Title: Realization [HIV 1/?]
Author: Darkwood
Rating: PG
[A/N: This story deals with mature themes in a past-tense situation, and the angst that can come afterwards. The first and second parts employ more angst, but please bear with me as the story progresses, I think you'll be as pleased with the way that it passes through the stages of dealing with the mature themes as I am with them. This is why this story is taking as long to finish as it is, I am trying my best to accurately represent one person's struggle with the issues within.]
***
I do not deserve this.
I have never done any real trespasses against god. I haven’t. Other than being a soldier and killing people during the war, I haven’t done anything wrong. Other than deciding to figure out what my problem was and finding out I’m gay, there isn’t anything different about me than anyone else. So I proclaimed myself Shinigami, so what?
Does that mean that I deserve this punishment?
Couldn’t I have lived to see Heero figure out he loves me?
Oh, I know I’m being a bit drastic. I only have HIV. I don’t have it yet.
‘Actual reality, act up, fight AIDS,’ said the group of homosexuals and bisexuals and heterosexuals. The musical is one of my favorites. Perhaps I’ll see it again tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll see the damn thing every day I can get out of bed. Perhaps even when I can’t.
The nurses are really nice. If I pay for their ticket, perhaps they’ll take me, I can buy out a box, I have the money. We’d be all alone, and I’d promise not to moan too much.
I have contracted HIV.
Yeah, me, who’s been celibate since… well…
It’s been a long time.
There is a cure.
There has to be.
That’s why I haven’t told them yet.
There is a cure, I am sure of it, that’s why I’m doing this.
No, I haven’t swapped spit with anyone. I sure as hell haven’t slept with anyone since I found out. Hell, I haven’t slept with anyone at all since I found out I am in love with Heero. Hell, I hadn’t even before then. I just didn’t feel like it.
The doctor says that I contracted it recently.
I don’t deserve this, he said to me. He says that I’m not supposed to have this. I’m not supposed to deteriorate this quickly. He says he’ll do all he can to get me well again.
I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t think that I needed this much punishment, Lord. Why me?
I had so much to live for.
Ok, so I was lying, sorry, All Mighty. I know you know the truth, but I’ve got to get morale up. I’m falling apart, God. I don’t even have anyone to help me through this. If I go to a help group I know they’ll call me a dirty fag. I haven’t done anything. Hell, I kept the police coverage down, when I was brought in by a Good Samaritan.
He called an ambulance and the police and I was taken care of very well.
He expressed his pity at my situation.
Just like good old Quatre.
The police have caught them, and they’re in jail, permanently.
How the hell does that help me?
I pick up the phone. I can call him.
Heero would tell me to be more careful. Heero would tell me that I was being careless. He would scold me and I…
I’m too much of a coward to deal with that now.
The doc says that I’ll get over the depression in little time at all. I don’t care.
My cell phone is ringing. Pick it up.
“Duo here.”
“Hey Duo, it’s been far too long.”
“Hey Quatre.”
“How are you?”
I stumble over that question. How am I? “I’m as good as can be expected. You?”
“I’m good.” There is a pause. “What are you doing for thanksgiving?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you going to celebrate it at all?”
“Yeah.”
“Where?”
“Probably helping out in a soup kitchen.”
“Oh,” Quatre says, seeming depressed.
“I haven’t made anything definite yet, though.”
“Oh,” he seems happier.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m having dinner here for everyone on the 26th.”
“And?”
“And?” Quatre asks, indignant.
“Well?”
“I want you to come.”
“Oh, sorry, Q. I’m like that lately.”
“You sure you’re ok?”
“As I said…”
“Point made.”
“So, when is it?”
“As I said, the 26th.”
“Oh. How do I get there?”
“I’ll send you the tickets.”
“Can’t I drive?”
“It’s on earth.”
“Oh.”
“And it isn’t one of my usual mansions.”
“I’ll make it.”
“I’ll wire you the tickets, Duo.” Quatre is laughing. “I hope you can make it.”
“Of course I can. There is a four-day lapse from here to there. If I leave right after eight, I’ll be fine.”
I’m writing it all down, just in case I forget.
“I’ll see you then, and bring a big appetite, Duo.”
“Do I ever?”
He laughs some more, and I smile. “I’ve got to get going, Quatre, I’m almost late for the show.”
“Show?”
“Musical, Rent.”
“Wow.”
“What do you mean, ‘wow’?”
“I’ve seen that once. I loved it.”
“Yeah, well this is my second time.”
“Lucky you,” Quatre is smiling; I just know it.
“So, I’ve got to go.” I pause. “I’ll catch you on your date then.”
“Sure thing, Duo.”
***
The theater darkens, and the lights come up, barely, as the opening scene of the musical comes up on the center stage. Duo watches avidly from his empty box on the right of the theater, and settles in comfortably.
Duo watches the story unfold happily, and rests in his chair during intermission. The house lights begin to dim when Duo feels it. Instantly he surges to his feet and heads out of the booth. Got to get to the bathroom, got to get to the bathroom, got to…
Duo stumbles against a semi-familiar frame and build as he staggers towards the bathroom, and the figure turns. “Duo?”
Duo ignores the pulling of his heart for the gagging of his throat. He rushes into the bathroom, and falls before the toilet. The contents of his stomach erupt from his mouth and he hugs the cool porcelain. There is a knock from outside of the door.
“Mr. Smith? Are you all right in there, Mr. Smith?”
***
Duo can’t respond as he weakens, a stinging in his throat telling him that he’s begun to spit up blood. He attempts to suppress the gag instinct as the voice continues to insist on knowing his health.
“Mr. Smith, I’m coming in, sir, I need to know that you’re all right. I’m opening the door now, be careful.”
The door hits Duo’s leg and shoves it out of the way as he continues to hold himself to the bowl for fear of ruining his new tuxedo. His arms weakly slip and the usher kneels to his side gently, picking him up and beginning to clean him off.
Unable to do it himself, Duo relaxes as the warm hands clean him off and the gentle fingers brush against his face. Lips touch his cheek and he sighs.
“Get off of him,” a new voice insists from the doorway.
The usher is peeled off of Duo as the familiar form wraps its strong arms around him. Duo lets himself slip away as there is a growl at the usher. “You leave him alone.”
“Y-y-yes, s-s-sir.”
And with that, Duo is picked up and carried down to the coat check.
Without too much hassle, Duo is wrapped in his coat and an arm, also covered in the thick material of a coat, wraps around his overly slender, even for him, hips. Duo puts an arm around the other person’s shoulders as his wallet is looked at for a moment.
“Let’s get you back to my place, Duo.”
Knowing instinctively that trust is all right with this person, who is obviously another pilot, Duo nods into his shoulder and allows himself to be escorted to a bed and a warm room.