Work Text:
Fuck.
Duo checked radar and saw the Taurus suits closing in on his HLV.
So much for doing this the stealthy way.
Duo started Deathscythe’s drives, feeling the mobile suit rumble to life around him, the lights of the cockpit flickering to life like the biofluorescence of some deepwater fish. Duo triggered the hatch of the HLV and launched out of the carrier, straight at the incoming OZ suits.
He amputated the arm of one Taurus, then swung his thermonuclear scythe in a wide killing sweep, taking out two more in a burst of deadly fireworks. Duo felt the rumble of death vibrate Deathscythe’s cockpit and his manic grin widened. His whole body was trembling, as if he had been attached to a low-voltage line.
Duo didn’t think about the men in the mobile suits he mowed down or whether they had families or what their politics were. He laughed, a wild sound, knowing the soldiers could hear him and not caring, letting that cold killing fire build in him and over him.
Toast. Seems like they go down as easy as any other OZ suit.
Duo smirked as the targets blinked off radar, opening his comlink to the approaching OZ combatants.
# Quite an honor being greeted by your latest model. But just a fair heads-up, anyone that gets closer to me is gonna die. #
But that wasn’t the end of the assault. A trio of mobile dolls soared at him like giant black and red hornets, strafing him with weapons fire as they darted around Deathscythe in every direction.
Duo moved the stick, trying to get a lock. No joy.
“They’re fast.” Duo felt sweat breaking out on his face. He couldn’t even get a lock on a single mobile doll. They spun around him, rocking the Gundam with rifle fire. Duo was thrown hard against his piloting harness as Deathscythe was shocked from behind, thrown backward and then forward hard enough for Duo to bang his head on the back of the cockpit.
[[Evasive manuevers recommended. Shielding at 67% efficacy. Evasive manuevers recommended. Secondary weapons systems disabled. Shielding at 57%. Evasive manuevers recommended.]]
All around him, the system whistled warning of laser fire lock-in from the mobile doll rifles. Duo gritted his teeth.
Not gonna make it this time, Kid, Solo whispered in the back of his mind, saying whatever he wanted to say as usual. Not sugarcoating things. Rail up all you want, get mad and die pissed instead of pissin’ yourself if you want, but you’re out in the dark alone and they caught you out. Now you’re the one who’s toast.
# You think you can kill me with a couple of drones, do ya? You think those remote-control bucket of bolts can kill me?! #
Even as he said it, the lights in the cockpit dimmed to an urgent emergency red, throbbing. Somewhere a low alarm was buzzing intermittently.
Gotta get outta here. But when Duo went to engage the boosters, the stick locked up.
[[Shielding at 36%. Booster output 0%. Drive systems disabled. Secondary weapons systems disabled. Prepare for vacuum. Prepare to abandon suit.]]
Like hell I’m leaving Deathscythe to these assholes. Like most L2 pilots, Duo didn’t pilot in a suit. In his mind’s eye he could see what would happen to him.
Fifteen seconds, he thought. After they crack the hatch, I’ll have fifteen seconds. Then—
Then the air would be punched out of his lungs by vacuum as he vomited, shat, and pissed himself.
Then he would be dead.
Fine. That’s fine. Cool cool cool. In his mind’s eye he saw Heero standing on the hatch catwalk of Wing, a detonator in his outstretched hand, his face a perfect, careful mask.
Duo conjured Heero’s face in his mind as he closed his eyes, listening to Deathscythe’s warning systems shriek at him, knowing his death was coming, rocketing at him like an inevitable engine of destruction. He let it come.
Be like him. Be cold. Duo clenched his jaw, feeling a bead of desperate sweat rolling down his temple, feeling a primal terror welling up from a deep place in him and shoving it down viciously. Fuck it. It’s just part of the package. You didn’t really think you were gonna make it through all this in one piece, did ya?
He remembered the feel of Heero’s arm around his neck as he dragged him off the beach, the sound of the surf and the gulls in their ears. The way he’d looked in bed on the Sweepers ship, his skin so criss-crossed with a spiderweb of light scars that Duo had secretly wanted to spend hours inspecting them, tracing them with his fingertips, asking Heero how he’d got them.
The way he’d looked when he was thrown from Wing like a rag doll tossed by an angry child. Bloodied and lifeless.
Never gonna see him again. This is it. Duo gave a sick, slanted grin. Or maybe he’s saving me a seat in Hell already. Will you wait for me, Heero?
Suddenly another round of fire hit Deathscythe and Duo felt as much as heard the explosion on the right side of the Gundam as it lost its arm and scythe.
[[Primary weapons systems disabled. Shielding at 14%.]]
This is it.
Duo triggered the self-detonation protocol and the detonator rose up out of the dash like a smooth promise. Hate to copy Heero, but there’s no way I can let them take Deathscythe. Time to go.
For a split-second he hesitated, knowing that suicides were damned. But he also knew that he was damned either way.
Every detail of Deathscythe’s cockpit seemed to stand out to him in nightmarish detail, vivid with his last seconds. His whole body throbbed from the impact of the laser rifles rattling him around in the cockpit, and bright sparkling pain coursed up his elbow where he had slammed his funnybone. His vision was blurred where he’d banged the back of his head hard against the cockpit seat, skull throbbing, and he clung to consciousness grimly.
Duo looked out the kleersteel panel at the stars beyond his Gundam.
This. This is the last thing I’m gonna see, Heero. Don’t forget to wait up. Hail Mary, full of grace, save me from this goddamned place.
“At least if I’m going to Hell, I’m taking you assholes along for the ride.” Clenching his eyes shut, Duo slammed his fist down on the detonator, flinching at the anticipated explosion, the wave of killing fire engulfing him. Light and heat and then silence.
Nothing. Duo’s eyes popped open and a look of bewilderment crossed his face. He slammed the detonator again.
Dead.
“Fuck!” Duo hit the detonator again once, just for good measure, not expecting it to work but trying anyway. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
He realized that his comlink was still open to the enemy combatants when he heard them laughing at him over the radio.
Today just isn’t my lucky day.
Duo heard the enemy’s laughter in his ears and bared his teeth in an unconscious snarl. He tried to reach out for his pistol stored in the cockpit’s side storage compartment, meaning to put the barrel under his chin and blow his brains out before the OZ soldiers could approach.
But his vision was graying out, shrinking down to a pinpoint of focus.
Duo slumped down in the cockpit as the remaining OZ suits approached, feeling the comforting darkness roll over him like a warm blanket, sliding into unconsciousness with the force of a blow.
* * *
It’s him.
Heero stared at the image of the fallen Deathscythe pilot on the Telnet screen. The braided boy was slumped between two guards, being held up by his elbows, and even with the graininess of the picture, Heero could tell that Duo had been badly beaten.
A strange feeling rose in him, one that Heero didn’t have the words or the experience to articulate. A series of images flashed through his memory—Duo crawling up into his bunk beside him on the Sweeper ship, the way his loose hair caught the sun and glowed with a secret fire.
He remembered the feel of Duo’s face pressed against his shoulder, the rough callused fingertips draped across his waist, heard his rolling, lilting American accent like a ghost: You wouldn’t really have shot that girl, would ya?
“Idiot,” Heero whispered to himself, unaware he’d spoken out loud, fixated on the news reel. Of course I would have.
The words of the anchors fell on his deaf ears as his eyes focused on Duo’s bruised and bloodied face, his bowed head. Bowed in defeat.
Scheduled for execution.
It would be a firing squad, Heero knew. They wouldn’t waste an opportunity to execute one of the Gundam pilots live on Telnet. It would be a globally watched event.
And if they had Duo, that meant they had Deathscythe, too.
Heero felt a flash of anger surge through him at Duo, wanting to throw something at the television, to snuff out the image of Duo’s broken posture that had already been seared into his brain, all vitality slapped out of the cheerful American.
How? How could Duo have allowed himself to be captured? What kind of reckless moronic thing had he done to allow that?
He’ll talk, Heero thought, and the thought made him cold all over. The brief time that Heero had stayed with Duo, the other pilot had barely managed to shut up for five minutes at a time. They’ll torture him before they kill him, and he’ll talk. He’s soft. Soft.
You know what you have to do.
Heero heard the Soldier, as clearly as he had ever heard it in his life. He knew what the Mission demanded.
Nothing showed on his face, despite the fact that a deep feeling of nausea had started to gnaw at his belly and his heart was beating too fast and every breath felt like it took too much energy to take.
I can’t let them have him.
OZ couldn’t be allowed to keep a Gundam pilot in captivity.
He’s a liability.
He remembered their earlier conversation, when the American had asked to ally with him.
You want to partner up?
No.
Why not?
Because I work better alone.
And Duo’s cheerful answer: Who's going to help you if you need it? What if you get in trouble?
Heero felt his gorge rise and fought it grimly, turning away from the news monitor, heading for the library’s nearest restroom. When he pulled the door open, he could taste bile in the back of his throat. The restroom was mercifully empty.
He has to be eliminated. All negative factors from now on must be eliminated.
Heero entered the first stall and slammed the door locked behind him before he went to his knees, gripping the toilet seat for dear life, almost feeling the plastic creak under his hands at the pressure. He breathed hard, feeling his mouth pool with saliva, swallowing again and again. He thought he had everything under control. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing through his nose.
Duo’s disdainful laughter, a ghost in his mind.
Dolphins are not fish, Heero.
He lost it. He couldn’t help it.
The protein shake he had dutifully mixed up and drank as his morning ration came up in a brown slurry. He coughed and spat before slamming the toilet lid down and fishing blindly for the handle, flushing. He leaned up against the wall of the bathroom stall, pushing his bangs violently out of his face with one hand, staring blankly at the graffiti on the wall of the bathroom stall across from him.
“I have to,” he whispered, taking deep breaths, trying not to think of the Deathscythe pilot’s laughing face, the feel of his hot skin like a brand. “I have to.”
When he said it a second time, his voice was stronger.
* * *
Duo didn’t regain consciousness until he felt himself being roughly pulled out of the cockpit, one arm jerked up so hard that he felt his shoulder groan, threatening to dislocate. That woke him up all the way and he started to flail, cursing, before a fist caught him center in the face with crushing, apocalyptic force, causing black meteors to chase across his vision.
“Quit struggling, pilot!” A voice snarled close to his ear as he felt the hot, metallic bloom of blood filling his mouth, felt one of his teeth loose in the socket, a flap of torn skin on the inside of his cheek.
Fuck you.
Duo spat blood in the man’s face, and if he wasn’t so weak from concussion he would have laughed at the man’s instant, childish revulsion, the way he loosened his grip in an instinct to back away and wipe the phelegm and blood out of his eyes.
But the man didn’t let go, and someone behind him cracked a billy club hard between his shoulderblades, driving him to his knees. Duo grunted, his knees cracking as they hit the hard metal floor of the space barge bay.
“Fuck. You,” Duo whispered. I should be dead. I should be with Heero now, he thought, dully.
The man who had his left arm in an immovable grasp dragged him forward. “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Tell your story walking.”
Defiant, Duo let all of the muscles in his body go slack, forcing the two men to drag him like a dead weight. The man on his right arm, the one he had spat at, was squeezing his arm hard enough to bruise, pinching cruelly.
They took him to their superior. Duo let his head hang, limp in the arms of the OZ soldiers to either side of him, until he heard the man they brought him before speak directly to him.
“Wasn’t expecting the pilot to be just a kid.”
Duo looked up at him, and the look he gave the OZ commander was laughing death. “What, hurt your pride?”
The man didn’t rise to his bait. He only smiled back at Duo.
“Not as much as we hurt yours. You’re the one that’s in captivity. And now you’re going to be executed.”
Duo gave the man a hard, dangerous grin, steeling himself. “Well go on then,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You got a gun, don’t ya? I see it on your hip. C’mon, you starch-pressed greencoat chickenshit. I’m standing right here. I’ll make it easy on ya. I won’t even beg. Do it.”
He saw Heero’s cobalt eyes in his mind’s eyes, like dark waters. Heard the scientist’s voice. We will not surrender the Gundams.
Do it.
The man laughed at him softly, shaking his head.
“Where would the fun be in that? No, kid. You’re going to be executed publically, in front of all the colonies. Your death is going to be the glue that cements the peace. The people’s feelings towards the execution will unite the colonies against terrorism. You should be grateful that your miserable life will mean something after all.”
Goddamn you. Goddamn all of you to hell. Duo took a deep breath and wrenched forward as hard as he could, trying to pull out of the brutal grip on his arms, trying to force the man to shoot him in self-defense.
A brutal blow hit him from behind, and that was the last thing he remembered.
* * *
Heero rode the elevator on the space barge down to the brig. On the outside, he was perfectly contained. He could feel the cool, promising weight of the pistol at his hip.
The one he’d brought to kill Duo.
I can do it. The Mission demands it.
He closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, focusing on the meditative in-out of his breathing. Clearing his mind.
I have to do it.
As soon as the elevator doors opened, Heero found himself face to face with a patrolling OZ guard. He leapt at the man, shoving the man’s head back against the opposite wall so hard that the man was convulsing when he hit the floor.
Heero left him to die and ran down the corridor, moving so fast that the other guard didn’t have time to register his presence before Heero was on him, throwing the man with a judo flip that knocked him cold. He heard a low moan from the cell nearby, almost too soft to hear. Raspy breathing followed by a hacking cough.
Cracked ribs, the Soldier whispered tonelessly in his mind. Impact injury. Pilot.
Heero reached down and rifled through the pockets of the guard at his feet until he found the man’s keycard. He slid it into the door of the cell, waiting until the light blinked green before he swung the door open.
Duo was sitting slumped against the far wall, head hanging. Dried blood painted his face in haphazard smears. As he looked up, Heero saw that the Deathscythe pilot’s nose was broken, one eye closed with the force of a blow. The other, sparkling indigo in the shadows, shone back at him.
For a moment, Heero’s first instinct was to run to him, causing a rush of reactionary shock that froze him where he stood. The Soldier held him back viciously, and it made him think of the first time he had to do this.
That boy had been from L2, too.
What is the point of this training, sir? Permit me to untie his hands.
Are you insane? Carry out the order. Bayonet him.*
The laughter that erupted from the Deathscythe pilot sounded like rusty nails. Duo shook his head in slow disbelief.
He’s...he’s laughing? The sound made something deep in Heero wrench loose, filling him with a feeling that he didn’t recognize and couldn’t articulate.
“What a surprise. Hey Heero,” Duo said, grinning as if he hadn’t just watched Heero kill himself a month before, as if he had been expecting Heero to show back up the entire time. “You really are superhuman, huh?” The Deathscythe pilot smiled up at him as if grateful to see him, guileless as a child.
C’mon, Perfect! Finish your Mission or to hell you go!
Heero removed his pistol from his waist and aimed it between the Deathscythe pilot’s eyes.
Dr. J’s voice thundered in his head. Boy, finish it!
Duo just smiled back at him, shrugging and struggling to his feet, groaning. “Perfect timing. They were about to use me and my Gundam for their propaganda. At least do me a favor and don’t make me die on my knees, huh? You can give me that much at least.”
Duo squared up against the back of the prison cell, standing straight and tall. The white of his priest’s collar glowed in the darkness.
“If I’m gonna die, seems appropriate that you’re the one who does it,” Duo said, staring him down, still grinning his suicide grin that caused a shudder to course through Heero, caused the hair to stand up on the back of his neck. Duo looked into his eyes. “I want it to be you. I’m glad.”
The Deathscythe pilot raised his chin high and closed his eyes, still smiling. Looking proud. “Here. Go right ahead and shoot me. Those Ozzie cowards didn’t have the guts, but I know you do.”
Heero stared down the pistol’s sight, finger putting the barest pressure on the trigger.
Do it. A bullet for him, and then a bullet for you.
Then peace. Heero tried to imagine it, that cool and everlasting darkness. That silence. No more fighting. No more pain. No more fire. No more death.
Heero stood there. Paralyzed. Unable to make his trigger finger come down even a half-millimeter harder.
Duo’s good eye shot open in the darkness, and when he spoke again his voice was filled with indignant surprise. “Hey, you’re really gonna shoot me, aren’t you?” I thought we were friends, that voice said.
(Mission)
I can’t.
“If that’s what you want me to do,” Heero said, mouth dry, hand frozen on his gun.
I can’t. I can’t.
He let out a hard breath of frustration through his nose, then tossed the pistol at Duo. Duo caught it deftly, shock flashing across his face. But he caught it.
I won’t.
“Trigger hand still works, doesn’t it?” Heero said, coming forward into the cell. He slung Duo’s left arm around his shoulders, feeling the heavy weight of muscle in it despite the Deathscythe pilot’s lithe frame, smelling the sweat and blood on Duo along with some smell that was just him.
He reached out and placed his palm against the right side of Duo’s chest and Duo flinched back from him, face screwing in pain, gasping. “Don’t.”
They beat him. Heero felt a warm molten swell rising in him at the thought, and he held Duo closer to him at the waist, lifting him up with a terrifying gentleness, avoiding his injured ribs.
“Broken,” Heero said. He wondered if Duo had internal bleeding too—the pilot’s color wasn’t good—but he figured it couldn’t be helped either way. Not now. He’d tend to Duo’s wounds later, if they both managed to live.
He helped walk Duo to the entrance of the prison cell. Duo staggered alongside him, head bowed wearily. Now that he knew he wasn’t going to die, all of his Shinigami bravado seemed to have evaporated. Now he hung at Heero’s side, seeming smaller and less spirited somehow than the last time Heero had seen him.
Now what are we going to do?
Heero’s eyes tracked down the hallway, debating.
“Where’s your Gundam?” Duo asked, his breathing ragged and shallow.
“I left it on Earth. It’d stick out too much in space. So I’d probably wind up getting caught like you did.”
“Yeah well pardon me,” Duo muttered. “Didn’t exactly plan on getting ambushed by a squad of mobile dolls in transit. So how exactly do you plan on getting us out of here, anyway?”
Heero looked into Duo’s bruised face. “I came here to kill you before I killed himself. I didn’t exactly come up with an escape plan.”
“What if we don’t make it?” Duo asked, looking up at him.
Heero looked into his eyes and he knew Duo wasn’t just talking about escaping. He was talking about the whole thing.
Duo’s face was very close, his body melded against Heero’s body close enough that he could feel the Deathscythe pilot’s yammering heartbeat. Beating hard and alive. Alive. Still alive in his arms.
We will.
We have to.
“It’s as simple as silencing the two of us,” Heero said instead, pressing down on the detonator in his right palm.
Explosions rocked the barge.