"So he's not here. Yokatta," Duo snapped shakily, his voice wavering. He was huddled in a blanket, shivering slightly from the open window and residual shock. He stared at the blood on the floor, and his gaze careened wildly about the room he shared with his boyfriend. Or Heero, the one he hoped was his boyfriend. The American chuckled hysterically, then turned his manic gaze on the other pilots. Trowa was searching the room quickly, trying to find some evidence of where the Japanese boy had gone. Duo narrowed his eyes. Trowa seemed a little frantic, somehow shaken by Heero's disappearance -- the was an edge of desperation in the Latin boy's movements that he hadn't seen before regarding anyone but Quatre.
Quatre wasn't even looking at his lover. The blonde Arabian stood in the hallway, looking beaten in the few mournful glances he shot at the tall boy. Duo pouted, his dismay expressed so easily upon his face, shifting his gaze between the two lovers. Or ex-lovers, by the explosion in the bathroom so recent that night. It was so late, he just wanted to go back to sleep and pretend it all hadn't happened, that it was all an awful dream. He said as much.
"Shut up," Wufei muttered, rubbing at his eyes. Duo shot him an annoyed glance, then forced a smile. He personally wanted to hunt down Heero for whatever evil deeds he'd done to destroy the fragile calm that had settled after Trowa and Quatre's argument. The Chinese boy didn't' seem terribly remorseful, so Duo grinned wider, forcing his mask to focus and work.
"I'm going to go find that baka. Aa, I know it's late, I'm gonna go hunt him down. He didn't even say goodbye!" Duo announced cheerfully, and began pulling on some dark black shapes from the floor -- his clothing. Quatre glanced up at him, honest concern on his face for the first time all evening. "Duo, wait until morning, you're still in shock," Quatre pleaded quietly.
Duo would have scowled. Quatre wasn't resisting enough. What the hell HAD Trowa done to the gentle boy, to make the earnest worry and friendship that so characterised Quatre so weak? Duo smirked instead, and replied, "Don't worry, Heero can't hide from me! And if I delay until morning, that only gives him more time to escape my clutches. And he's got a lotta explaining to do." Duo added the last, a rather vengeful grin crossing his face with delight. Quatre's expression relaxed slightly, but it was replaced with a sorrowing faded apathy.
He still didn't know what had prompted Trowa's declaration of hatred for him, but he was fairly sure that Heero had done something. Something extremely bad and wrong. Something that would make Heero flee. Therefore Heero had likely done something awful. Duo would have bet his life that whatever Heero had done was somehow tied in with the horrible dead look on Quatre's face, and the shamed arch in Trowa's back. And likely the massive spread of blood on the floor that, even now, made him shudder.
So Heero had to be found. Duo finished dressing himself, the grin on his face increasingly darkened with the moment. He lips thinned cruelly, and he slid on an arm sheath. He glanced about and reached out distastefully for the knife Heero had used, for whatever vile purpose had left that huge amount of blood spreading on the bathroom tiles, and in the hallway...Duo shook off the sick clench of his stomach at the residual shock left by the blade, tossed so carelessly from Heero's hand to his own.
"Duo. Wait." Trowa's voice broke the thin wall of Duo's determined motions, and the American looked up, grinning maniacally. The Latin boy was half-hanging out the window, wincing at the fierce cold. Duo sauntered towards him, noting the pained glimmer in Trowa's dull gaze as he peered towards Quatre. Duo glanced over his shoulder, his brows knitting together at the blonde's motionless figure still standing quietly in the doorway, then bit his lip as Quatre turned and slowly walked off towards his room.
Duo caught a vicious blank settling forcibly on Trowa's gaze, and bit his lip. Something was extremely wrong between the two lovers. The caring that Quatre used to show unconditionally seemed warped, if retaining it's nature, and Trowa...Trowa was more dead and blank than the American had ever seen before. Trowa's hand settled on his shoulder, and Duo looked up, sliding innocence into his wide eyes to conceal his thoughts.
"There's a blood trail on the ground. It's from Heero," Trowa stated blearily, then walked out of the room. Duo glanced curiously at Trowa's retreating back, and shrugged at Wufei. He didn't quite know how the Latino boy knew it was Heero's trail, but something about his bleak statement was so final Duo would not argue it. He instead hung out the window, noting the black random spills, accompanying slight footprints in the cracked carapace of the snow. The braided boy exhaled, and jumped to the ground, into the ice driven wind.
Duo shook briefly at the freezing air whipping his hair back form his face, and knelt at the dark blotch staining the snow. He peered closer in the moonlight, and swept a tentative finger through the darkness soaking into the snow. He blinked as he caught a trace of steam rising from the wet drip, and felt the warmth of the blood on his hand. "Dude, you were here not too long ago, huh Heero-kun?" he whispered, his words torn from his lips before they were heard.
"Heh. So where were ya going, baka -- to Wing Zero, no doubt, you are SO predictable!" Duo crowed, feeling the smile crossing his lips. It felt so forced, unreal and mocking. Duo grinned harder, and relished the protest of his face in the frozen air. The smile caved in abruptly, and he stared at the snow, and the fresh blood melting the surface, staining it a sickening pink. Duo's stomach clenched, and he cursed softly, forcing the nausea down.
It didn't seem right to be holding something that had come from Heero's body on his hand. It was part of Heero, fresh enough to retain its heat and bright red colouring. It felt like pain and the violence that had somehow evoked it. It rang in his head like a horribly mistuned bell, sour and clanging bitterly of the something-not-right feeling that usually came immediately before extremely bad news. The same awful revulsion that had swept over him just as the Maxwell Church had exploded in glistening stained-glass fragments.
The outdoor lights flickered on, harsh white halogen illuminating the gleaming ice, and revealing the bright steaming trail of Heero's blood. Duo blinked, wincing at the snow's glare, and found shadow behind his hand to look at the ground. The path was far too clear, and that made him more concerned. Then his attention was jerked back to the flaking liquid on his flesh.
He pouted slightly at the sudden splash of red soaking the tip of his finger, and looked up from his crouch over the ground. He snorted slightly at the ease of the trail, and stood, clutching at his arms for slight warmth. He stumbled against the wind, following the broad, dark trail crushed into the ice. He shook his head, grinning slightly at Heero's apparent incompetence, then a caustic worried expression crossed his mobile face. "Heero, you're never this sloppy about hiding your tracks. What's wrong, man, that you can't be bothered to sweep over some snow? Unless you wanna be followed...?"
Duo grinned at that last, hiding the fact that he was hoping desperately for some stupid prank, or even just some dead OZ body -- anything but the twisted knot of cynical fear in his stomach's suggestions. Duo kept smiling, safely masked, and darted along the side of the house, eyeing the blood-soaked ground leading to the garage. Heero might just be playing for his attention, but -- yeah right! Why would the perfect soldier play with blood and scare the other pilots? He still didn't even know whose blood it was, if it was Heero's or some poor unfortunate's. Duo smirked bitterly. Something was up with the Japanese boy, and had been all night. Trowa had declared his hatred for him, then Heero had come back from the bathroom dripping blood and with his own knife.
Duo tapped in the code for the hangar door, and stepped inside, his head down to avoid the wind stinging his face. "Heero, man, what the hell is going on?" he muttered to himself, then clapped a hand over his mouth. He stared at the dark figure lying on the ground, and walked to the room's control panel. He reached out a hand behind him towards the controls, eyeing the figure as if it would attack him. His hand quivered, resting on a switch for a second, then he blinked and flipped the lights on.
For one brief moment, Duo relaxed, expecting Heero to come out from wherever he was hiding, toting his gun from wherever it was held in his tight spandex shorts, and state that the body on the floor was some assassin, or an OZ soldier. Then his muscles clenched, his eyes focusing in the sudden light, and his hopes fell, plummeting to a rather vicious death next to the unmoving person face down on the cement hangar floor. The very body that even now, leaked a slowly growing, sickening flood of blood from unknown, unseen wounds, pooling. The liquid mocked him, seeming to feign innocence while it's vile tendrils dyed fabric a coarse, bright red hue, tempered slightly by the cloth's own green colour to finish with a rusty brown.
"Oh shit! Shit shit shit! SHIT!" Duo yelled, his voice echoing in the eerily empty hangar, dashing towards the downed form. He fell to his knees, catching himself before he hit the bloodied figure. Duo's cobalt gaze widened raking over the torn, blood-mottled green tank top and soaked black spandex clothing the body beside him. He drew in a shaky breath, and raised his wrist unit to alert the other pilots.
"Trowa, Quatre! Dude, get medical help! Heero's down, he is SO down, get a doctor or something!" he practically screamed into the flimsy unit, feeling his voice vibrate the flesh of his wrist, rebounding about the hangar walls. He shut the unit off at Trowa's visage nodding, and stared at the limp body, his eyes vacant of mirth, leaving only disbelief. Heero couldn't die. Heero never died, even when he was supposed to. Yet he was laying there, immobile, not even the movement of chest betraying a breath, a heartbeat.
Duo slid a hand up Heero's spine, biting harshly at the inside of his cheek to prevent the hoarse terror threatening to break through his shaky control. He shook his head, smiling idiotically in some vain attempt at denial, "Man Heero, c'mon, ya gotta get up --" Duo shoved at Heero's shoulder, and gulped as the movement pulled shadows away from the dusty cement floor.
"Aw, fuck..." Duo breathed, beginning to tremble. What the hell had happened to him?! Duo's brain started screaming in frantic, brief breaths of panicked quality, releasing the horror and shock mentally if he wouldn't allow the screeching to pass his lips. His hand groped out at Heero's neck as he stared at the darkening floor. A sick, slow pool of fresh blood slid out from under Heero's shirt, and his face was deathly pale. Duo scrabbled at his flesh frantically, no longer thinking, just reacting.
Duo gasped as he felt the weak flutter against his ice-numbed fingertips, and his shoulders slumped in minute relief from tension. His eyes burned and he made himself blink, calming his heart rate. He looked Heero over, and grimaced. "Why, you fucking asshole, why? What the hell couldn't YOU fight off? Why did you let this happen?" he whispered to the thick, still air as he worked an arm underneath the leaden body. Heero felt stiff and his bones creaked together as Duo wriggled his arm about the muscled shoulders and chest against the pavement.
Duo's fingers grasped at Heero's shirt, striving for pruchase as the American grunted. Duo squatted, and heaved Heero's body onto his back, exhaled roughly as the limp form slid grotesquely onto the cement. Duo leaned forward, panting with extertion as he rested his hand on Heero's chest. Then he sucked in breath, quivering slightly. He moved a finger, and felt warmth and adhesive wetness, as well as simple wrongness. Duo lowered his gaze to his hand, and stared blankly, horror crossing his face. He twitched a finger again, then shrieked, snatching his hand away.
From the side of the dirtied hem of Heero's shirt peeked a most morbid violence. And it now coated Duo's hand, oozing slow red streams, staining the Japanese boy's skin dark red with congealed evidence. Duo stared at his hand, stumbling backwards on the floor, his eyes widened in confirmed fears. The wild cobalt gaze stole back to Heero's chest, and Duo calmed slightly, crawling towards Heero from where he'd landed in his mad scuttle.
There was a huge, deep and likely deadly slit tracing the side of Heero's chest. Duo swept his eyes down his partner's body, and bit his tongue as another piercing scream threatened his throat. From the dusky stain on the dark green shirt, there was another slit on Heero's other side. Duo quirked an eyebrow in terrified confusion.
"Who did this to you, Heero-kun? Why didn't you fight them? And why did you run instead of getting help? KISAMA! WHO DID THIS! I'm gonna hunt down their asses and murder them, just tell me who did this, huh?!" Duo screeched suddenly, fresh tears streaming down his face in crystal tracks. The pale body beside him offered no reply to his hysterical plea. Duo hissed, scared by his own outburst, and leaned over Heero, checking his pulse again.
"She did this," Trowa's quiet voice answered, dead in the factual statement as footsteps clattered on the cement floor. Duo looked up at the dull thuds of racing footfalls, watching as Trowa and Wufei deftly settled Heero's body onto a stretcher, and the Chinese pilot swiftly swept the injured boy into the house. Quatre stood at the doorway, looking utterly weary to Duo's eyes as the American stood, and walked towards the Latin pilot.
Duo glanced at the Latin boy in masked confusion, then turned to follow the stretcher towards the infirmary of the safe-house. Trowa glanced at the stretcher and the worried American pacing beside, and followed silently.
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