well, i haven't been writing as much lately --have you noticed?   
i'd blame it on my muses, but i don't have any.   (that could be 
the problem, right there.) anyway, here is my newest offreing to 
you all: odd, but i can't help it. 

DISCLAIMER: Sunrise, Bandai et al own GW, and I own nothing. 
Suing would be pointless. 

WARNING: Duo POV, somewhat OOC, barely implied 2+1. Nothing else. 

*=emphasis 
~~~~~=encompasses the dream

I LAY ME OPEN                  
by hyuy 


I always hated those missions, the ones where we went undercover 
at a boarding school. I hated the food, I hated the classes and the 
condescending teachers, and I especially hated spending time with 
all those rich kids whose idea of a hard life was having to wear 
last year's clothes. 

Mostly, though, I hated the dorm rooms. 

I mean, yeah, they're small and cramped and dull and bleak as hell 
--why more people don't kill themselvees, I *don't* know-- but it 
was the roommates that bothered me the most. I do *not* like 
sharing my room. 

It's not that I mind other people, although that one time, the general's 
son with the ferrets? UGH! No, other people are fine. I don't like sharing 
my room because of the Dream. You wake up screaming and thrashing, people 
tend to ask questions. Not to mention it kind of screws up your low profile, 
the whole campus pointing at you: "Hey, look! It's the screamer!" 

It was even worse when I was sharing with one of the guys. Here I am, 
Shinigami, Death himself, and I wake up crying like a lost child. It's 
just so pathetic. How could they trust me to back them up in a fight if 
I couldn't even control myself when I was sleeping? Pathetic. 

Luckily, it hasn't happened much with them. Once I had the Dream when 
I was sharing with Quatre. God, *that* was horrible. Empathy Boy was 
hanging on me all night, all big blue eyes and sympathy, concern rolling 
off him like a vapor. 

I wanted to smack him. 

And he kept hugging me!   And patting me on the back and telling me he 
was here for me and how I should tell him all about it and how a burden 
shared was a burden eased, blah, blah, BLAH! I swear, it was almost worse 
than being OZ's prisoner. 

Well, I don't talk about the Dream. At all. Ever. Finally, I told Quatre 
some crap about being afraid to die alone, just so he'd shut up and we 
could go back to bed. It worked, but it turned out to be a big mistake. 
Now, in every fight, he's always close to me, his little voice piping up 
over the comm link: "Don't worry, Duo, I'm right here." 

I don't know *how* Trowa puts up with that. Quatre's so sweet he makes my 
teeth ache. I'd have smacked him silly long ago. 


I had the Dream once when I was with Trowa. That was *much* better. He gave 
me a glass of water, punched me in the shoulder, and we both went back to 
sleep. Very cool. 

So I took to staying up as late as I could. If I was really tired, if I really 
needed to sleep, I usually didn't have the Dream. As I saw it, dark circles 
under the eyes in return for no Dream was a small price to pay. 

Then there was that mission six months ago, when I had to room with Heero for 
three weeks. Three weeks! I didn't know what I was going to do. I'd never gone 
more than a week without having the Dream. I tried to avoid it, but there's 
only so long you can go without sleep before you lose the ability to see colors. 
You hallucinate, too. So very *not* helpful. 

I really, *really* didn't want to have the Dream in front of Heero. 
He wouldn't understand. He's so controlled, so *in* control--for God's sake, 
he set his own broken bone! I didn't want him to know how weak I was, 
how powerless. I didn't want to look in his eyes and see contempt. I didn't 
want to lose his respect. 

So, of course, five days into the mission I had the Dream. 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


I'm young again, and I'm walking through the orphanage. It's dinner time, 
and the kids are unruly, a little wild. Jess is mixing all her food 
--peas, meat, carrots, everything-- innto her potatoes. Shivi is crawling 
around on the floor, pretending he's a dog. Giggling, the kids pass him food, 
which he eats from their hands. Everyone is smiling and laughing. 

I move between the tables, but no-one seems to notice me. I smile as I watch 
the kids play. Suddenly, Father Maxwell appears before me. He spreads his arms 
wide, as if to hug me. When he speaks, his voice is sad. 

"Why, Duo? Why did you do it? Didn't we feed you? Didn't we take care of you? 
Didn't we *love* you?" 

I try to speak, but I can't; my mouth opens and closes but makes no sound. 
As I look at the Father, blood bursts from his hands, a violent stigmata that 
drenches me. I try to move away, but I can't. My feet are stuck to the floor. 

A thin line of blood appears across his neck, and suddenly he throat rips away, 
spattering me with gore. His head lolls against his shoulders at an odd angle. 
Impossibly, he still speaks. 

"You did this, Duo. Why? You did this, Duo. Why?" His chant is taken up by 
other voices, and now I can see the whole room again. Everyone is dead --the 
children, the nuns, Sister Helen, everyone.

The floor is a lake of spreading blood, heads are severed, limbs missing.   
Sister Helen lies torn and violated on a table, her neck broken. I taste bitter 
copper in the back of my throat; bile rises, but I can't throw up, I can't move. 

Father Maxwell is now a pillar of flame before me, but he's still speaking.   
"You did this, Duo. Why?" He embraces me   --I scream as the flames sear my 
flesh. I can feel the skin peeling away from the bone. The rest of the dead 
rise and move towards me. Their weight knocks me over. I'm buried beneath them, 
I can't breathe, I can't move, and still the chanting continues, growing louder 
and louder: "YOU did this Duo why YOU did this Duo why YOU did this . . ." 


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 


I woke up with my hand to my face. I blinked; Heero was standing over me. I 
think he slapped me. My eyes met his and then I dropped them in shame. Now he 
knew how weak, how unworthy I was. 

I could feel him staring at me. After a moment, he sat down on the bed and poked 
me in the arm. His tone was nonjudgmental and commanding. "Tell me." 

I do *not* talk about the Dream. Ever. I opened my mouth to tell him that, and 
to my horror heard my voice telling him everything. Every detail, every sin, 
the reason why I fight, what it all meant, everything. Every tainted, pathetic 
detail that made up my soul. 

I couldn't look at him afterwards. He was silent, but I could hear him breathing, 
still so even and controlled. Into the silence I whispered, "And don't. . .don't 
tell me it's okay, it wasn't my fault. Just don't. I don't. . .I don't think I 
could stand it." 

He snorted. "Of course it's your fault." My eyes flew up to his, startled. He 
was staring at me without any hint of censure. 

"You didn't *literally* kill them, it wasn't malicious or planned, but your 
actions resulted in fatal consequences, and you're going to have to live with 
that knowledge for the rest of your life." He closed his eyes briefly and 
whispered, "We *all* will." 

He opened his eyes to look at me once more, and I almost felt burned by the 
intensity of his gaze. "Just remember: no matter what our sins, guilt is a 
poor basis for a life, if that's the only motivation that you have." 

As I stared at him, open-mouthed, he put two fingers on my forehead and pushed 
me down. "Go to sleep, Duo," he said, before turning out the light and getting 
into bed himself. 

But I didn't go to sleep. All night long, I stared through the darkness at his 
silhouette. How had he known? My secret sin, the guilt that had gnawed at me 
every *minute* since that awful day, was out in the open and recognized. Not 
condoned, but understood. Guilt was to always be with me, to be my pennace, but 
*not* my reason for fighting or living. It was okay to move beyond it. How had 
he *known*? 

I spent the whole night watching him sleep and thinking, and that was the night 
I fell in love with Heero Yuy. 

END   END   END 


that's it.   what did you think? 


hyuy 
told you it was odd.