Disclaimer: The G-boys and Gundam Wing don’t belong to me, duh. I’m sure everyone is already aware, but it has to be said anyway.
Warnings: Angst, attempted suicide, horrible language and some major violence are present in this fic. If you can’t deal with that kind of thing, don’t read this. You won’t like it.
Pairings: none
AN: This is dark and at times unpleasant. Don’t hate me because it’s not the happy-go-lucky I normally write. Even I need a change from time to time. As always, let me know what you think!
FIGHTING THE DARKNESS
His world was dark and full of pain – his past and present pushed at him, preventing him from seeing a future that could be better. Though he stared and stared, there was nothing left for him to see. Giving himself one last chance to prove he was worth redemption, he stretched his arm fully, dialing the numbers with pain-staking precision.
Even before an answer came, he knew what he would hear. Eyes closed sadly as a recorded message began to play. “You have reached the home of Quatre Raberba Winner,” said the cheerful female voice, likely one of the blonde’s sisters. “If this concerns a business matter, please call Winner Enterprises during business hours. If this is a personal matter, leave a message and Mr. Winner will return your call as soon as possible. Have a wonderful day.”
Looking past his own reflection in the grungy window, tired eyes focused on the grey day that seemed to stalk him everywhere. Wonderful day? Not likely. At the expected beep, he spoke slowly, “Hello, Quatre. I just wanted…never mind. I guess it’s not that important,” he altered his message with a sigh. Not bothering to say farewell, he disconnected the call and dialed again with the same care he had used before.
“One down, two to go,” he mumbled as the next call connected.
“This is Chang. Leave a message.” Like Wufei, the message was short and to the point, as always.
Not seeing the point of leaving a message this time, he hung up and dialed again, the last call he would bother to make. Already resigned to the fate he had chosen, he merely sighed when the recorded voice played, “If you call, leave a message.”
The simplicity of the statement begged to be met by another simple statement. “I called. I’m leaving a message. Good-bye.”
Replacing the phone, his hand hesitated seemingly on its own. There was one other he could call, one other that might be willing to talk to him. The laugh that fell from his dry lips was without any mirth. They had never been friends – not during or after the war. There was no reason to risk the chance of another day of torment.
Leaving the phone where it was, he reached past it to one of the knives he had kept from the war. Though three years had passed since he had used it to defend himself, he had always kept it razor sharp, possibly knowing he would use it again one day.
Holding the knife loosely in his left hand, he opened the vein on his right arm, quickly repeating the act on his opposite arm before he lost the feeling in his hand. Task complete, he let the knife fall to the scarred wood floor and leaned back in the chair, hands hanging at either side of his body, silently apologizing for the mess someone was going to have to clean up before the apartment could be rented out again.
Feeling lethargic as his blood drained onto the floor, Duo Maxwell closed his eyes and smiled sadly, hoping for the peace he had long dreamed of.
Shooting up to a sitting position in the bed, Trowa tried to control the shudders that racked his body. Eventually slowing the convulsions, he glanced at the clock. Four-thirty two in the morning. Since he was supposed to get up in an hour, and there was no way he was going back to sleep with the horrible images still in his mind from the nightmare, he got out of bed and climbed into the shower.
As he stood in the spray he tried to push the disturbing nightmare away, telling himself it had been caused by over work and lack of sleep. There was no way Duo would…
A niggling seed of worry implanted in his brain and remained there as he made his way to work. Silently, he endured the seemingly endless morning meeting, recalling each aspect of the nightmare over and over again. If it had felt like a dream he could have ignored it, but everything had felt so real it was impossible to dismiss.
Depression had emitted from Duo in palpable waves, the once-vivid violet eyes edged with a soul-searing weariness that had paled them. The shoulders once held with rigid pride during the war had been slumped with defeat. The knife, honed with lethal perfection, had glinted in the dull light as it had pulled over pale skin, bringing blood to the surface almost instantly.
When the meeting finally ended, he couldn’t have repeated what had been said if his life had depended on it. Wordlessly he made his way to the office he shared with Heero and Wufei, not intending to speak of the horrible vision that had disturbed his sleep. Seeing them already seated, he surprised himself by asking, “Have either of you talked to Duo lately?”
Lifting dark eyebrows, Heero gave him an amused look, “Not lately. He’s left a few messages, but I haven’t called him back yet.”
“He’s called me as well. I haven’t had time to call,” Wufei added as he searched on the internet for a piece of artwork he wanted – a routine in the morning before he began working.
“I see your time is being spent in much better ways,” Trowa commented sardonically as he took his own seat, reaching for his phone. In minutes he had a very sleepy Quatre on the other line. “Have you spoken to Duo recently?”
“What? Duo?” There was a yawn before the blonde spoke again. “I got home late last night. Let me check my call log.” Trowa kept his feet flat on the floor to squelch the need to fidget. “It seems he called a few times while I was away, but didn’t leave a message of any importance. As a matter of fact, the last time he called he said never mind, so I guess he didn’t need to talk to me, after all.”
Without waiting to hear more, Trowa hung up the phone. It had to be coincidence Duo had said those specific words in his nightmare, right? Nothing else made sense. “How long has it been since either of you talked to him?”
Exchanging confused glances with Heero, Wufei gave a shrug, “I suppose about six months since I spoke to him. He seemed fine.”
Heero didn’t gesture, “The same. If he doesn’t understand we are busy that is not our fault. He works with Hilde and can set his own hours.”
“If Duo’s been complaining…”
“He hasn’t. I haven’t talked to him.” The minor worry was growing into full-blown concern.
“If you haven’t talked to him why are you asking all these questions?” demanded Wufei, eyes already back on the computer screen, proving how ridiculous he felt the conversation was.
Assuming they would laugh at him if he spoke of the nightmare, Trowa rose from his chair and left the room, wishing Duo had made that one last phone call.
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