Author: Karen, The Huntress
Rating: R
Warning: Songfic, Duo's POV, angst, language, weirdness
Pairing: 1x2
Feedback: Always appreciated
Archive: DHML
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters.
BLUE
Duo's POV:
The previously abandoned waterfront warehouse is not empty now.
Of course I'd prefer to engage in a firefight with a squad of pissed-off Ozzies dead set on riddlin' my body with bullets from the relative security of Deathscythe's cockpit.
Yeah, I'd much rather be wielding a Beam Scythe and dispensing death like the Grim Reaper instead of navigating through this rat maze of crumbling concrete, splintered glass and rusted machinery.
But I ain't to blame for this fuckin' fiasco.
Arrogant Lieutenant Austin, with just enough Academy training to be put in charge yet not enough common sense to comprehend his humungous incompetence, issued the disastrous orders.
As I brace my shoulder on a partially buckled retaining wall, sulfur tainted smoke is so thick I'm homing in on abstract shapes rather than solid targets.
Got to be vigilant since Heero, along with a dozen renegade guerrillas, are also trying real damn hard not to end up a corpse 'cause it's a sure bet the OZ bastards aren't taking any prisoners.
Flames in odd hues of iridescent blue sputter as if they've lapped up most of the air. Suddenly the sizzle escalates into a steady hiss milliseconds before a whoosh of superheated air hurls shrapnel that reels me backwards and plops me squarely on my ass.
Sprawled on the filthy floor with the cold steel of a spent pistol gripped in cramped fingers, I mop over my grimy, sweat damp face etched with several bloody gashes that sting from the salty moisture's intrusion.
While keen cracks of gunfire accent the battle; while voices roar in anger or wail in pain, I come to an obvious conclusion-I got four choices-suffocate, succumb to the blistering heat, get my freakin' head blown off or find a way out of this world gone mad.
Once I'm outside, where I can clear my head and get my bearings, I'll contact Heero via our COM link then we can, to quote Quatre's scholarly terminology, "amend our stratagem".
A silhouette backwashed by a perpetual orange glow slinks less than a meter from my tenuous sanctuary. In the flickering firelight I'm offered only impressions as to an identity.
A few steps further I catch a glimpse of the OZ insignia embossed on a dingy uniform and the stark contours of a standard issue assault rifle. Palming the useless pistol, I growl a curse-laden oath to the angels or demons or whatever deities conspire to determine if living or dying will be my fate.
With a stalking tiger's predatory grace I move to intercept my foe. Like an ethereal phantom of death I materialize soundlessly from the shadows to exact righteous retribution.
In one fluid motion the pistol smashes the trooper's chin, teeth and nose. A moan verifies the contact. Rubbery knees buckle. As my prey slips into oblivion, the hollow clang when his rifle hits the floor validates the irrefutable finality.
Static crackles over the COM link. I request conformation. "01?"
A single shouted word struggles to rise above the white noise. "RUN!"
"SHIT!" is exclaimed a heartbeat before thunderous explosions reverberate through the already fractured structure.
Fireballs erupt.
Iron girders yield with a shrill snap.
Huge sections of the roof rupture.
Leaping clear of falling debris, I race headlong towards a bright spot that hopefully is a busted door or shattered window or hole in the wall. If the light is a mirage I'm screwed.
Staggering into a weed-choked field I'm knocked to my knees by a more powerful blast then stare in horror as the crimson dragon's breath belches out a body charred beyond recognition.
As hot updrafts funnel black smoke and scarlet embers into a hellish whirlwind, the stench of burnt flesh threatens a bout of nausea but all my empty stomach generates is dry heaves.
My braid singed, I roll on my back amongst tuffs of scorched vegetation where, wheezing and trembling, I surrender to absolute exhaustion.
Shutting my eyes to stop the sky from spinning, I hear Shinigami hiss a fateful question. "Whose been banished to Sheol?"
"Not Heero." I argue against the unthinkable possibility.
*********
~~Never seen a bluer sky, I can feel it reaching out and moving closer. Something about the blue has me asking what it's all about. Funny thing, I couldn't answer.~~
*********
Gradually I'm aware of the absolute quiet.
No pops from scorched wood. No groans of fatigued metal.
Another instant.
Smoky tangs on my tongue vanish. Fresh cool air caresses my face.
Eyelids part, clench tight then open in guarded degrees until my eyes adjust to the cloudless brilliance overhead.
Shaky arms push up. I wince when my body settles into a seated position.
What the hell? my mind wonders.
Barely above a whisper I provide a puzzled rely, "Damned if I know."
This time a strangely familiar voice poses the question, "Ever seen the sky so blue?"
Shifting my sight from the dazzling sapphire aura, I find Heero sitting cross-legged in a patch of emerald grass speckled with diamond dewdrops.
"You're--all--right." I stammer in a baffled fusion of disbelief and relief.
"Of course." is stated matter-of-factly.
*********
~~Things have turned a deeper shade of blue but images that might be real may be illusions flashing off and on. Free. Moving among the stars. They aren't really so far away.~~
*********
Every perception of Lieutenant Austin's catastrophic blunder is altered.
No clawing fingers of flames.
No shroud of ashes or cinders swept up in a gritty haze.
And, mercifully, no cremated remains that no longer resemble anything human.
At my side Heero seems perfectly content in this contrary serenity. Sight focused faraway, he studies the twilight horizon where pinpoints of light twinkle like thousands of azure fireflies.
Attempting to comprehend what has happened, I observe the Gundam warrior's remote aspect. When no logical explanation is forthcoming, "We need to rendezvous with the team." is declared even though I'm not sure why.
Heero never averts his cobalt eyes that appear to glow from within. "We have time."
"Time?" I repeat in a queried tone, "We have to complete our objective to terminate OZ."
Finally Heero transfixes me with his beguiling blue gaze.
"Don't you want to be free among the stars?"
Physically drained, the remnants of my patience are quickly becoming threadbare. Likewise what vestiges of willingness to endure both this bizarre environment and Heero's peculiar behavior have just about frayed my mental stability passed the point of reclaiming.
*********
~~Don't wake me from this dream. No black or white in the blue.~~
*********
With the small measure of sanity left intact I try to figure exactly how I landed in the middle of these weird circumstances ruled by neither macabre darkness nor mystical light.
Retrace.
Debrief.
Too much smoke---lack of oxygen.
Whack on the head scrambled my brain.
Shot by an Ozzie?
Nope. I'm in the thralls of a full-blown delusional hallucination.
I'm Alice down the fuckin' rabbit hole.
Heero isn't the methodical Perfect Soldier but the Mad Hatter franticly organizing a tea party.
Quatre is the White Rabbit. He yanks an oversized pocket watch from his vest and, worried he'll be late, scurries around in a tizzy.
Trowa is the Dormouse, content to observe and examine but never discloses clues to what he's thinking.
Lastly, there's Wufei, the champion of justice who, like the Queen of Hearts, brandishes his sword and shouts. "OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!"
Damn, I might not be crazy after all.
Eccentric?
Maybe.
Unconventional?
Sometimes.
The God of Death?
Always.
"Duo."
The call urges me back from Wonderland.
"Ready to fly to the stars?"
"Together." I confirm as Heero leans down to crush my lips with a fiery kiss.
*********
~~Everything is clearer now. Life is just a dream that's never ending. I'm ascending.~~
*********
Weightless.
Free from the gravity of war I drift in the star-studded firmament.
"DUO!"
"No, Shinigami. Don't call me back."
Pain.
Heart hammering in my chest I fight the damnation of my soul.
"Please." Heero begs as I'm enfolded in reassuring strength.
Detonation, fire, gruesome death, the memories rush back with such force I struggle to breath.
"It's all right, you got out in time."
Now when I gaze into Heero's eyes their tenderness is overcast by concern.
Overhead the stars also lack their usual blue-white luster.
Once more exhumed from the purgatorial rabbit hole, I cling to Heero, my lifeline. "Please get Wing and let me share the cockpit so we can fly among the stars."
OWARI
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