Notes & Disclaimer

It had been one year. One painful, darkened year that seemed to span over much more time then a mere 365 days. Sometimes the sun had set and risen fast enough to make those left behind dizzy, and on other occasions time had frozen for distant, happy memories to be recalled. Memories that made people laugh or smile. Even in death Duo had that much power over those that knew him. But this was not a day for giggles or grins. It was an anniversary that elicited no celebration. One beautiful, braided boy with amethyst eyes had died today. Today, one year ago. He had survived tragedies and parties, laughter and tears. He had fought a war and lived to see the beginning of peace. He had defeated the crisis of Marimeia and finally had the guts to admit his feelings to the boy he loved. He had seen hurt and rejection, attention and affection.

And all that had been stolen away from him rollerblading down the street not three blocks from the apartment he lived in with his Prussian eyed lover. It happened for a lot of reasons.

Because Duo Maxwell always wore black and that made his outline so hard to see at night. Because he himself hadn't seen the small rock that tripped him up and made him fall. Because if the invincible Shinigami had survived a war he decided he really didn't need to wear a helmet. Because the intoxicated driver of a bright red Mazda was paying a lot more attention to the hooker sitting next to him then anything on the road. It happened for a lot of reasons, but none of them made any sense.

It was a small, green hill located on Earth. A planet that Duo had come to love. A place with water for everyone and clean air. The hill didn't actually stand out at all. Except for the cross. A small, obsidian cross no more then a foot high. Unobtrusive but profound, shadowed tragedy in a beautiful place. The exact opposite of Duo Maxwell in life, and yet somehow the very same.

It was early in the morning. There was no breeze, and the red sun was just beginning to rise far in the east. A small Asian boy stood at the grave, watching it. His stare was as intense as if he expected the stone grave marker to tap-dance. He did not. He was trying to make sense of things. The death of one of his closest friends, whether he admitted the friendship or not, had changed his entire world. It went deeper then the loss of a friend, because that friend was also a comrade. Another fighter against impossible odds. It went almost absurdly far enough to be a blood brother of sort, for all of them had spilled enough blood. The death of Duo Maxwell had been so illogical, so unjust, so unexplained and unfair. It had not been a calculated risk or a necessary sacrifice. It had been pointless.

It made Wufei want to scream. But he did not. Wufei was perfectly disciplined. Discipline that seemed so completely irrelevant to his situation now. It prevailed nonetheless. He continued to kneel rigidly, unfathomable black eyes shining with tears. He had not cried since the death of Treize Khushrenada, and he did not intend to cry now. That death had been his fault. The glorious ending to a man that deserved nothing less. There was no such glory for Duo Maxwell, laying unnaturally on the asphalt, blood seeping from a minor wound on his shoulder. Internal bleeding slowly putting pressure on his brain. Never to reopen his eyes or regain conscienceness. Perhaps that had been a mercy. The only justice. None in the fact that the driver of the car had driven like hell to get away from there and that it was his whore that called the police while the man slept. Nothing fair about the fact that Duo would have lived if they had called an ambulance immediately after running over the brunette. Tears did slide down his cheeks. More irony, he thought, that the memories made him cry when the actual event had not. His mind told him it had been shock, but his heart had doubts.

Doubts that Duo would have easily dismissed had he been around to take care of them. Wufei knew that. It was the simple fact that Duo wasn't around to take care of them that was killing him. He bowed his head in either silent prayer or gesture of respect. Warm, salt water fell from his cheeks to the grass that grew six feet above his fallen friend. The sun rose higher into the sky, the entire golden sphere now almost visible from Wufei's vantage on the hill. He drew himself up, not noticing nor caring about the new grass stains on his meticulous white pants. Some things became less important, he realized. And Wufei turned his head away from the cross as the last of his tears fell.

He walked slowly away from the grave and down the mild hill to his motorcycle. He did not used to wear a helmet. He didn't now because he actually had any fear that he would die in an accident. Wufei did not fear death. The protection was simply another way to remember Duo. As if it would have been possible to forget.

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The high afternoon sun glinted off the cross glaringly. Quatre looked at it and swallowed audibly. Trowa squeezed his hand for support. Judging by the single rose Wufei had already been there. There was a time when the Asian would have scoffed at the idea of leaving roses anywhere. Perhaps the man he had killed had rubbed off on him. Quatre himself also held a bouquet of roses. White. As pure as Duo Maxwell might have been. As pure as any of them might have been had they not been tarnished by war and circumstance.

Even without their destined fates they would not have lived charmed lives. But dwelling on what could have been was no better then dwelling on the past. No better then dwelling on doubts and 'what ifs.' Because there were a lot of 'ifs.' If Duo hadn't called to return those doujinshi at that particular moment.

If Quatre's line hadn't been busy because he was talking to Iria for the first time in weeks. If Duo had left then instead of, for one of the only times in history, being a polite individual and waiting until he could call Quatre and warn the blonde he was coming over. If Quatre had not given him a lecture in anger only a few days before about why people called before just showing up at people's houses. If Quatre had offered to pick them up or had told Duo not to worry about it. If Quatre had told him to just keep them until tomorrow. If Duo hadn't been able to find one of his blades and had been delayed five minutes. If only, if only..

"It's not your fault you know," whispered Trowa softly. Quatre turned to look at him. The afternoon sun above them was blinding.

"I know," replied Quatre. But the tremble in his voice revealed how little faith he had in the words. Trowa pulled the Arabian into his arms as the other shed tears. There were things he wanted to say to the blonde. Things that were almost words of comfort but not quite. Why did Quatre blame himself like this? As if the small boy had the power to change the past or move mountains. It could almost have been a form of arrogance.

On other people it would have been. But with Quatre it was just a heavy feeling of guilt for things he had no control over. Trowa tightened his hold on the sobbing bundle in his arms. In the back of his mind was guilt too. It could have been Quatre that had died. And despite the anguish he felt at the loss of Duo there was the faint relief inside that it had not been.

He placed a feather-light kiss on the blonde head. Quatre's small fists gripped the material of Trowa's shirt. The tears were not just for Duo. They were for the people the fey boy had left behind. He sniffled and pulled away from his koi. Trowa let him go. Both faces turned back to the simple, understated grave.

"Do you think," asked Quatre, "that Duo can see us, or hear what we're saying?" His voice was soft and Trowa could hear the echo of his freshly shed tears. The green-eyed boy hesitated before answering.

"I don't know," he replied. Another doubt was settling into his mind, and he took a step back away from Quatre. The blonde didn't notice. Was it wrong that he and Quatre visited the grave together? That they were still lovers when Duo could no longer be with his own? What if he could look down and see them? The answer came at once and almost made him smile. Duo would never have become a vengeful spirit. He had been that in life, the death of darkness. Someone enemies rarely lived to see twice. For his friends, his almost family, Duo would not begrudge happiness he could not share. And if Duo could watch them, he could surely watch Heero. What sweet torture that would be, to watch the one you love but never be able to touch them.

Quatre had drifted back towards him without realizing it, and absently Trowa put his arms around the other. It was a torture he hoped he would never have to know. Quatre bowed his head to the grave, eyes closed and expression sorrowful. Trowa watched it with the same dispassionate green gaze that he watched everything else with. Only Quatre understood his grief. And together they walked away from the beauty that was marred only by what they knew lay beneath it.