By: Spooks
~ ~ ~ ~
02 sat amongst the scattered undergrowth and loose dirt of the forest floor. Remaining completely still, the man's face never wavered from its blank mask of indifference, but inside 02 felt as though he were literally coming apart. His hard-earned control was slipping; his emotions were starting to resurface. It was all because of the time stream and its regressive influence on a traveler's mind. Of course, that had to be it...
The loss of discipline was not his fault. Definitely not. Inconceivable.
The scientist reasserted his strength of mind and pushed all those pathetic and distracting emotions aside.
Standing up, the man brushed the dirt from his clothing and schooled an expression of cold determination onto his face. 02 strode back to the small camp silently, slipping from the foliage in one sudden movement. Trowa blinked in surprise, but did not betray any other reaction at the scientist's sudden appearance.
"Better?" The young soldier asked quietly.
02 crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes. I will watch 01 now. You must rest."
Trowa considered for a moment, then nodded. "I suppose that if you were going to kill me you would have done so by now."
"Of course," 02 replied, no hint of mirth evident in his voice or expression.
"May I ask you something?" Trowa ventured as focused on unfolding a sleeping pallet.
02 raised a single eyebrow and said nothing. He waited for the young pilot to continue. It would be futile not to allow him a few questions, he'd ask whether 02 liked it or not.
"What is 01's name?"
"Oh, that's right," 02 replied, his voice cutting but casual. He did not approve of the boy's curiosity. "You've never had the opportunity to meet with him in person. You and 05 had left New Edwards before that Po woman broke into the com channels and flagrantly announced his alias. 01's code name is Heero Yuy. We did not research is birth name."
"How could you prepare for this entire mission of yours and not find out his real name?" Trowa asked. He didn't look up from his preparations, but his shoulders tensed slightly.
"It was irrelevant," 02 shrugged.
The young pilot looked up and just stared at the scientist for a moment before lying down and rolling onto his side, deliberately putting his back to 02. It was either a subtle show of trust, or it was a way to prepare a weapon out of 02's line of sight. A person as intelligent as Trowa would not make a potentially risky gesture like that without motive.
02 didn't care either way, though. Let the boy think what he wanted to think and do what he wanted to do. It did not matter to the scientist. Only one thing did.
The man sat down at 01's side and stared down at the sleeping soldier.
It wasn't long before Trowa's breathing had evened out, a sign that he had fallen asleep. 02 felt himself relax slightly, an involuntary reaction he immediately scolded himself for having. Steeling his mind and body into full readiness again, the scientist carefully monitored 01's breathing patterns and unconscious movements down to the tiniest of muscle twitches. The painkillers were obviously working; 01 rest was undisturbed. With clinical objectiveness 02 noted the smooth taut muscles peeking out from between the swath of bandages circling the boy's chest.
Sixteen days left. Compared to ten years, it was nothing. 02 clenched his fists.
~ ~ ~ ~
Three days passed with no change in 01's condition. The boy-soldier would seem to wake for brief and incoherent moments then pass out again almost immediately.
Trowa was becoming restless. The need to keep traveling stirred his dormant mercenary blood. 02 agreed with the boy's rationalization; the proximity to the battleground was too close for the scientist's comfort. Transporting 01 to a more sanitary environment would also help insure the boy's survival. These things in mind, the two collaborated and made the decision to move. The next day the pilot and the scientist prepared their patient and the supplies for the trip to the nearest safe house Trowa had been able to locate.
A night in transit was beneficial for all parties involved. While the former mercenary was content to be traveling to more secure territory, 02 was satisfied that the change in location would be favorable to the recovery of the injured 01. In the back of his mind 02 also realized that the longer 01 took to heal, the less likely 02 would be confronted with a delirious and confused little soldier wondering why the scientist looked so much like the Duo 01 knew. If 02 had not been so well disciplined, he would have grimaced at the thought of confronting a conscious 01.
That was something that 02 dreaded from the start of his jaunt through time, one of the reasons he and his comrades had been searching for a traveler to carry out this mission. The demons that 02 had buried so long ago were threatening to dig their way out of their condemned graves. The reemergence of his past was not a happy prospect in the least, and therefore 02 tried to remain indifferent to the existence of that possibility.
Two weeks ago he would have never had those distracting thoughts. At that point, he would have attempted to blame their influence strictly on the detrimental affects rendered on his consciousness from his skip backwards in time. However, he was finding it harder to keep himself convinced that the trip back was the only reason for his decay of control. He speculated that he was allowing himself to be influenced, that the loss of discipline was entirely his fault. He did not fully understand why this would be the case, but he found himself spending less time worrying about it as time marched forward. 02 knew he was deteriorating, but he was beginning not to care. ...And that in and of itself alarmed him more than any of his weak reactions combined.
Despite these heavy thoughts, 02 would not allow himself to cut his existence shorter than the predetermined duration. 01 might need him.
Arriving in the early morning dawn at the designated safe house, 02 pulled himself from his introspection and turned his attention to the wounded soldier lying prostrate on the seat beside him. For the duration of the drive 02 had been forced to sit crammed against the cold metal door of the truck. 01 was stretched out lengthwise on the seat between 02 and Trowa. Only 01's short stature made it possible for the seating arrangement to be feasible. As it was, the petite soldier's feet were propped in Trowa's lap as the pilot drove. Much to 02's relief, it had not been necessary for him to hold 01's head in his lap. The scientist honestly did not think he could have handled that measure of closeness to another person.
Wordlessly 02 and Trowa setup the safe house and secured the area, leaving 01 relatively protected in the locked cabin of the truck. Only when everything was prepared did they move 01 into the house and onto a small hard bed. That done, the two retreated to different areas of the small building, each deciding to deal with their own needs and take care of their own business. Hours alone together in the truck had been tedious and uncomfortable for them both.
With less than two weeks left of his existence, 02 let himself fall asleep. For the past few days, ever since he had come into actual contact with Trowa and 01, 02 had not allowed himself any measure of prolonged rest. His body was used to such treatment from years of scientific work, but that did not mean that the man particularly enjoyed being exhausted and sleep-deprived.
However, his current physical depletion and the trust he now reluctantly harbored for the young version of his dead comrade demanded that he rest now that the opportunity presented itself. His patient was safe. He had no substantial motivation to stay awake. 02 was left with no excuses.
Even as 02 felt the darkness take him, he knew that he'd relive the death of Maxwell. He always experienced the memories in his dreams when his mind was this debilitated. His crumbling control needed a break, and without his consent it would flee, leaving him utterly vulnerable to the unmitigated horror of his past.
And it did.
~ ~ ~ ~
Everything was happening all over again. 02 was not present, and Duo Maxwell was still in charge.
It was dark.
He was running.
Duo's boot heels clicked as he hustled along, turning around frequently to spray the passageway behind him with bullets. Laughing, the young thief shouted taunts at his pursuers, desperate stabs at feigned arrogance surfacing and protecting him from panicked fear, allowing his mind to calculate the best route back to his waiting Deathscythe.
Instinct.
Outside now, cool air hitting a flushed but grinning face, Duo was at the foot of the dark Gundam, turning and tossing a grenade even as he was drawn swiftly upwards by the machine's drop line. Cackling and jeering at the soldiers that had tortured the other pilot, Duo leapt into the cockpit and kept shooting as the door descended.
Then the vengeful law of averages decided to finally hook him. A single bullet managed to sneak through the closing hatch, ricocheting off the Gundanium casing and piercing his thin body. A choked cry, searing pain, and time began to take on a strange quality.
Disbelief and horror took its panicked toll, stealing precious seconds that could have saved the boy's sanity. Duo coughed, spraying pink-tinged spittle all over his chin, down his chest, staining the front of his clothing.
He tried to self-destruct, but failed. He stared at the triggering mechanism for a moment, watching it fall from his suddenly limp hand...
He fell into black unconsciousness.
Suddenly a blinding light invaded the darkness, and Duo woke up, his eyes sore, his face swollen and trespassing into the edges of his vision. The dream had skipped past the days of starvation, sleep deprivation, and cruel beatings. What lay in store for the wise but still naïve little pilot was infinitely more disturbing than those ordinary tortures.
During the very worst parts of his agony the boy had verbally provoked the soldiers, tossing out the most jagged insults he knew, daring them to make him crack, or even to just kill him. He laughed at them as they bashed his face with their feet, their fists, their belts. He didn't even break down when they sliced away his long rope of hair, taking a chunk of bloody scalp along with the braid.
Duo had smiled merrily with his busted lips as he compared the Oz soldiers to his fellow pilots, calling those grown men cowards for beating a little colony brat, telling them in a variety of ways how pathetic they were and how boring their abuse was. He laughed loudly and told them how many mobile suits he had personally destroyed, how many of their comrades he had killed.
He called them fools. He called them sheep. He called them everything he could think of. Everything.
He was to regret those words.
Duo's hands and feet were numb; circulation all but cut off by the crude wire they had wound tightly over his fingers, toes, hands, feet, and torso. Ordinary cuffs wouldn't hold him, and no knot would remained tied more than five minutes in reach of his crafty fingers, so they had wired his hands together behinds his back and bound his bare feet to the legs of his steel chair, which was in turn bolted to the floor.
The room was cold, and the boy shivered slightly, his tattered clothing no protection against the insidious chill. His eyes wouldn't focus properly; the offensive light obscured his vision with ugly splotches as his tormentors dragged something into the freezing room and dumped it on the floor a few feet in front of him. Suddenly a foul stench invaded Duo's nose. He blanched but squinted harder than ever to see what the soldiers had in store for him.
"Well, let's see how creative you think this is, little ‘Shinigami,’" a guttural voice jeered, the hot breath of the nameless soldier on the back his neck. Duo leaned forward against the wires wrapped around his chest, feeling the cord cut into his skin. He didn't wince.
"Yes, you claim to be the God of Death, we will see how you much you enjoy meeting one of your subjects. You mentioned that you took our noble soldiers to hell, let's see you consort with one of your so-called high and mighty fellow Gundam pilots!" A venomously cultured voice sliced through the air.
"What?" Duo finally managed to croak out, his voice raspy and thick. He hadn't spoken yet that day...at least he didn't think so. He wasn't sure. Time was doing strange things. His bullet wound was infected. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The water they poured down his throat was dirty and had made him ill. The boy was barely holding onto consciousness; the only thing holding Duo together were the drugs they pumped into him. They made him hallucinate, but they kept him alive.
A harsh hand with blunt fingernails buried itself in the open wound at the top of Duo's neck causing the boy to gasp as hot blood trickled down his cold back in fresh red trails. The soldier laughed and hauled Duo's head up, forcing his face towards the lump of something they had dragged into the room, the thing that smelled. After a few moments the young pilot's eyes finally managed to focus. He nearly threw up. The men's taunts faded into the background as Duo stared in horror.
Lying in a lump on the floor was the slightly puffy corpse of the boy known as Heero Yuy. Shock and revulsion welled up in Duo's mind as he stared at the bloated shell of the boy he had been friends with, had laughed with, had almost loved only a short while ago.
Somewhere in the early to middle stages of decomposition, the skin was marbled and starting to distend slightly, making the corpse's fingernails longer even as his dead skin tried to hold up under the pressure of the bacterial methane swelling the body. The milky eyes were wide open, the small muscles of the corpse's eyelids bunched and contracted, staring sightlessly up at the terrified pilot. The naked belly was tinted a greenish color and rounded with gases. In particular the once strong and chiseled face was swelled out of proportion, dark fluid seeping out of the broken nose and from the mangled mouth.
The cadaver had been mutilated, beaten and broken, completely desecrated. It was strange seeing the tensed muscles and shattered bones, the lumpy and bloated butchered face not bruised from the obvious post mortem abuse. Other wounds peppering the corpse's skin, ones that were obviously inflicted from the explosion of Wing. These were decaying faster than the surrounding flesh, a trait of asymmetric decomposition.
In particular there was a gaping hole in the center of the dead boy's chest, and when one of the soldiers kicked the limp corpse forward, a large gash of matching torn flesh on the back made the cause of the boy's death obvious. He had been speared through by a piece of his beloved Gundam. Duo hoped it had been a quick death as he continued to stare, completely unable to tear his gaze away from the body of the other boy. One of the once strong arms had been broken badly, white bone poking out of muscle that could no longer bleed, exposed marrow barely contrasting with the discolored skin.
Intense grief and injustice flooded Duo's mind, but he could not make his eyes turn from what had once housed the soul of the soldier that had become his best friend.
Then horror beyond comprehension filled the boy's mind. He slowly registered what the first soldier had said. Consorting...and meeting with a subject? He was Shinigami. That could only mean...
Oh God. No. Surely not. No, no, NO! They couldn't mean...
They did. They did. No.
no. no. no.
Hard hands worked the wire off of Duo's now shaking body and harsh laughs echoed in the cold space. The slender boy was yanked out of the chair and down to the ground, thrown almost on top of the dead thing despite Duo's weak attempts to scuttle away. One of his hands brushed against the cadaver as Duo scrambled and fought the brutal men. Pure, icy terror shot through the boy's system at the bare touch.
A tortured and broken cry erupted from his throat as he was lifted and carried. They threw him against the back of the chair, bending him at the waist and binding him down so that his face was forced down below his chest, pressed into the chair's seat, his hips cutting painfully into the cold steel of the chair back. His arms were pulled forward and down below his head, his hands tied to the front legs of the chair even as his feet were lashed to the back legs. A moment later and his pants were roughly ripped away, and a shudder of pure fear tore into him as the ugly reality of his situation really hit him. Bent forward over the back of the chair, his arms and legs encased in cutting wire, he started struggling like a caged animal. He closed his eyes.
Duo Maxwell started to cry.
"Maybe we shouldn't..." The first soldier sounded doubtful.
"If you are such a coward that you would back down from administering punishment to a mass murderer, then you might as well leave the service completely," the smooth and educated voice clipped harshly, cold tones cutting through the frigid air.
"He's just a kid," the other man replied quietly. "Look at him, he can't be more than sixteen."
"That kid shot twelve men and assisted in the annihilation of hundreds," the refined voice retorted. "Are you a man of action, or are you a man of empty words?"
"I...As long as I don't have to actually do it," the rough soldier answered, defeat coloring his voice. There was more speaking, but Duo barely heard what was said, his whole mind focusing on praying that someone, anyone, would stop these men. The cultured soldier started to laugh, telling him how they had prepared the body just for the boy.
Duo buried his face in his shoulder as he heard the torrent of words end, all hope dying within his soul as he heard soft shuffling and a few mumbled curses.
No one was coming to save him.
A sudden rush of putrid air filled the room and then there was a cool, spongy weight on his nearly bare back.
Then it began.
Sobbing and whimpering under the cold thrusts, his numbed fingers curled ineffectually against the steel frame of the chair. Duo felt himself retreat, his vision shrinking down to a pinprick of light reflecting off the wires that bound his hands. After a few minutes his mind went totally blank, horror and absolute shame overtaking and destroying him.
An eternity passed in an hour.
When it was over, the world was only warm trickling blood down the backs of his thighs, numb fingers, and hot tears.
He ceased to be.
~ ~ ~ ~
02 opened his eyes and forced himself to breathe normally. He took a quick survey of his physical state and berated himself immediately. He had been sweating profusely, and from the crumpled state of his bedclothes, he had moved during the duration of his sleep. Unacceptable. 02 had relived that memory a thousand times over, and never had he let it affect his necessary rest. Anger flooded his mind as he sat up, and his hands grasped at the slightly damp sheets.
A soft knock on the thin bedroom door made 02's head snap up. Instantly he pulled his hair back into its short ponytail, stood up, and in one smooth motion opened the door even as he pulled a gun. Trowa looked impassively at the weapon.
"Yes?" 02 asked, forcing his voice into a clipped monotone as he tucked the handgun away.
"As I am sure you know, my cover is working at a traveling circus," the young pilot stated. "I must go back in order to keep this cover secure. I will make arrangements so that we may bring Yuy there to finish his recovery."
The scientist considered for a moment. This should have been expected, but 02 had not planned for the possibility that Trowa would leave. If 01 should awaken, 02 would have no choice but to be there and assist the boy. To be so close again...02 was unsure if he could maintain the proper mindset to aid the recovering soldier, especially at the rate his mind was deteriorating.
"Is this troupe of yours trustworthy?" 02 asked, stalling his decision.
"Yes, and because we travel constantly I am able to escape suspicion. It is the best way to keep Yuy safe and to keep you out of the way until your mission ends. I will be back in a week or less," Trowa answered firmly. 02 couldn't help but remember 03's determined voice.
"Fine. Will it be safe to stay here in the meantime, and are there enough supplies?" 02 responded, his mind falling into the comfortable rhythms of planning. By the time the boy came back and they traveled to meet the circus, it was probable that 02 would not exist or be very close to the end. The preparations Trowa was going to make would be absolutely necessary. There was no way around it; 02 was left with no choice. The decision had been made by fate.
"Yes," the pilot nodded. "I will leave now."
Without preamble, Trowa turned and left. In a moment he was gone, and 02 was left to contemplate the possible outcomes of the boy's unexpected absence. None were good.
02 went to check on his patient.
~ ~ ~ ~
During the first day that 02 was alone in the house with 01, the scientist did not venture into the soldier's room unless he was checking on the boy's status. The images from the dream were still fresh in 02's mind, and although he was loath to admit it, he was gravely affected by the negative emotions stirred by the vision. For years he had repressed the memory, reluctantly reliving it and forcibly pushing it away, only voluntarily tapping into it for the necessary information needed on 01's cause of death, or, more often, for motivation.
There were times in his past when 02 had wanted to simply let himself die, but the possibility that he could stop the horrific events from happening to his young self kept his rancor fresh. He could not take proper revenge on the men that had defiled him and desecrated 01, but he could completely destroy them before they had the chance to carry out such an action. This purpose, more than anything, was what had truly driven 02 through those long years of study with his numbered comrades. He suspected they all had their personal reasons. The good of the world sounded wonderful in theory, but personal motivation is always necessary. It was to be expected, even if the men would have never readily admitted it. Personal vengeance was not a clean motive, but vengeance for the entire world was, even if the former was more inspiring than the latter. Such is human nature.
The second day, after 02 had managed to sleep uninterrupted for five hours during the night, the man found himself inexplicably drawn to 01's bedside. Images of livor mortis-stained skin were slowly replaced by the smoothly tanned, if somewhat bruised, complexion of the living boy. Dark hair that splayed thinly on the stale white pillowcase contrasted and pushed away memories of the shedding and slipping scalp of the corpse. Involuntary finger movements and the slow rise and fall of the bandaged chest were studied with the most tedious attention to detail. There was no gaping wound on this 01.
02 found himself absently reaching forward on several occasions, his slightly shaking hands almost touching the unconscious soldier. More than once when he caught himself doing this, he jerked his arm back as though the boy was suddenly made of red-hot iron. Flashes of memory would assault him, and he would have to force himself not to be sick. Eventually, though, 02 let his trembling fingers quest over the thick white bandages on the boy's arm, trailing down and tentatively touching the unmarred back of 01's thin hand. It was warm and slightly rough, and sometimes the little muscles would twitch under 02's light contact. The scientist felt mildly intoxicated every time he let himself touch that warm hand. The boy was alive.
Surrendering himself to the sensation, 02 reflected suddenly that he was allowing these new emotions to influence his actions. Pondering this, the scientist decided that since this was a positive feeling, then it could be considered a reward for his hard work and sacrifice. The man knew he was falling away from his control, but the longer he stared at the breathing little boy in front of him, the less he cared. What had happened could not be repeated. That timeline was erased. Success was a wonderful thing, but 02 knew that there was something else driving him, there always had been.
Deep down, 02 had always known that he still cared for 01. The revelation would have shocked him a week ago and would have been the cause for hours of self-admonition, but now he was getting used to such degeneration of control. He even had a sneaking suspicion that he was enjoying his retreat from the self-restraint that had held him for so long. He remembered the words of Duo, that there could be balance between feelings and control. 02 wasn't sure if he could handle himself without the strict hold on his emotions, but if they were going to be at the forefront of his mind, then he would be forced to deal with them. It was the only logical choice.
And so the second day passed and turned into the second night. With his new lack of control, 02 felt his mind begin to wander. He even allowed himself to hum absently, an involuntary action that he hadn't indulged in for several years. He took longer than necessary in consuming his small evening meal, and with an odd sense of wonder he realized that he was actively tasting the food, savoring its limited flavor. He could not remember that last time he had enjoyed eating.
Later, after he had watched 01, the man took a lengthy shower, pausing to let the warm spray massage his back until the hot water supply had been depleted. Finally, before 02 lay down on the hard little bed he had been using, he paused to fluff his pillow.
That night he had terrible nightmares, but when he woke up the next morning, they all vanished from his mind as soon as he swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Immediately he went about his business preparing for the day ahead, his mind racing in lethargic circles as he brought his minimal breakfast into 01's room. As 02 ate, he watched with fascination as the boy's chest rose and fell with each slowly drawn breath. Before he had sat down, 02 had opened the curtains slightly. Golden colored sunlight now streamed into the little room, the warm glow illuminating the highlights in the soldier's hair even through the dust and dirt that still clung to the dark strands.
02 put his empty plate aside. Slowly he stood up and leaned forward, bringing his face within a few inches of the unconscious soldier. Tentatively the man took a deep breath, filling his nostrils with the smell of blood, Gundanium, bandages, and body odor.
The scent of life.
02 sat back in his chair. He felt another measure of his iron control slip. He let his memories return slowly, easing up into his mind and echoing in his ears. He knew he would have to justify the recollection of the tormentors' words with the present situation. It was the only way Duo Maxwell, that long dead child, would rest in peace. The boy 02 had once been deserved that much, even if the scientist would only have a short time to live with the outcome. As time slowly started to tick away, 02 felt an urgency he hadn't known since before he had been forced into existence.
He let his mind recollect the cultured voice of his nightmares. How ironic it was, 02 suddenly realized, that it was the educated soldier that had been the most barbaric. The man had outlined and detailed for the sobbing and vulnerable Duo just how brutally they had beaten 01's dead body.
The refined tone had spoke in eloquence about how the Oz lab technicians had refused to transport 01's body after they had taken their tissue samples, expecting the soldiers to bury the body on the base. He had spoken in great length about how they had kicked at the corpse when rigor mortis had set in, how he had personally snapped the dead boy's arm bone. The polished voice had turned malicious as he had talked about the way the skin had marbleized with the settling of the dead blood in the body as the rigor mortis gradually left the corpse. The educated soldier had known all the textbook names for every stage of decay the body had gone through.
He spoke of how they had eventually stowed the cadaver in an empty refrigerator to stop the maggots from feasting at the corpse's open wounds. The cold storage had killed the crawling scavengers. The refined voice laughed smoothly when he finished his story, telling little crying Duo that they had taken the body out a few hours before, just so it wouldn't be too cold.
02 corrected each horrible word with evidence of the living and breathing boy in front of him. Every snide clinical comment echoing in his head was answered with his own clipped retort. Now he was the educated one.
That cultured soldier had been burned alive in his barracks a few days ago. He would never get the chance to decay. He was ash.
01 had not died. 01 was alive.
He was right there, warm and healing only a few feet away.
All the justification, all the changes 02 had made were fresh in his mind, but he felt a hard, painful lump grow in the back of his throat. He could not escape his memories, even if they would never be reality. He had fixed it, but he could not fix himself. With a start, 02 realized that his cheeks were wet.
02 was crying.
02 had never cried.
Duo had.
02 could not stop himself; he surrendered to the pain and let it exit his tired body in thin, choked sobs. He broke down and released the last of his control, his hands coming up to cover his steaming face even as his head bowed and his back hunched. Tendrils of shoulder length hair escaped his ponytail as he hugged one knee to his chest and let the pain rock its way out of his body. An infinitely simple expression of sorrow, the weeping cleansed the man.
Suddenly a small noise broke through his expulsion of grief. Looking up with wavering eyes, he was shocked to see 01's eyelids fluttering. 02 felt a gasp of surprise leave his mouth and he quickly wiped away the wetness from his face. He composed his expression and leaned forward, eagerness and fear teetering together on the edge of his mind.
A moment later clear, deep, and very aware blue eyes focused on the scientist.
"Duo?"
~ ~ ~ ~