FIC: King's Cross [Gundam Wing, Heero & VFM Darlian]
Title: King’s Cross
Author: Omnicat
Rating: K / G
Genre: General.
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: Up to episode 12, ‘Bewildered Warriors’ of Gundam Wing. Use of a concept from the climax of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.
Warnings: None.
Pairings: None.
Disclaimer: Fanfiction. Look it up.
Summary: In the aftermath of Siberia, the late Vice Foreign Minister Darlian is there to help him make the choice between life or death.
Author’s Note: The title has at least a dozen different interpretations, not the least of which is the obvious allusion to the chapter in Deathly Hallows. You don’t need to have read that book to understand this, but it would be a lot cooler. (And if you haven’t read Deathly Hallows, I of course incourage you to do so ASAP! ;) )
King's Cross
He conluded, quite serenely, that his current peace of mind was wholly misplaced.
Waking up naked, in a white room with no discernable walls, ceiling or floor, with only a distant memory of a rush of cold Siberian air right before blowing Wing sky high... Yeah, he should probably be bursting with adrenaline right about now. But he wasn’t, and even tough he knew such loss of control over his own emotional responses should rile him up most of all, he was okay with that, too.
This place sure had some impressive ambiance.
Just when he was about to question his surroundings for no other reason than a lack of anything better to do, a dark speck appeared on what would have been the horizon, had the place had one.
It didn’t really feel like waiting for the speck to move closer and take on the shape of a man, for the man’s features to become familiar.
"Minister Darlian."
Darlian smiled down at him and held out an armful of clothing that had not been there before. "You might want to put some clothes on, son."
He stood and dressed, hardly noticing what the garments looked like; they were non-descript enough not to be there at all. His movements were sluggish, as if trying to feel his way though the steps of an almost forgotten dance or kata.
When he was done, Darlian looked him up and down appraisingly before smiling again, seeming pleased. "So you’re the new Heero Yuy."
He considered the question for a moment. "In a way. I guess."
The name felt like it fit, but when Minister Darlian used it like a title, something inside of him recoiled.
"I see you’re still a litle out of it." the man said kindly. "Come, walk with me. That should help clear your head."
There was no reason not to. So when Darlian went, he followed.
There didn’t seem to be anywhere to go; the only things they saw in the white was each other and a slowly building fog. But Minister Darlian had been right: the simple familiarity of walking slowly began to bring everything back. Memories, knowledge, feelings, the security of his body’s limits and capabilities sinking in from his skin, through his muscles all the way into the marrow of his bones.
Somehow, he knew that something was very wrong there, but it didn’t seem to matter here.
The fog became thicker as his mind cleared further, but both the nebula and his returned consciousness kept a certain distance, merely tickling his senses instead of overwhelming them, as they so easily could.
After an immeasurable amount of time, Minister Darlian turned to him. "And?"
He didn’t need to guess what the man wanted to know. "This is... death, isn’t it?"
"Not quite."
"I self-destructed. I should be in pieces along with Wing."
Darlian looked at him sympathetically. "It is true that your body is in bad shape, but you haven’t died yet."
He looked around at the fog and the white nothingness, wondering very briefly whether this was the ‘light’ so many people claimed would be seen when their ‘souls’ crossed over to the next world.
"But I’m about to." he guessed.
"That depends. Your body is on the brink of collapsing, but it won’t fail you if you don’t want it to. The choice to live or die is entirely in your own hands."
Even in his sedated state, he felt his eyes grow wide with surprise and shock and his stride falter.
Darlian put a hand on his shoulder. "Don’t ask me how, but I’m aware that you’ve tried to take your own life several times in the past few months, and why."
He looked down, unable to bear that knowing gaze. The fog had been closing in around their feet. The swirling whisps of nothing were soothing.
"I know what you’re thinking." Darlian went on. "You’ve always followed your heart. A heart that tells you to stand up for those who suffer under the oppressive rule of an unjust government, to protect the helpless and the innocent from harm. But after what you did, you feel you can no longer live with yourself. Your very existence disgusts you. Sometimes you have to stop yourself from clawing at your skin or tearing out your hair in an attempt to get rid of the monster they’ve tried to make of you."
"The world would be better off without people like me." he whispered hoarsely.
The hand on his shoulder tightened. "The world would be doomed without people like you."
Again, the look of shock came over his face before he knew it.
Darlian’s expression had become both grim and bright. "You remind me of my daughter, Heero Yuy. So young, yet with such fire, such immeasurable potential. You have the spirit to accomplish great things, my son. Don’t let the mistakes you’ve made in the past cripple you."
He could only shake his head.
"You don’t understand. I..."
"I do understand. Perhaps better than you do yourself. Answer me this: do you want to kill people and destroy things?"
"No!"
"And yet you’ve been doing it all this time. Why?"
Why?
Odin had taught him how to survive under any circumstances, by any means necessary. But Odin had also taught him to always follow his heart, so just as he’d usually make sure to leave the actual killing to his assassin mentor, when Odin was still around to do the dirty work, he took great care to avoid unnecessary damage and casualties once it was his turn.
But training to be a terrorist, a freedom fighter, deaths were unavoidable as often as not. J initially agreed with his methods, teaching him how to cope with the inevitable and prevent the unnecessary, but Dekim Barton’s retraining had demanded he’d let go of every last shred of compassion he had. And while he’d fought it tooth and nail, the Bartons were ruthless in their demands and ambitions.
Eventually, their veritable brainwashing had gotten to him to such a degree that he began to question his own sanity.
"I had no other choice." he said.
Darlian gave him that knowing look again. "Are you sure about that?"
No other choice but to...
In the end, J had given him a choice. Genocide, rebellion, or escape.
He had rejected the original Operation Meteor - but he also hadn’t fled.
"I had no choice." he repeated. "It’s my duty."
"Duty? What kind of duty? And to whom? Disguised slavery to the organisation that wants you to be an inhuman killing machine? Or a self-imposed quest on behalf of the people of the colonies?"
"To the colonies." he said. "And to myself."
The fog began to clear, and he didn’t need the look of reflective pride on Darlian’s face to know what it meant. He was at a crossroads. He was here to make a decision.
It had been a long time since he’d been able to be so honest with himself. Since he’d had such autonomy.
Shapes began to arise from the formerly depthless mists as he went over his options. In this place between life and death, with the world at a safe distance and a vague, soothing sense of inconsequentiality permeating his mind, it was easy to see what he wanted. But even from here he realised it wouldn’t be as easy in the real world.
Liberating the colonies, defeating OZ, was the only goal and purpose in his life. It was all he cared about - all he allowed himself to think about while the course of history could still be altered in the blink of an eye, as his own spectacular failure at New Edwards had once again shown. He would rather die than live without being able to do that.
He had only just pushed the self-destruct button with the intent of giving his life in order to do that in a way that did not go against his ideals. And he would do it again if it meant bringing the world another step closer to his goal. But he could only wonder if going through with dieing now would be better than jumping back into the fray.
As if reading his mind, Darlian said: "It is an unfortunate fact of life that mankind must learn its most important lessons through trial and error. But if we let our failures and mistakes deter us, how can we even hope to become wiser and stronger? That, son, would truly make the pain and suffering that was inflicted unforgivable."
He nodded. "You said I’m on the brink of death, but dieing isn’t inevitable. Do you know what happened to my body after I blew up Wing?"
"You’re being cared for by people with good intentions. That is all I can tell you." Darlian said, and again he nodded. He did not question the man’s presence, nor his secrets: something in his subconscious told him he already knew, yet would not understand if he was told.
The foggy shapes had taken on recognizable forms by now. Everything was still white, but he could clearly discern a high ceiling over a speceous room, a vast, empty floor stretching out around them, ringed by a balcony supported by stone pillars.
"I’m not finished yet." he concluded.
The prospect of letting it all go now that he had the chance was tempting - to put an end to the struggle and uncertainty, to escape the maddening pressure that had been put on him, to never have to put his heart through a meatgrinder again. To escape the self-loathing, and most of all, the all-consuming guilt.
But he wasn’t as battered as to have stopped caring about what he’d leave behind: it wouldn’t hurt so much if he didn’t care.
He looked up at Darlian. "But I’m lost. I don’t know what to do."
Darlian looked at the room that had materialized around them and smiled, saying: "Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem. Do you recognize this place, son?"
He looked more carefully this time. Now that the man mentioned it...
"It looks like the ballroom at St Gabriel’s."
It was hard to tell if the affection in Darlian’s eyes was for his daughter, or for him. "Indeed it does. And it’s fitting, isn’t it? That this should be the place where you make your decision? If you decide to continue your life, my Relena will be there to keep her promise, and you will find four others just like yourself. You won’t have to find your way all alone."
I’m on your side now.
The memory came like a flash, piercing the lethargic spell with a fierceness that was almost painful. Relena, the fearlessly persistent gil whose father he’d been talking to all this time. Duo Maxwell, who was so different from himself that it was still hard to believe he was such a good pilot even now. The other three gundam pilots, whom he knew only by voice...
They stood in silence fo a while, while he thought not about what decision to make, but about why knowing he wouldn’t be all by himself ultimately made the difference his willingness to do anything for the colonies did not. But it didn’t matter, he decided in the end, and looked Vice Foreign Minister Darlian in the eye one last time. No words were needed: his expression said it all.
"Good luck, son." Darlian said, with a squeeze to his shoulder. "You bear the hopes and dreams of many, across a difficult path. Good luck."
And then came pain, roaring to life like fire all throughout his body, and a suffocating, merciful darkness that forced him to his knees and emptied his mind.
By the time he woke up, all he remembered of his survival was the image of Relena, and the thought that some way, somehow, he would make up for the mistakes he had made.
PSAN: Read and Review, please. ;D