I happened to remark on the progress of that fic that should not be named, and I was sitting at 5000 words. That's kind of cool to know, because right now I'm sitting at 10,000, so it's pretty nifty to see the progress. Hopefully it will be way more than that the next time I wander through! ^o^
Anyway, since it's been so long and all, I thought I'd post up a little something just so you guys know I haven't been abducted by aliens or anything. It's not much, drabble size really, but I got a strange sort of image the other day, and it resolved itself into an Ion vignette.
Both Dragon and Bird approved, so I thought maybe I'd toss it out here. ^____^
No real warnings to speak of, unless I should note that this probably won't make any sense if you aren't following the main fic...
Ion Vignette #3
Duo says his name was Solo, and the portrait that hangs over the dresser in the bedroom is so realistic, it's hard sometimes to remember it was done from a memory fourteen years gone.
I think the picture was one of the first I had seen Duo do that was so completely fleshed out and detailed; it intrigued me from the moment I saw it. His talent is amazing sometimes, even more so because he doesn't seem to believe in it. I had understood that Solo was an important piece of Duo's past, and I'd taken a chance, having the portrait professionally framed as a kind of surprise. I hadn't known how Duo would react; he is sometimes almost possessive of his art, and sometimes almost ridiculously cavalier about it. I'd been relieved when he'd accepted the gesture as the gift it was meant to be. Pleased when he'd seen fit to leave it hanging in our bedroom.
Duo seems to think of the boy as a brother... an older, protective brother. And to be honest, there's a hint of Duo in that portrait. A true, familial resemblance? An unconscious tendency of all artists to put themselves into their art? Or just a cast to expressions that Duo picked up from long association?
Because there's certainly a familiarity in that confident grin. Not so much since the accident, but before... during the war, it was a look I'd seen on Duo's face more than once. A mask of sorts, I suppose, and it made me wonder if Solo had hidden his own doubts and fears behind that fa?ade, or if the guy had been just that damn cocky.
I'll probably never know on either count. There won't be any census photos cropping up one day, of the orphans of L2.
Some days that makes me sad, and some days the gaze of that portrait makes me... almost relieved. It's a gaze that can be... accusing. It seems to see everything, and doesn't stand for lies. Which is not always a comfortable thing.
And... I think Duo talks to it. Him. When he thinks I'm not around. Not close enough to overhear. There are mutters and scraps of one-sided conversations. At first it had scared me... more than I like to admit. In ways that I don't like to admit. But over time, I'd come to accept it as just part of Duo's... unique personality.
Though there are days I'd sell my soul to hear the other side of the conversation. Because sometimes Duo seems to draw comfort from it, and sometimes it just seems to anger him. It's somehow one of the most complex relationships in Duo's life... which is probably a strange thing to be thinking about a dead person.
Duo has shared a lot about his past, but this Solo is still something of a mystery to me. I don't even know how he died, really. And maybe it's that mystery that leads me, some days, to stand in front of Duo's portrait of him, trying to meet that rock steady gaze. Trying to stare down the past.
There are things I'm moved to say to that boy... that young man. Some days I want to tell him that he needn't worry, that I'll take care of Duo for him. And other days I want to tell him to back the hell off and stop needling my lover.
To get the hell out of my house.
But I don't. I'm not Duo, and I'm pretty sure I'd feel like an idiot talking to a picture of a person that doesn't even exist. None of it is real, and I'd just feel stupid trying to reassure another man's memory of my intentions. Trying to toss ghosts off the property.
And if some days I think maybe I don't speak because I'm afraid I'll hear the ghost of a laugh... well, it's not something I will ever have to admit out loud.
OWARI
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