewels set within the marble of his face. Duo Maxwell was fine. The distress call was obviously a mechanical glitch, much like Quatre had suspected. The blond breathed a sigh of relief, and relaxed, or seemed to. Inside his muscles were taut and ready, anticipating action from the otherwise silent and still boy upon the floor. For all his innocence, even he had known his share of pain. Quatre winced, thinking of the agony that he had felt just moments before. Hours after the first distress signal had come. He shuddered once more, cursing his sixth sense, even in all the tranquility of the scene, he could still feel the wrongness coiling within the pit of his stomach.

“Duo, what are you doing on the floor?” The boy looked up in answer, a smile readily stretching against his white teeth, the pale lips cracking under the unnaturalness of that motion. Clumsy, Awkward, so unlike the refined masks that they all dawned.

Quatre smiled sweetly in response. It was all mostly fake anyway.

“Duo? You realize that sending a distress call, without cause, merits punishment.”

It was not a question, rather the sweet voice swelled within the frigid air, bearing news of pain, to those that defied the golden boy’s will.

Duo simply stared back, the smile stretching more. His lips seeming ignorant to the blood that was pooling upon their cracked surface. His eyes were wild as they gazed almost reverently upon Quatre, like those of a starved man, staring at his last meal. Nevertheless, that gaze hardly spoke of carnal desires.

“Duo.” Quatre was getting agitated, weariness was putting a rough edge to his voice, he unconsciously sought the comfort of the other boy at the door, Heero, in turn, edged away. He stared at the spectacle that was Duo Maxwell.

And Duo smiled. His face like that of a china doll and his luminous eyes flat.

Softly, the only sound the rustle of cloth, Duo stood, and quietly walked over to Quatre. Sweetly he hugged the smaller boy, and brushed past them. His hips swayed in the most innocent of ways, if such things are innocent, as he descended down the hall, and hid himself within one of the rooms.

“Well, that was a load of crap.” Quatre sighed and stalked out of the room. “Heero, go find the glitch.” Heero ‘hn’ed in response, never taking his eyes from the hallway in which Duo disappeared.

The blond looked up at the other boy, before sighing.

“Well isn’t this dandy, stuck in a house with the lunatic and the mute. Perfect. I might as well have stayed back with Trowa. At least I don’t have to worry about HIM sleepwalking and killing me. Damned sociopath…” his voice faded to nothingness as he walked from the room, and too disappeared behind a bend of the halls. The stone walls swallowing his noise.

Heero stood where he was left for a moment, before, like an automat, heading towards the hangers, and the distress call.

It had sounded mere hours before, and he and Quatre were the closest to the safe house. This was not the first time the damned thing had malfunctioned, his own Gundam had once called upon aid. Not that he had needed it. Nevertheless, the coming of the other pilots had been beneficial in the long run. Heero dismissed these thoughts, focusing instead upon the small computer bleeping at Deathscythes foot. It appeared that Duo had been working on updates within the machine, before giving up.

To sit alone in a room.

Heero fought off a shiver that threatened to surface, tickling his spine, and kissing down his neck. He could almost feel the beat of the other boy’s heart. He could still feel the cold radiating from the walls. Even he found the surroundings less then adequate. There was something about the house that seemed off, and Duo appeared to sympathize with it. Not that it mattered, each of the pilots had one nuisance or other, and their comrades had learned to leave each to their own devices. They only needed to work as a team, not become a family. The thought did not sadden him, although he had to admit, his curiosity had been getting the better of him. He had already found as much as he could about the other pilots, in fact, only Trowa and Duo were left for him to find information on. The fact that Trowa was as much a mystery to himself, as he was to Heero, was one thing that reassured him that he knew more about the other boy then most. For instance, he was familiar with the fact that Trowa Baraton, in his actuality, was dead. The man that had taken his place, has no name, no age, no past, and most likely, no future.

Then there was Duo Maxwell, whom not even G knew about. The boy had appeared one day, and disappeared the next. He had come into training half dead, and had left upon the missions half death. His mental abilities were astounding although not developed to their full capacities, his physical body, although average, had come to G with such physical abilities, that the man had wondered upon the boys life. Not that he had asked any questions. It was all very simple, Duo Maxwell tended to space out, he could be moody, but the boy was the most dangerous man alive.

Heero quickly bypassed the security measured within the computers systems.

Well, Duo Maxwell was one of the most dangerous men alive. Seconds later the logs for the help signals were listed before him. Swiftly he scrolled through them, searching for one that would have explained the malfunction, nevertheless, he was amazed to find that no such signal was sent. Nor did their Gundams receive any such plea. The fact that the logs had not recorded this was worrisome, suggesting that the mechanics of the computers were worse then he had previously imagined.

“Heero…would you check on Duo?”

Heero spun around, staring at the blond. The boy had entered without him noticing. Not that he should have been surprised, he, like all of them, was well versed in the art of the silent. The loud always died first.

“Why didn’t you check on him. I’m busy.”

“Because he is creeping me out, Heero. You have the emotional attributed of a brick wall…you go console him. I’m sick of being everyone’s punching bag. I just want to sleep, and the idea that a psycho killer is sharing a wall with me, not to mention that he can pick any lock in this place, is less then courage arousing.

“Aa. There was no help message sent. The depth of the problem may be greater then any of us imagined. I suggest a full system scan.”

“Oh give me a break.” Quatre quickly wrenched the laptop from Heero’s grasp, plopping himself and the computer on the ground. His fingers flew over the keyboard in search of glitches..

“PMS?” Heero intoned, wry amusement evident even within the seeming monotony of his voice.

“Ha. Ha. Yuy. I just really hate this place. I hate Duo, at the moment, and I REALLY hate this computer. Will you just go talk some sense into Maxwell…oh Allah!, now Wufei has me doing it. Just go talk to Duo. Before I go psychotic, and decide to pain the town red.” Heero remained wisely quiet. Giving one sharp nod of acknowledgement, before disappearing into the shadows.

Quatre did not even turn when he left, his eyes fixed on the screen, staring at the numbers scrolling over the small laptop. He was feeling bitter, he knew this, he hated it. The war was taking its toll on all of them, and he had at least hoped that Duo would hold through. Allah, all he asked for was one constant, that Duo Maxwell would continue wearing that asshole mask of his, and be happy and carefree, while he was rotting away inside. Was that too much to ask? To have one idiot clown keep it together for him? just for a few more months, or at least until he died. Quatre sighed. He could feel the emotions rolling off of Duo in waves. He did not try to sort them, as they felt foreign. Old. Painful. They felt like infections so deep beneath the skin that no surgery would ever remove them, the tumors of turmoil spreading within the body, lodging themselves within the very marrow of Maxwell’s bones. He gave an involuntary shudder. He hated this feeling. Heero’s emotions, even Trowa’s were easier to read then Duo’s. The two felt, although muted…which was just fine for him, because he could care less about what they thought of one of his plans, or Relena’s arrive, although it was funny that Wufei was even more repulsed by the blond woman then Heero himself. Duo, had a nice shield, one that rivaled his own…if not surpassed it many fold. Emotions upon emotions were stuck together, forming a patchwork, a quilt, around his baser emotions, the smiling, laughing, and jovial personality no more real than the patched face of a mask. The shields fortified by emotions, held together on the inside by pain so great that he had not even tried to pry through it. Or at least, would never dare. After all, he was well aware of the fact that Duo Maxwell was an unstable sociopath, in the best conditions. He had no intention to sign his own death certificate just yet.

Heero let his eyes linger upon the room in which they had found Duo, he shivered lightly, before entering it. His body tense and his breath caught with what felt suspiciously like anticipation. Something in this place was calling to him, whispering to him in the walls, and stirring something within himself that he never knew that he possessed. Lightly he leaned against the wall, before allowing himself to slide down. It was about then that he noticed the coffee cup. The white porcelain dish had fallen into the dust that had accumulated in one of the corners. Half hidden from view by some yellowing newspaper, the porcelain itself would never have merit attention if it was not for the fact that it was brand new, and was one which he recognized to be specifically Duo’s. The shattered white was stark against the yellowing paper, and the off white walls. He frowned to himself, before pulling himself heavily to his feet, and stalking towards it.

“leave it be Heero. I broke it.” Duo’s voice rang through the room hollow, and Heero became aware of a pair of very warm hands resting on his back. He did not realize he had been cold, and on the onset of that warmth he shivered. Lightly he turned to face Duo, feeling the hands slide across his back his arms, and finally his chest, as he turned.

“Duo.” He could not comprehend his need to say the name, nor did he feel the desire to justify the shiver that ran down his spine on the feel of the name on his tongue. There was something exotically wrong with the other boy, something as off as the room and house, something that Heero felt immensely attracted to. He had always been turned on by the weirdoes, he mused. Duo smiled in response, his face inching closer to Heero’s, briefly it seemed that they were going to kiss, nevertheless, Duo quickly shifted his head, so that his chin rested upon Heero’s shoulder.

“I did not send a signal.”

“I know.”

“I need help though.”

Heero pulled away, staring into the violet of the other boy’s irises. There was something off about the entire thing, lightly Heero turned on his heel and left the room, stepping into one of the few remaining bedrooms, that he had designated his own upon arrival, and closed the door.

HE could still feel the singing in his blood, and now he was certain that all the wrong did not belong to the house, a majority was resident within the long haired boy. With this he fell into a fitful sleep, broken by the voices of the house, and the chorus of the wind.

“I said I needed help.”

Heero was jolted awake, staring upward at Duo, the boy was looming over him. His hands rested on both sides of Heero’s head, his legs straddling Heero’s hips. It was still dark, and the darkness served only to illuminate the lack of light within the hollows of the boy’s eyes and his cheeks. Lightly, Duo pressed the rest of his body down onto Heero, pressing his weight firmly into the body beneath his own.

“Duo. Get off me.” Duo smiled, before shifting his head so that his lips were brushing against the sensitive skin of Heero’s neck.

“Why?”

“because you are laying on top of me.”

“So I am.” Lightly he slid his hips up and then down, rubbing them against the other boy’s. Heero closed his eyes, and sighed, reveling in the feelings that stirred somewhere in the back of his mind. There, as always, was an incessant rhythm, chaotic, and forever out of chorus with that of his heart. He pushed the other boy off of him, perhaps with more force then he should have. Reveling in the feeling of the uncomfortable feelings fading, and bathing within the bliss of his indifference.

“We are leaving.”

Duo grinned, his eyes shadowed by his bangs. He sat up from where he was sprawled across the foot of the bed. “When?”

“Now. Wake up Quatre.”

 

* * *

Soooo….psycho enough for everyone?
Quatre dark enough?
Should this degrade further?
Should I kill Relena in this one?
How about any of the other G-boys?
Yup, maybe running this one like a ‘let the audience choose their own adventure’ would work better.
Sooo….who should die? Expolode? Paint using someone else’s innerds?
Any takers?