Afterimages

Afterimages
By Mieren

Author’s note: (I don’t usually put these here, but this time I think it’s necessary.)
Warning! This is very dark and disturbed, even by my standards. Contains graphic violence, rape and death. This is YAOI (if you don’t know, don’t ask, just run now). If you’re not comfortable with it, don’t read! I’m not responsible for any nightmares or bouts of nausea related to reading this. Suing me will only get you a headache. (I’m a student. I own nothing.) Any and all flames will be laughed at, printed and used to wipe my butt. So there.

* * *

The war was finally over. Years passed and found the pilots living on Earth. Quatre was busy running the Winner family business, which kept him constantly busy and with little to no spare time. He quickly lost track of most of the other pilots with the exception of Trowa, who had moved in with him as his lover. The other three pilots worked as Preventers with Zechs, Sally and Noin.

The moment the clock hit five, Duo was out the door and heading to his car, blatantly ignoring the stack of paperwork waiting for him tomorrow. Every day, the stack got a little deeper and a lot scarier, but he wasn’t particularly fond of paperwork and didn’t intend to spend his free time after work shuffling through mind numbing reports. Most of the office was accustomed to his early departure and ignored him, accepting the fact that an eighteen-year-old didn’t need to spend every free moment in the office. Even Zechs, workaholic that he was, openly admitted that it wasn’t healthy for someone that energetic to spend every waking moment indoors slaving over a stack of paperwork.

Hard onyx eyes watched him leave, disapproving of his negligent attitude towards work. Pushing up his reading glasses and irately pushing a loose lock of hair out of his face, Wufei stalked back to his office, just knowing that the American’s early departure would somehow result in more work for him. He passed Heero in the hall and was pleased to note the irritation on the perfect soldier’s face. When the Japanese boy returned to his apartment, he was certain to tell off his roommate for being lazy. Wufei barely dared to hope that if Heero continued to lecture the American, he just might think about taking work seriously.

Three hours later, Wufei left the office along with a few other stragglers. Heero stayed in his office, clearing out the excess paperwork and finishing the work on a few of the harder cases that no one else was willing to tackle alone. He didn’t even seem fazed by the complications with legal issues that came up with a few, finding a way around each before allowing himself to retire for the night. He didn’t vacate the office until a little after ten, setting the alarms around the offices and grunting hostilely at the new security guards that tried to talk to him on the way out. The older ones carefully avoided him, fully aware of his volatile temper.

The following day, Duo was actually an hour early for work, pushing through the doors between the janitors at seven in the morning. During the workday, no one commented on his messily braided hair or black eye. Duo caught some of the looks thrown in his direction and mumbled something about staying out drinking and getting into a fight. No one challenged his explanation or questioned how a trained terrorist would lose a fight, drunk or not. After all, he came in looking like he had taken a beating at least once a week. Following every fight, he came into work early, sometimes by up to two hours before he actually had to clock in.

He stayed late, too.

* * *

It was the weekend.

Knowing that Heero would be in the apartment working on his laptop, completing a few cases that he hadn’t gotten around to during the week, Duo decided to stay out, not really wanting to spend too much time around the Japanese teen. During the war, distracting the dark-haired boy had been something of a pastime. Now, it was just taunting death. During the war, Heero had been driven towards a single goal. And now it was gone. Without a focal point for his explosive nature, Heero lashed out at anyone who got in his way. Duo was still waiting patiently, convinced that his friend would calm down in time.

A flash of red caught his eye and Duo looked up, abandoning his musings about his best friend. From where he was lounging idly in the mall, he was attracting the attention of several young women in tight clothes. His eyes flickered to a platinum blond in a short red dress and a grin slowly spread across his cherubic face that time had done little to mature. Dressed in black, he looked thinner than he actually was, almost anorexic. His only saving grace was that he had grown in the last few years, finally achieving the height that he had feared would always evade his slight frame. Though considerably lanky for his age, he was just shy of six foot, which was taller than even Trowa was rumored to have grown.

Movement snapped him out of his thoughts a second time and he nearly kicked himself. Thinking of his past acquaintances when several girls were openly flirting with him. He put on a winning smile and winked at the girl in red, carefully watching her emerald eyes widen at being singled out of her friends. Nearly bouncing on her toes, she swayed up to him quickly before he could change his mind and latched onto his arm. He quickly introduced himself and offered to take her to a nice restaurant. When she agreed enthusiastically, he escorted her to his car, falling back into his thoughts.

At least now he had something to do for the weekend that would keep him away from the apartment.

* * *

Duo nearly stumbled face first into the doorframe, barely catching himself. In his drunken stupor, he had barely made it back to the apartment before passing out and he now wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed. He had been out the entire weekend with the platinum blond woman, spending most of their time at various parties and a rave. Now, it was four o’clock Monday morning.

Finally able to get into the apartment, having had a difficult time getting his plastered mind remember how to work the key in the lock, he promptly collapsed on the floor, mindless of the fact that he had to get up in a few hours to go to work. He glanced down the hall blearily before deciding that he couldn’t make it as far as his room. With one foot, he clumsily pushed the door shut, unable to get up to relock it. The world rolled violently and he passed out.

* * *

The first thing Duo noticed while fighting out of his drunken stupor was an unaccountable headache and a distinct difficulty breathing. After a few seconds, the pain in his head doubled, sending flashes of white light across his blurry vision. Groaning, he forced his eyes open, immediately snapping them shut again when his dazed mind registered a fist approaching his face. He tried to brace himself for the blow, gasping when it landed across his cheekbone. He would have collapsed had Heero not been holding him up by his shirt.

Realizing that the quivering form in his hands was awake, Heero doubled his assault, throwing Duo up against the wall and holding him there with a series of punches to his stomach and ribs. Knowing exactly what he had done to tick Heero off this time, Duo didn’t bother to do or say anything to defend himself. It would only make things worse. Heero would calm down a lot faster if he just held still and remained quiet.

Several minutes passed and Heero showed no signs of slowing down. Exhausted from lack of sleep, an impending hangover and withstanding a severe beating, Duo allowed himself to slide back into blissful unconsciousness. Eventually Heero would stop. There was no need for him to be awake for it. He knew that by passing out and missing work, it would probably irritate Heero further, but he wasn’t awake enough to care. The last thing that registered in Duo’s mind before blackness claimed him was the sharp echo of his skull hitting the hardwood floor.

* * *

The glare of the evening sun roused Duo from his stupor. He closed his eyes tightly when his first vision was of the apartment spinning around his prone form. For several minutes, he concentrated only on breathing around the pain in his lungs. Slowly, his head cleared, allowing his other senses to return sluggishly.

Duo swallowed weakly around a leathery tongue, ignoring the flavor of blood in his mouth. A quick swipe of his tongue around his mouth identified the source of the blood. Several of his teeth were loose and there was a deep gash on the inside of his cheek where he his teeth had cut into the flesh where he was hit. He was just thankful that Heero hadn’t knocked out any of his teeth this time. At least half of his teeth were replacements for the ones Heero had shattered.

Knowing he had to get up before Heero got home, Duo began shifting gingerly to make sure nothing was broken too badly. He knew immediately that at least half of his ribs were broken. One of his lungs didn’t expand properly and he wondered briefly if it had collapsed again. A few of his ribs had punctured through his skin, the blood from the wounds gluing his shirt to his chest. His eyes flickered downward as he slowly realized that his left hand didn’t move. Frowning, Duo shifted his right hand to close over his left, jerking outwards with a sharp snap of his arm to reset his wrist. He’d put it in a splint as soon as he got up.

Sighing weakly, Duo rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself shakily to his knees with his right hand. He had to bandage himself up and clean the blood off of the floor before Heero got back. Heero hated having to clean up the messes Duo created. He really didn’t want to upset him again needlessly.

As soon as Duo moved to stand, he regretted it. The movement caused his vision to black out, the pain in his head becoming unbearable. When the throbbing in his head lessened enough for his vision to clear, Duo was on the floor again. He squinted in vain before deciding that his vision wouldn’t clear. He knew how to recognize a concussion. Deciding it was unwise to stand up again and that he was probably unable to crawl one-handed, he began to drag himself to the bathroom. There was a medical kit under the sink.

He barely made it to the bathroom in time to throw up where he wouldn’t make a mess. Spitting to clear the taste from his mouth, he flushed the toilet, trying to ignore the sheer amount of blood that had been in his stomach. Even knowing that he didn’t have too much time before Heero got back from work, Duo had to take a moment to rest. The crawl across the small apartment had taken most of his energy.

A glance at the small clock in the bathroom revealed how late it was getting. The breaks he had taken to rest used up more time than he had thought they would. Knowing that it was in the best interest of his health, he decided to clean up the living area before tending to himself. As long as the apartment was clean and he was out of the way, Heero would probably leave him alone.

Duo dragged himself to the sink and pulled out the medical kit, setting it on the counter to get it out of the way of the cleaning supplies. It took him several minutes to gather what he needed and even longer to get back across the apartment to clean his blood off of the floor and walls. By the time he had gotten all traces of red from the room, he was exhausted. Only the knowledge that Heero would be home at any time gave him the strength to move himself back to the bathroom.

He had to reset his wrist a second time before splinting it. Moving around to clean had thrown the bones out of alignment again. Rather than splint it, which would be too difficult to do with only one working hand, he placed it in a brace intended for sprains. He frowned at the stillness of his fingers, knowing he wouldn’t regain use of that hand until the swelling in his wrist went down enough to alleviate the pinching of the nerves. With his left arm lying motionless across his lap, he began trying to set his ribs with his right hand. After a few minutes, he decided that his lung wasn’t collapsed, just badly bruised.

An inspection of his left side showed him that only two ribs had pierced the skin. Knowing that he couldn’t place any proper stitches with only one hand functional, he settled for dabbing the area clean of blood and placing a few butterfly band-aids across the holes. It wasn’t as good as stitches, but it would have to work.

The front door opened and closed almost silently, but Duo, having been waiting for the nearly inaudible noise, flinched slightly. Putting on a cheerful mask, he continued dabbing disinfectant on the last of his wounds before covering them. He was nearly done when the door to the bathroom was opened. A strong hand wrapped around his throat and lifted him into the air. Duo hung limply, trying his best to grin.

“Hi, Heero!” he rasped, barely able to form words past his abused throat. Heero didn’t set him down, so he continued. “You just caught me. I was about to go to bed and all. Have to get to bed early so I can get to work a bit earlier than usual. I need to get some overtime in this week to catch up on everything. Maybe if I get far enough ahead, Wu-chan will have a heart attack. The look on his face would be priceless, don’t you think?”

Even though his carefree chatter caused him extreme pain, he continued until he achieved the desired result. Heero grunted in reply and dropped him. He had gotten his point across to the silent pilot. He planned on covering the work he had missed by lying unconscious on the floor all day and was going to behave for at least the remainder of the week.

Duo fought back the urge to groan, knowing Heero would hear him. It wasn’t safe to sleep with a concussion and he was well aware of the fact, but now that he had told Heero he was going to bed, he didn’t have a choice. He would have liked something to eat, but he really didn’t want to face Heero again just yet. He quickly drank a few glasses of water to ease the pain in his stomach and swore to himself that he would eat a large breakfast.

Still unsteady, Duo managed to push himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the bathroom wall. The world spun wildly around him, but he refused to relinquish his tentative stance simply because his equilibrium demanded he do so. He didn’t want to be seen crawling.

Sighing silently, he began to work his way to his room, sagging pathetically against the wall with every unsteady step he took. After what seemed like an eternity, he was in his room. He barely remembered to set his alarm clock before collapsing on his bed, exhausted by his short walk. Sleep claimed him immediately.

* * *

Work was pure hell. Still stiff from his injuries and dizzy from a concussion, possibly a severe one for all he knew, Duo was having trouble focusing on what he was doing. Words blurred and twisted on the pages in front of him, evading his slightly glazed eyes and making it almost impossible to get anything done. Despite his best efforts, he was getting nowhere.

Even worse, his injuries were attracting a lot of unwanted attention. The bruising on his face and neck were worse this time than anyone at work had witnessed before and several of his coworkers were staring. He might have been able to deter them if he hadn’t been moving so gingerly in a desperate effort not to jar his ribs again. The bones ground on each other, making it difficult to keep the pain from his eyes and voice.

He hadn’t been at work for more than a few hours before Zechs managed to corner him in his office, closing the door behind them. For several seconds, the blond remained silent before his lips pulled downward in a small frown.

“Why are you here?” he asked simply.

“I work here,” Duo smirked, eyes glinting with a forced air of mischief. “Or at least that’s what I’ve told the payroll monkeys.”

“You know what I mean,” Zechs sighed. “You’re hurt.”

“Hey!” Duo protested, plastering on a wide grin. “What kind of a weakling do you take me for anyways? The great Shinigami can’t be crippled by a little scuffle! Besides, I missed yesterday already and I’m not some sort of deadbeat refusing to pull my own weight, you know! If I fall any further behind, the little vein that throbs in Wufei’s forehead when he gets ticked, which is just all the time, might just explode. Think of the mess that would make. The pressure behind that thing would blow out all of the windows on this floor, if not the entire building. I’m not cleaning that up!”

As always, Zechs simply waited out Duo’s rambling. When the braided pilot finally finished, probably having run out of breath, he arched one eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed by the inane chatter.

“Go home, Maxwell,” he ordered. “And stay there. I don’t want you back at work today, or tomorrow for that matter. Either go home or go to a doctor.” Seeing the defiance in the violet eyes, he continued, oblivious to the stark fear that was so carefully hidden behind the indignant glare. “That’s an order, Maxwell. Do it or I’ll fire you.”

Duo visibly flinched at the threat before nodding and rapidly gathering his things and scrambling out of the building. He didn’t even want to think about what Heero would do if he lost his job. The mere fact that he had been sent home instead in lieu working overtime worried him. He hadn’t been careful enough. Tears stung the corners of his eyes as he scrambled into his car. He hadn’t recovered from his last encounter yet and any additional injuries would likely be serious ones.

Not even thinking of the consequences of what would happen if something didn’t go right, Duo sprinted into the apartment. His fingers flew over numbers on the phone, tapping out a number that he had looked up long ago but had never had the nerve to call. The video screen on the wall flickered to life and Trowa’s stoic image appeared. Having expected Quatre, Duo faltered slightly before he started talking rapidly.

“I’m glad you’re there,” he said quickly. Before he could say anything else, Trowa cut him off.

“What is this about, Duo? I’ve told you years ago never to call us.”

“But…”

“No. Whatever it is you want, bother someone else. Quatre’s been hurt too many times by your behavior in the past and I’m not going to let you upset him again.”

“You should know me better than that!” Duo protested. “I may have teased you two about being together, but that’s all it was. Teasing! I like to do that. You remember all the pranks I pulled on Wufei and Heero. It’s just my nature to joke around. I don’t mean anything by it. I swear I don’t have a problem with the two of you being gay! Hell, you two could go at it with me in the room and I wouldn’t even care. You could even use me for a pillow! Well, maybe not that, but you know what I mean. How immature do you think I am?”

Trowa paused, emerald eyes glinting angrily as he considered the rapid explanation and veiled apology within Duo’s rambling. When he remained silent for nearly a minute, Duo decided to continue with his desperate plea.

“I just need a place to stay for a few days.”

Emerald eyes flashed with suspicion. “Stay in your apartment.”

“I can’t! Heero’s ticked. He’s going to hurt me, Trowa. Please. I just need somewhere to hide until he calms down a little.”

Seconds ticked by as Trowa’s expression grew darker. Finally, the silent brunette spoke into the deadly silence.

“You’ve only confirmed that you haven’t matured enough to be trustworthy. If you’ve done something bad enough to rile Heero, you’re on your own. I won’t have you upsetting Quatre again. Goodbye.”

The image on the screen went blank as Trowa abruptly severed the connection. Tears slipped from Duo’s eyes. He couldn’t ask anyone at work for fear that Heero would be able to find him immediately and he didn’t have anyone else to turn to. Trembling slightly, he decided to gather a few changes of clothes so he could leave. He’d hide in his car for a few days out in the middle of nowhere. Heero would be able to find him at a hotel.

The moment he turned around, he found himself staring into cold Prussian blue eyes. Duo’s blood ran cold. Heero had heard.

Duo held perfectly still, waiting for the inevitable. With everything that he had done wrong recently, he knew that he was going to be beaten unconscious again. Not only had he missed work yesterday, but he had been sent home today, missing both today’s work and overtime. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but Heero wasn’t at work either. He suspected that Zechs had sent Heero home as well in order to watch over him. Either that or Heero had followed him to make sure he didn’t try what he had just been caught doing. No matter how he looked at it, Heero was missing work because of him. Duo didn’t have to be told to know that talking to anyone about how he was constantly injured would endanger Heero’s job as a Preventer. That alone was inexcusable.

The first blow landed in Duo’s ribs, knocking him to the floor and stealing his breath. He gasped weakly, trying futilely to draw air into his tortured lungs. A foot connected with his side, the force behind it enough to lift him off of the ground as he flew five feet before landing on the hardwood floor, skidding another three feet before hitting a wall.

The blood both on the floor and flooding his mouth informed Duo that he was hurt seriously. His broken ribs had been thrown out of alignment and several were through his left lung. Blood ran freely from his mouth with every labored breath.

Trying to save his ribs from another kick, Duo swung his arm back to protect his already mangled side. Bones snapped in the impact, misaligning his already broken wrist and breaking his forearm. Even knowing that his arm would be broken beyond use if he continued to hold it in the way, he stubbornly kept his arm folded over his ribs.

He wasn’t kicked again. Heero pulled him to his feet by his braid and pushed him into the blood-splattered wall. Punches rained across his stomach and chest for several minutes before a single blow to the side of Duo’s jaw sent him spiraling into darkness.

* * *

Blood had dried across Duo’s face, gluing his eyelids firmly shut. Only his stubborn efforts allowed him to force his bleary eyes open. Duo groaned immediately, closing his eyes again when the fierce light and the spinning room met his disoriented gaze. He waited numbly for the nausea to pass before trying again, this time refusing to close his eyes against the bucking room. He allowed his eyes to roam, wondering blearily what day it was.

It had been fairly early on Tuesday when he had been sent home by Zechs and knocked senseless by Heero. There was no way to tell what time it was now without moving. He suspected that it was Wednesday, but without moving, he couldn’t be sure. Knowing that he couldn’t stay on the floor in a pool of his own blood, Duo decided to begin the well-practiced routine.

Duo allowed his eyes to slide almost shut to block out the light as he cautiously inventoried his numerous injuries. The first thing to register in his spinning mind was his concussion. The newest blow to his skull had aggravated the prior injury and he didn’t need to check to know that it was serious now. If he received another blow to the head anytime in the near future, it would be his last.

Pushing the morbid thought from his mind, Duo continued with his dazed observations. His eyebrows drew down in a frustrated scowl when he realized that his left lung had finally collapsed. He knew that he probably needed to go to a hospital but also knew that doing so would probably upset Heero again. Sighing weakly with his one working lung, he decided that he could drain the blood from his lung by himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he had done it. As long as the blood was surrounding his lung and not inside it, it would be simple enough.

Expression grim, he began surveying the rest of his wounds. Remembering the blow to his jaw, he gingerly ran his tongue around his mouth, spitting two stray teeth that had been knocked loose onto the floor. There were replacements already waiting at the dentist’s office. He had an entire set of teeth waiting for him at all points in time just in case they were needed. He’d talk to the surgeon again on the weekend.

Knowing that he had to clean up, Duo started to swivel his arms forward to push himself to a kneeling position. His right arm moved around immediately, but his left only shifted sluggishly. Once it was within his peripheral vision, Duo stared at it emptily, his mind foggily recognizing that it had an extra angle to it in the middle of his forearm. His eyes flickered towards his wrist and he sighed again when he saw his palm lying almost flat against his forearm. Duo pressed his eyes shut and sucked a breath through his blood-coated throat. He hated setting bones.

Remembering his attempts to move on Monday with a concussion, Duo wisely didn’t try to lift himself off of the floor, opting to use his right arm to drag himself sluggishly across the floor, inch by inch, to the bathroom. Once inside the tiny room, his eyes shifted automatically towards the clock to see how much time he had before Heero returned. It was only noon. Whether it was Wednesday or Thursday he didn’t know. As long as he had time to clean himself and the apartment up before Heero returned, he didn’t care. Judging by the fact that blood was still streaked across the floors and walls, he assumed it was still Wednesday, though. Heero wouldn’t leave such a mess across his apartment.

Gritting his teeth, Duo wrapped his right hand around his left and pulled outward with all of his strength, letting out small choked sounds as the bones in his forearm and wrist fell back into alignment. That done, he clumsily splinted his arm and let it lie lax at his side while he fumbled to set his ribs into a vague semblance of their proper positions. Panting heavily in pain, he pulled out a thick needle from the medical kit and ran his fingers across the poorly set bones, counting to himself as his fingers swept lower. Reaching the proper number, he slipped the needle between the two ribs to drain the blood from his lung. He began gasping fitfully as the pressure abated, returning the use of his left lung.

Duo prayed that his lung wouldn’t fill with blood a second time. He knew he couldn’t stay on the floor forever. He had to get up. Heero would return in a few hours and he had to finish cleaning both himself and the apartment up before the Japanese boy returned. Clenching his teeth with the knowledge of imminent agony, Duo slowly levered himself off of the floor, his breath hissing through clenched teeth as he struggled to maintain consciousness. Seconds passed by sluggishly while he forced himself to maintain his balance long enough to relieve himself. He knew that it was better to strain himself now than to make a mess. He would be punished if he made a mess.

He immediately collapsed once he was finished, unable to support his own weight any longer. Hissing in pain, he rolled onto his stomach, glancing around the bathroom before realizing that he didn’t have the strength to return to his own room. Heero would be angry if he didn’t return to his own room.

A hysterical giggle escaped his lips as he quivered against the tile floor. He was still bleeding. He was still making a mess on the bathroom floor. Even knowing that he would be unable to clean the mess he was making, he couldn’t muster the effort to stop himself from bleeding. He knew better, right? Barely conscious, Duo groped blindly at the cleaning supplies beneath the sink. The moment his hand closed on something solid, he made an unsuccessful attempt to move himself to clean the mess he had foolishly made. A sound that was somewhere between a frantic giggle and a gasp of fear escaped his mouth when he realized that he couldn’t regain his feet. In a moment of idiocy, he had allowed himself to splatter blood across the apartment. He was unable to clean the mess he had made. Heero would be angry.

Still chuckling at his own stupidity, Duo swiped his one working arm at the nearest swath of blood across the floor, vainly attempting to clean the mess he had made. At his reckless attempt to move, consciousness fled and he returned to the world of darkness.

* * *

Consciousness returned like a slap to the face. Opening his eyes, Duo corrected his original thought. Consciousness had returned like a boot to the ribs, knocking him out of the way so that his back was pressed to the wall. He groaned feebly and held very still, no longer having the strength to move or defend himself.

Fury was almost tangible in the silence. Duo could sense enraged cobalt eyes drilling into his back. Several minutes passed before either boy moved. Finally, Heero wrapped his hand in the front of Duo’s shirt, hefting him into the bathtub and turning on the shower. Snagging a few cleaning supplies, he stalked out of the bathroom, leaving Duo lying motionless under a stream of ice cold water.

For his part, Duo shivered miserably. He was too disoriented from his concussion to sit up to adjust the water temperature and too weak from blood loss to pull himself out of the tub. Trembling violently, he could only watch as bloody water streamed from his clothes and his visible skin slowly turned blue. He quickly lost the strength to shiver and grew still, his eyes fixed and unseeing.

Suddenly, mercifully, the water was turned off. Duo winced when several towels were dropped carelessly on his chest, the slight weight jarring his sensitive ribs. The pain shattered past the numbing chill that had settled into his skin, forcing him into awareness. By the time he forced his blurry eyes to open, Heero was gone.

Knowing he would be unable to get out of the tub, Duo settled on using one of the towels to clumsily dab himself off with his one working arm. He tried to ignore his still wet clothes. Wadding up the sopped towel, he stuck it behind his head, attempting to shield his ginger skull from the hard porcelain tub. He used the other two towels to cover himself with, hoping to keep in a little warmth.

Pain and blood loss took their toll. Within moments, Duo returned to blackness.

* * *

It was nothing short of a miracle that allowed Duo to regain consciousness the next morning. By all rights, his concussion should have killed him or rendered him comatose at the very least. As it was, he was shocked that hypothermia hadn’t claimed him during the night.

Realizing that he was still alive, Duo moaned pitifully, wondering what new injuries Heero would inflict on him today. He didn’t dare go to work in the state he was in, as Zechs would send him home immediately, but he didn’t dare attempt to convince Heero that he should stay home either.

“Damned if you do. Damned if you don’t,” Duo muttered to himself. He made his decision.

Grunting with the effort, Duo used his right arm to lever himself gingerly out of the bathtub and onto the tile floor. He landed awkwardly on his side, grinding his teeth to keep from crying out in pain. Using every swear word he knew, and making up a few as he went, he managed to regain his feet largely by virtue of hanging off the sink.

Still poorly coordinated, he turned on the tap, using the tepid water to rinse the blood from his swollen, discolored face. He glanced into the mirror to make sure he had gotten rid of all of the crimson streaks, wincing when he saw his reflection. It looked as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to his face.

Close enough, he thought drearily. He sighed forlornly. How am I going to hide this? Wufei won’t care and no one in the office will bother me for the most part, but Zechs isn’t going to overlook this. But I can’t stay here, either. Damn. I don’t have a choice, I guess.

Resuming his litany of curses, he stripped out of his sodden clothes and began the tedious process of cleaning his wounds. As he worked, he stubbornly refused to acknowledge how many scars he had incurred in the months he had shared an apartment with Heero. Many of the scars had vanished behind bruises from the last few days, hiding their true numbers.

Duo quickly splinted his left arm and bound his shattered ribs, knowing that Heero would wake up fairly soon. He hissed in pain as he once again drained the blood from his left lung. Chuckling grimly, he wondered how much more blood he could lose and still remain consciousness. Probably not much more. He was already very dizzy.

Still watching the small bathroom clock closely, he used the restroom for the first time since he had lost consciousness the previous day. He had just finished when he heard movement within the apartment. Heero was awake. In a few moments, he had to look presentable or risk getting beaten again. Flinching at the thought, he tentatively grasped a small washcloth in his good hand and soaked it in warm water, gently wiping himself down to remove the last traces of blood from his battered form. He turned sluggishly to face the form he knew was standing in the doorway, not slowing his efforts.

“Just getting ready for work,” he said lightly to the scowling figure watching him. “I’ll be done in a minute and you can have the bathroom.”

Heero grunted and folded his arms across his chest, a clear sign that he was getting impatient. Trying not to look worried, Duo finished washing himself off and snagged his clothes and the bloody towels that he had used the previous night. It was difficult to walk balancing a large load of laundry in his one working arm, depriving him of the ability to lean on the walls, but he didn’t dare complain. Heero silently moved out of his way as he shuffled weakly into the hall and towards the small washer they had in a small room near the kitchen.

Rid of his armload, Duo gratefully leaned on the walls as he hobbled back to his room to find something to wear. Having missed as much work as he had, Heero would expect him to leave earlier than normal, so he didn’t have too much time. Even worse, he wasn’t up to driving. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Heero that he needed a ride to work. Arriving in his room, he pulled on the first clean set of clothes he saw, grateful that the shirt had sleeves long and baggy enough to hide his splint. The more he could keep out of sight, the better.

Glancing at his reflection one last time before leaving the room, he winced, realizing he had forgotten something important. He had to braid his hair. Letting out a weak breath, he brushed his damp hair and fumbled to put it into a ponytail with one hand. He glanced at his crude work and grumbled to himself. This wasn’t the first time he had had difficulty working with his hair due to an arm injury, but he usually managed to get it into at least a messy braid. He hoped this wouldn’t draw attention he didn’t need.

Once finished, he moved slowly towards the kitchen. Even though he was too nauseous to keep anything down, he knew he was dehydrated. Fearing that anything he drank would make him ill, he settled on a few glasses of water. He knew it had no nutritional value but didn’t relish the idea of getting sick again.

Hearing a noise behind him, Duo turned as quickly as he was able to acknowledge Heero in the doorway to the kitchen. The Japanese teen appeared ready to leave. Duo attempted a grin, but the corners of his mouth only raised enough to form a weak grimace.

“I’m ready to leave whenever you are,” he said, inwardly cursing the raspy quality to his voice. When Heero’s eyes narrowed dangerously, he quickly elaborated. “I don’t think I should be driving just yet. I might… get in a wreck.”

Having delivered the news, he held perfectly still, waiting for Heero’s reaction. He was surprised when Heero simply grunted and left the kitchen. Duo nearly laughed in relief and joy. His patience was paying off. In his own withdrawn way, Heero had helped him clean up last night and now he was going to get a ride to work. His war-crazed friend was calming down.

Duo’s mind wandered from his injuries and the abuse he had endured for several months now. His best friend was recovering from his harsh training. Heero was finally achieving the peace of mind they all deserved after fighting for so long. A small smile worked its way onto his bruised and swollen face.

* * *

Duo didn’t realize how badly he was injured until he tried to climb the stairs to get to his office. Every movement sent fiery pain along his muscles, searing his abused nerves. Ignoring his agony, he trudged his way to his office, ignoring the strange looks his mangled appearance and shuffling steps were drawing from his coworkers. Wufei said something to him, but he wasn’t listening, too intent on getting to his office before he passed out.

Reaching his office without incident, Duo slumped against the wall, already exhausted. The small room seemed to spin around him and he swayed unsteadily. Cursing silently, he stumbled to his desk, looking forward to sitting down.

Despite the pain he was in, Duo didn’t regret coming to work. Heero was happy and would remain so as long as he remained hidden from Zechs. A pained smile etched itself on Duo’s face. All he had to do was hide in his office for the day. No one would know that he was hurt. No one would know he wasn’t working. The paperwork could wait. He was safe.

Finally able to relax, the injuries took their toll on both Duo’s mind and body. He slid from his chair to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Wufei scowled, furious. He had asked Duo a question twice as the braided teen shuffled across the room, but both times the brunette had failed to answer. Ready to chew him out for his irresponsible behavior, he stormed after the American. He hadn’t taken more than three steps before he stopped cold.

A dark liquid trail followed the path Duo had taken, smeared from his shoes and dripping from his clothes. Automatically, Wufei bent down to trail his fingers through the thick fluid, eyes widening slightly when his senses confirmed what his mind had refused to believe. It was blood. He blinked in shock, desperately trying to calculate how severely the slender brunette was injured to be bleeding so badly. His mind came to an immediate conclusion. Duo was bleeding to death.

Lurching upright, he moved as quickly as he could across the building without running. He didn’t want to attract attention if he was wrong or if this was one of the American’s stupid pranks. He seriously doubted the possibility. Not even Duo would do something like that. Guilt plagued him for being angry only moments ago. Abandoning dignity, he sprinted through the winding halls to where Duo’s office was hidden, shoving the door open without knocking.

For a moment, he thought that the braided boy wasn’t in his office. That thought vanished when he noticed the blood on the floor and desk. He didn’t hesitate before running around the desk. All thought and reason abandoned him when he saw Duo’s limp form on the floor, blood slowly pooling around him. He hesitantly placed one hand on his comrade’s pale cheek, wincing when it was cold to the touch.

“Duo?” he asked softly. Getting no response, he repeated himself, placing one hand on the black clad form to shake him gently.

He jerked his hand back as though burnt. The ribs under his fingers had yielded with no pressure at all. The handprint he had left in his friend’s side did not rise. Wufei stared at his blood-covered hand, nearly going into shock.

How could he have moved? Wufei thought, still staring at his crimsoned hand in horror. Nataku. He’s dying.

Shaking violently, he fumbled for his cell phone, swearing luridly when the number he dialed was busy. Fuming in rage, he sprinted from the room, intent on retrieving Sally before the unconscious American bled to death.

In a matter of minutes, he had traversed the length of the building, running up several flights of stairs in his haste. He couldn’t take the time to use the elevator. Reaching the clinic, he didn’t give Sally a chance to respond, opting to drag her physically from the room, several bags of medical supplies he had pilfered from her office hanging from his other arm.

Sally didn’t say a word as he towed her across the building at frantic speeds, explaining hastily as he pulled her behind him. She would have run on her own, but she was no match for the speed of a Gundam pilot. Being dragged was actually faster, so she had no objections, especially once she understood what had him so upset.

By the time the two reached the office only minutes after Wufei had left, Duo was gone without a trace. A building wide search ensued immediately for the injured teen. It took them nearly an hour to realize that Heero was gone as well.

* * *

Duo slipped in and out of consciousness. Flashes of the office and the road met his blurred gaze, nothing making sense to him. He saw another glimpse of the road. Then the dashboard of Heero’s car. Blackness. His eyes flickered open miserably to see Heero’s visage as he was lifted out of the car.

A weak grin flitted across Duo’s face. Heero was helping him. He choked on a cry of relief. His patience had finally paid off. His best friend had finally calmed from the madness of war. Even though it was painful to move, he reached up with one hand to place his fingers on Heero’s cheek, leaving streaks of blood where his fingers brushed the skin. The effort was short lived, his arm falling limp almost immediately.

Ignoring the effort it took, he struggled to remain awake while he was carried into their apartment. The door slid shut behind them with an ominous click.

Pain enveloped Duo. It took him several seconds to realize that he was being suspended by his neck while punches were being delivered to his abused ribs and abdomen. Blood splattered across the floor with each blow, the crimson streaking testament to the damage being inflicted.

At that moment, Duo realized two things. The first was that nothing had changed. Heero was still the violent soldier he had always been. The second was that he had made a deadly mistake. He had let the office know how badly he was injured.

Silently, Duo waited out the beating, slipping in and out of consciousness as his mind continued to lose the ability to handle the pain in sporadic intervals. After an indeterminate length of time, the pain stopped. He gasped miserably around his ruined lungs, unable to even summon the strength to flinch in pain when he was thrown to the floor. It was over. Heero would leave and he’d be left to recuperate and clean up the mess.

Movement caught the attention of his hazy mind and he forced his blackened eyes to focus on the image in front of him. Heero was kneeling in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face. Deft hands reached out, pulling off the blood-sopped clothing hanging from Duo’s too thin frame.

Realization struck. Icy tendrils worked down Duo’s back when he understood the full extent of what was happening. He suddenly found the strength to fight back, lurching pathetically from where he was sprawled on the hardwood floor. When he was pinned easily, he did the first thing that came naturally from his childhood on the streets of L2. He screamed.

Heero’s hand clamped around his face, raising his head a few inches from the floor before slamming it downwards to meet the hardwood floor with a sickening crunch. Light flashed through Duo’s vision, followed by the purest darkness. Consciousness fled as his body began to jerk to the rhythm of the form above him.

* * *

Wufei fidgeted, looking out the helicopter’s window. He had dragged Sally and several other doctors with him to the landing pad the moment he realized that Heero was no longer in the office. His instincts had told him where the two missing pilots were, and that knowledge worried him. He had wasted no time in hotwiring one of the Preventer helicopters and sending it screaming towards the apartment his friends shared. Friend, he corrected himself. If what he suspected was true, one of his former colleagues had officially made his hit list.

He glanced out the window again, face grim. No matter how his mind told him that he could cover the distance four times faster than Heero could in his car, he was worried. That still left Heero at the apartment fifteen minutes ahead of him. Assuming, of course, that the stoic pilot had returned there.

When he didn’t immediately see a landing spot, he set the helicopter down on one of the cars in the lot, completely crushing the vehicle. He was out of the helicopter and running towards the room while the doctors were still trying to right themselves after having been thrown around by the rough landing. Wufei’s mind kept screaming at him that he needed to hurry, and he wasn’t about to go against his instincts.

Nearing the proper door, he leapt into the air, crashing into the wood with his foot leading. The heavy wooden door splintered inwards, giving the Chinese pilot a clear view of the living room. Wufei felt his blood run cold.

Duo lay motionless in a pool of his own blood, his limbs hanging at strange angles, his throat and chest crushed and discolored. He was stripped from his normal black clothes, Heero looming above him, obviously halting his actions from the interruption of Wufei kicking in the door.

Feeling helpless, Wufei couldn’t stop his gaze from flickering over the American. Every inch of his skin was either covered in blood, discolored from bone deep bruises, or far too pale. His violet eyes, normally so guileless and carefree, were rolled back in his head, staring blankly at the far wall. Pain lanced through Wufei’s heart when he realized that the braided pilot wasn’t breathing.

Movement drew him from his shock. Heero had lurched for his gun, which was strapped to the belt he had discarded. Wufei’s gun was closer, still on his hip, but Heero was inhumanly fast. The twinned crack of dual gunfire was heard, echoing strangely loud in the room. For several seconds, the two Asiatic pilots stared at each other, cobalt eyes boring into black. Time stood still while the two impassive pilots glared death.

Finally, Wufei broke the silence, grunting as he staggered to the side, gun slipping from numbed fingers to clatter to the floor. His left hand rose jerkily to press against his right shoulder, staunching the violent flow of blood. He raised his ebony gaze to the Japanese pilot, waiting for the second shot to come.

To his surprise, the gun slipped from Heero’s grasp, landing heavily on the floor. Wufei smirked, realizing that his own shot hadn’t missed. Both of the pilots were crack shots, but the Chinese pilot had had an instant’s more time. Blood trickled down Heero’s face, testimony to the raven-haired pilot’s true aim.

Life fled from the Persian eyes. Heero slumped to the side, wavering unsteadily. No matter what his training, his body finally gave out. He collapsed to the floor, dead. Unwilling to take chances, Wufei snagged his gun off the floor and put three more bullets through the Japanese pilot’s skull, tears streaming down his tanned face.

The entire exchange had only taken a few seconds. In that time, Sally and her colleagues had caught up with the Chinese pilot. They found him on his knees, head down and arms folded tightly as he fought to keep from sobbing. His stubborn willpower overtook him the moment they entered the door. Still not raising his eyes, he pointed towards Duo’s limp form, silently commanding them to help the American pilot instead of him.

Sally rested her hand against his good shoulder for a mere instant before rushing to do as she was told.

Wufei remained motionless for over a minute, not daring to breathe. Cold rationale overtook him, forcing him to regain his feet and move out the broken door. Until told otherwise, he would believe that the braided pilot was alive. With that assumption, he knew that the helicopter needed to be started up again. Duo needed to be taken to a hospital and Wufei would not be the one to deny him that.

Trying to steady his nerves, Wufei started up the engines, watching silently as the doctors boarded the helicopter with Duo’s limp form carried between them. He lifted off immediately, pushing the engines to the fullest extent as he raced for the nearest hospital.

* * *

Duo had been in surgery for over thirty hours.

In the waiting room, three pilots waited in silence for some notice from the doctors. Quatre varied from fidgeting to pacing to harassing the nurses on the state of his friend. On occasion, he tried to cuddle up next to Trowa for comfort, but the expressionless pilot didn’t respond, seeming more interested in staring at his hands where they were curled in his lap. He refused to meet anyone’s gaze.

Wufei sat a little ways away from everyone else, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest as he stared into space, covered from head to foot in blood. Most of it was Duo’s. After landing the helicopter, he had personally carried Duo into the emergency room, not waiting for the slower doctors that were still scrambling out of the craft. He barely allowed a resident to wrap the bullet wound in his shoulder, insisting that he didn’t need medical treatment. Despite numerous efforts on the part of both Quatre and several of the nurses, he refused to leave to clean himself up, replying endlessly to the entreaties that he would not leave until he knew.

Zechs and Noin stayed in the waiting room with the pilots for a few minutes after being informed on what had happened. After that, they had been forced to vacate to keep the press at bay. Somehow, it had leaked that one Preventer had brutally beaten another to the brink of death and that he had been killed by a vengeful colleague. Despite the irritation of being the only two people to fight the vultures with their cameras, they found that it was better than thinking about what had happened. And anything was better than letting the press near the three waiting pilots. Zechs suspected that in the mood Wufei was in, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot one of the nosy reporters.

When the platinum blond saw Sally coming, he pulled a gun on the reporters and threatened to shoot them if they didn’t get out of the building immediately. Not surprisingly, they ignored him, believing the threat to be an empty one. Growling, he loosed four shots, clipping a few shoulders. Though the bullets only grazed the shocked reporters, the sight of blood seemed to get through to them and they left quickly.

Sally gave him a weary look, not bothering to comment on his methods. The two Preventers followed her into the room, the three pilots within meeting her almost before she could fully enter the room. She motioned them to sit, refusing to speak until all five had done so.

She had to pause to steel her nerves, worried about how the pilots would take the news. Zechs and Noin, she wasn’t as worried about. They hadn’t been Duo’s best friends.

“Duo’s alive,” she said simply. The tension in the room visibly faded with her words, but not completely. They could tell from her expression that something was still wrong. She paused for another few seconds, desperately trying to think of a way to say what she needed to. Trowa prompted her when the others seemed unable to speak.

“What aren’t you telling us?” he asked. Sally glanced at him, surprised by the guilt in his voice.

“He was clinically dead when we found him,” she said softly. “To be honest, I never thought we would be able to revive him. His injuries are like nothing I’ve ever seen… I could keep the list going for over an hour. All of his ribs were shattered, a lot of them were piercing his lungs and one was through his heart. His right shoulder was dislocated. His right arm was broken in four places and his left in eighteen. Both of his hips were dislocated. His legs were broken in more than a dozen places.” She paused, clenching her teeth as she fought with herself to get out the last part of it. “And the back of his skull was shattered.”

“He’ll recover, though, won’t he?” Quatre asked, looking up with teary eyes. When she hesitated, Zechs looked up, face stricken.

“Sally?”

“No,” Sally whispered. It nearly broke her heart when she saw that Quatre was openly crying. The stricken look on Wufei’s face didn’t help. “Not entirely. The blow to his head shattered his skull. There was considerable cerebral hemorrhaging. Several bone fragments had to be removed from the occipital lobes. There was no way to repair the damage.” She stopped again. Before continuing, she closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the looks on the other pilots’ faces. “If he comes out of the coma he’s currently in, he’ll be blind.”

Somehow, not seeing anything was worse than she had imagined. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the other five people in the room, instantly regretting it. Zechs and Noin both had a broken look that tore at her heart. Quatre was openly weeping. Trowa had curled in on himself, the guilt-ridden look on his face growing worse by the second. Even Wufei, who she had suspected had hated the American pilot, was staring at the floor, unbidden tears escaping his ebony eyes.

“Go home,” she said softly. “I’ll call you if… when he regains consciousness. I don’t expect him to for several weeks, at the very least.”

Wufei was the first to leave the room. When the others finally got over their shock to follow him, they found a trail of unconscious and battered reporters in his wake.

* * *

Three months passed. Although Duo’s injuries slowly healed, he showed no signs of waking. His hair, which the surgeons had been forced to cut off prior to the hasty brain surgery, was beginning to grow to a length where he would once again be able to catch it in a ponytail. The other pilots and numerous coworkers stopped to see him, but no one stayed long, uncomfortable with the sight of the pale teen on life support.

One of the machines began to beep persistently, drawing the attention of the hospital staff. Sally ran into the small room immediately, glancing at the equipment before hastily leaving. She grabbed the first phone she could find, dialing a number rapidly.

“He’s waking up.”

* * *

Once again, the Preventers found themselves missing a helicopter as Wufei decided it was the most expedient way to reach the hospital. He wasn’t surprised to see a second helicopter setting down recklessly on a nearby landing pad, the blond pilot launching himself out of the craft almost before it was fully on the ground. A tall, lanky brunette jumped out right behind him. Wufei was only a few steps behind them.

Only a few minutes had passed since Sally’s call. The three pilots arrived in the small room to find Duo very groggy and only partially awake. Several groans and curses were heard as the bedridden pilot tried to push himself to a sitting position. Most of his muscles had atrophied from lack of use. The effort of using his withered muscles for such a menial movement left him momentarily winded, his lungs weakened from his injuries.

Quatre moved forward hopefully. He placed one hand on Duo’s arm tentatively.

“Duo?”

At the gentle touch, Duo recoiled violently. He wrenched his arm away from the blond and lurched in the opposite direction, almost throwing himself off the other side of the narrow hospital bed. Wide violet eyes flickered aimlessly across the room, blindly seeking for the source of the voice. Quatre stepped back, desolate, tears streaming from his aquamarine eyes when he saw that Duo was shivering in fear, close to hyperventilating.

Unsure of what to do, Quatre moved away. After a few minutes, Duo calmed a little, though his eyes still flickered uselessly across the room. A slight shift in position drew his attention to his cropped hair hanging loosely around his jaw. Immediately, his hands moved to examine his braid. His left arm stopped well short of reaching the back of his neck, the decimated muscles hindering his movement, the shattered bones in his arm having destroyed the surrounding tissues. Undaunted, he wrapped his right hand around the loose ends, brow furrowing at the shortened length. He abandoned his hair only moments later in favor of inspecting his left arm, obviously trying to reason out why it no longer moved correctly.

Throughout the self-examination, Wufei remained silent and still, watching. Eventually, Duo’s hands moved towards his eyes, fingers brushing against the open lids before experimentally moving a few inches in front of his sightless violet eyes. Unable to watch any longer, Wufei spoke up.

“Maxwell…”

Anything further he might have said died in his throat when Duo flattened himself against the headboard of the tiny bed, trying to move away from the source of the noise. His eyes were locked in Wufei’s direction. The violet orbs slowly flickered to either side of the Chinese pilot, futilely trying to pinpoint the source of the voice. Unable to see who was in the room, he spoke tentatively.

“Heero?” he asked. Wufei scowled, furious that the first words from the violet-eyed teen had been an inquiry about his attacker.

“He’s not here,” Wufei answered stiffly. His anger immediately deflated when Duo visibly relaxed. He silently reprimanded himself for being upset with the terrified brunette. The American had only been trying to calm his nerves.

“Trowa?” Duo asked, still shivering against the headboard.

“I’m here,” Trowa responded quickly.

The transformation was immediate. Duo’s expression shifted from terror to pure rage. Before anyone could react, he launched himself out of bed towards the European pilot. An earsplitting crack echoed through the room as Duo proved that even in his miserable condition he had a mean right hook. The force of the blow knocked both Trowa and Duo off their feet.

“I asked you for help!” Duo yelled. He shrunk in on himself, curling into a trembling knot on the floor. Tears slipped from his vacant amethyst eyes, his voice dropping to a miserable whimper. “I begged you.”

Wufei nearly exploded. Visibly seething, he rounded on Trowa, ready to beat the brunette pilot into oblivion if what he had just heard proved to be true. Quatre simply stared at his lover in hurt disbelief. Neither had a chance to say anything. Sally and three surgeons sprinted into the room, hastily responding to the silence of the monitoring equipment Duo had unintentionally unhooked when he had lunged across the room. Cold fury swept across the doctor’s face when she saw the American on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she snapped, rushing to Duo’s side. Her eyes flickered over his shivering form, trying to find any injuries. When the other three pilots stood watching her, stunned, she turned on them in her frustration. “Get out! All of you! Out!”

Wufei physically dragged Trowa from the room, intent on beating an answer out of him if necessary. Still in shock at the revelation that his lover had known what was happening, Quatre followed them silently out of the room. His final glance back to the room allowed him a glimpse of Duo struggling with the doctors, desperate to escape.

Unable to get the panic-stricken teen back into the hospital bed, Sally finally left the room, returning quickly with a hypodermic needle full of a potent sedative. As much as she hated to drug the American, his breathing was growing ragged and he was beginning to sweat profusely. Worried that he would do damage to his recovering lungs or heart, she quickly injected the tranquilizer. The exhausted pilot quickly collapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *