Title: For Heero, Forever Ago
Author: Taw
Pairing: 1=2
Written: Wednesday, April 07, 2010
Spoilers: No. Is there any point in even stating that? Probably not. But hey, what the hell.
Warnings: depressing themes, mild violence

A/N: I don't know where I'm going with this, only that I was listening to Bon Iver's album Blood Bank and wanted to write a fic that corresponded to it. So, taking it from there I decided that if I was going to write a fic for Blood Bank I would have to write a fic for For Emma, Forever Ago too and that the latter should come first. Of course, when I originally set out to do this I didn't at all suspect that listening to Bon Iver's album about love and philosophy in winter would take my mind to such emotional places.

This is kind of short. Oh well. I could have written more but I decided this was good enough for this chapter. When you're using songs for inspiration there is only so much you can write.

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Chapter 2 - Lump Sum

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I'm so tired. I want for him more than what I'd want for myself; to have a home and peace: of mind and body. I hold his braid in my hand sometimes. When we're on the couch watching the news, when we're in bed and he's asleep, when he's sitting and reading a book. I feel the weight of it in my hand and study the curvature and knots and remember what he looked like that morning when he wove the three sections together. He works his fingers through his hair with as much skill and respect as he works them through me. The first time I did this it was our first night together. He pulled away and said, What? What?

I looked at him and didn't know what to say. Eventually, I said, I just wanted to see. Now its become so habitual that Duo doesn't even seem to notice when I run my finger down his braid or through the tail end. I kind of like that. I see other couples who can reach across empty space and touch each other's hands or faces without flinching or pulling away or questioning their motives and I think, Duo and I have that. Not with much, but this is enough.

As I lie with him for the first time in a month, my muscles aching from pulling against tight restraints, I like to think that maybe I've progressed. Maybe I need this less than I did a year ago, or four years ago. Honestly, we are stagnating. I am hovering in space moving neither forward nor backward and Duo is...Duo is falling further behind with his drinking. Sometimes I feel as if I'm losing him and other times, when he's drunk and on his hands and knees begging me to take him from behind I feel closer to him than I ever have because I understand his pain and suffering more than I understand his happiness. I'm so scared.

Trowa says he's scared, too. He hasn't seen or spoken to Quatre in six months. No one knows except me. Trowa says Quatre wants him to say it. Trowa wants to say it but every time he seeks the words he comes up empty, gasping for air. He looked at me with eyes so full of love and fear I felt uncomfortable and he said, Can you say it, Heero?

And I said, I can. I choose not to.

Trowa didn't understand. He asked, But doesn't Duo ever want to hear it? I thought about this for a moment and recalled all the times Duo had told me he loves me. Eventually, what I came up with was: I could tell him I love him a thousand times and it would amount to less than showing him once.

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I am in the grocery store, looking at avocadoes. I can't remember if I should buy the ones that are soft and mushy or the ones that are firm. They are all small, no bigger than the size of my hand and I feel that they are worth less than the amount of money they're going for. As I scale the basket of purple and green fruits I see one that is different than the others. Tucked in the back, out of sight from prying eyes it lies in wait. I pluck it up and notice its size: bigger. I notice its shape: kind of lumpy. I put it in my basket and move on.

My arms ache as I drive, a side effect from having them bound so tightly for so long. I do not let it stop me, however. I turn on talk radio and pretend I don't feel it. Today they were talking about the war. It has become something of a taboo these days, no one talks about it in depth. I turn the radio up and try to focus on the miles of country spread before me.

I don't understand how those kids could possibly live in normal society, the man says. Sure, they have government aid and all, but I do feel sorry for them.

Feel sorry for them? the second man questions. They're the most famous kids alive! They're heroes! They're probably living in the lap of luxury out of sight from the rest of the Earth and colonies.

I suppose that's true, Mick. Hey, you were there during the war weren't you?

Yeah, I was. Says Mick. I pull over to the curb. Nasty business, that. Saw some terrible things. I remember talking to my buddy one day, we were starin' at each other face to face you know? Then I hear this pop and whiz right by my ear and his face explodes. Blood all over me. I came that close to being shot in the back o'the head.

Who did it, do you remember?

Nah, it was one of them kids. I don't hold no grudge, though, you know what I'm sayin'. They knew what was up, more than me anyway, and I had forty years on them. It just goes to show that when you think you know how the world works there will always be something unexpected to shove your ass back in line. In my case, it was a teenager. Some world.

I turn the radio off and grasp the steering wheel so hard my arms flare up. I keep my eyes focused on that road, stretching out into the distance for miles. History has the strangest way of catching up to you. You can never outrun it. With wild determination, I slam my foot on the gas until the car roars with life and then--

--adrenaline.

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Duo is holding my avacado under the kitchen light, studying it with a careful eye. I do not understand why he is so fascinated with it. It's just a fruit. A fairly odd shaped fruit, but not everything is perfect.

"I ain't never seen an avacado like this before," he tells me. "Doesn't it look like Wufei to you?"

"What," I say. Duo is smiling dangerously now.

"It looks like Wufei! It does! You don't think so? I do. I think I'm going to take a picture of it and send it to him."

I roll my eyes and leave the room.

In five minutes, Duo follows me into our bedroom. I'm lying on my back, making patterns on the ceiling with my eyes. He takes his place next to me and I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, tracing the hard lines of my forehead. With a long finger, he reaches out and gently strokes the corner of my eyebrow.

"Do you remember the faces of the people you shot?" I ask him after a moment of silence.

He thinks for a moment and then, "No. Do you?"

"No." I inhale and he exhales. My breath catches in my chest. "Do you think that's bad?"

"I think it's probably normal. If we remembered every face we'd never stop seeing them."

Duo rolls over on top of me and traps my body between his strong arms. His face is warm and comforting and I think, he's right. The only face I want to see is his. He kisses me and I feel human, a fifteen year old murderer, a nineteen year old man. The only thing I wish for is that his lips would have the power to make forget. But I know I'll never forget. Those faces may be lost to me but the knowledge of their existence are printed in the history books of my life. My past. We share it. I hold his hand tight and pray, for the first time in my life, that he'll never let go.

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TBC
[last]

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