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"Coming Home"Written By: ELLE Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from Gundam
Wing (unfortunately) and they were used without permission, but all
the words are my own. Rating: R Warnings: AU, first person POV, angst, sap, lots
of bad language, lots of bad life choices (namely drinking and driving),
beta'd poorly by me myself and I Pairings: 2x3 Summary: It was in Vegas that I realized my mistake. Couldn't have been further away but sometimes maybe you have to get as far away as earthly possible before you can get any perspective. But there was something about being in the crappy little hotel room, laying on the bed, still fully dressed, watching a roach crawl up the cracked plaster to the ceiling and I realized I missed you. Notes: I actually have this four part AU thing
in my head regarding these two that I don't particularly have a lot
of confidence about actually writing and so hopefully this will get
it out of my system. The song this is based on is off Butch Walker's
new EP "Peachtree Battle" and I'm not sure it's something
played outside Atlanta? Anyway it's likely not as happy a song as
I'm going to chose to interpret it. =P For the lovely Miss Murdered – for still
managing to put up with me after dealing with my shit for so long.
*snugs* This is also a heavy homage to her Duo. ;-)
"Coming Home" Singing from a ditch with a seat belt on Fuck if I'm not a goddamn pussy. I mean, damn. Here
I am, tail tucked between my legs, ready to admit I was a dick because
fuck all if that wasn't obvious enough by this point but still I had
to go to that shitty little dive bar outside town. Know you know the
one. Same shitty pleather seating, cracked and smelling like grease
and smoke long gone by twenty years ago now. Same skeevy guys playing
pool with their shitty tattoos and their bandanas and their blatant
disrespect for their heavily make-uped partners getting trashed at
the corner booth and stoned in the bathroom. Only difference is there's
two more years of growth on their beards. It was a dumb fuck stop, ya know, just killing time
when hadn't I already spent enough goddamn time away? Maybe I needed
a little liquid courage too, a couple beers, not enough so that I
wouldn't be able to drive, but still. Something. Two years. Fuck, ya know? Didn't really know how you
were going to take it. Guess it seems pretty obvious why I stopped
at that fucking bar. Not like I could 'a got up the balls to just
call you for fucks sake. I'm all cool self-confidence all the damn
time except when it comes to you. Guess I knew how I fucked you over.
Guess I was a little embarrassed, ashamed of it now, looking back,
what a little bitch I'd been. It's that self-confidence, ya know?
Fucks me over every time. Always think I'm gonna to do something grand,
something fucking illustrious, my name in neon lights over Vegas performing
to a sold out show but you know... there's the thing. It was in Vegas that I realized my mistake. Couldn't
have been further the fuck away I guess but sometimes maybe you have
to get as far away as earthly possible before you can get any damn
perspective. But there was something about being in the shitty little
hotel room, laying on the bed, still fully dressed, watching a roach
crawl up the cracked plaster to the ceiling and I realized I goddamn
fucking missed you. I mean, I knew I missed you, right? Like sure, I'd think about you a lot, talking to strangers at shithole diners and they'd laugh or brush their hair back from their eyes or say something just the same damn way you'd have said it and it would hurt a little, deep in my stomach. But I could write it off as indigestion from traveling or whatever dumbfuck thing I saw fit to tell myself. Little harder to write off the moments I'd see something real fucking whack – like this time there were these three kids throwing punches in the median off I-75 somewhere in damn Ohio with their junked up Buick on the side of the road – and I'd laugh and turn to tell you how much it made me think of some dumb shit we did as kids and you wouldn't be there. Just my fucking guitar staring me in the face, like a shitty reminder, like a taunt, like a damn challenge – this is what you wanted, wasn't it? And yeah I'd swallow it back and say that it was and move on. Convinced myself you were just holding me back. But I'd finally got there, right? Playing on the strip
and all and that was supposed to be what I wanted but in that cheap
ass room miles outside the city, the only damn place I could afford
after nearly two years on the road, criss-crossing the damn country
and seeing every landmark, every shithole dump and dive, I realized
the only thing I wanted to see was you. I was here, I met my damn
goal and still, my mind was so fucked up over you. And I was
angry. I was so goddamn pissed that you did this shit to me. You took
this away from me – the one thing that would truly make me happy,
my life, my music, and you took it and turned it into some bullshit
about you. The way you always damn did. What – like I was supposed
to come crawling home on my hands and knees, begging for you back? Fuck if that's not exactly what I decided to do. Pretty
stupid of me, really, but you know better than most I've never been
the sharpest tool in the shed, really. Gotta beat the shit out of
me before anything gets hammered through my thick skull and yet, ya
know, you loved me anyway. Cheesiest fucking shit I ever thought,
probably, and my eyes were blurry from tears I was damn well not going
to cry as I stared down at my cell phone and still couldn't just fucking
call you. I kicked at my tire, cursing myself and the car and
the bar and the whole goddamn world right then. You know – I
don't do things right. I never fucking can. Every time I try it just
turns into some huge clusterfuck where I look like an asshole and
feel even worse and really I just wanted shit to go right this time.
Just once. But there was me, downing drinks at the bar, trying to
get up my damn nerve and I probably would've been fine, ya know –
really, I probably would've, having driven drunk on these roads so
many damn times when we were in high school or whatever – but
fuck my luck that some dog had to run out into the road. And god knows
I wasn't about to kill a fucking dog – not on my way to see you. So you know what I did? Me, the magnificent Duo Maxwell,
arrogant, over-confident, always-gets-what-he-wants, lady slaying,
guitar playing, genuine maverick and asshole extraordinaire? I sat
down right there on the side of the road and cried. I was just so damn close, ya know? I spent more days
than I could even count imaging this on the backs of my eyelids in
WalMart parking lots or fifty-buck motel rooms as I willed myself
to sleep so I could drive through one more day. And it had already
taken me so damn long to just admit it, to let go of my anger and
just admit that it wasn't you – it was me. It was me that wanted
you, it was me that ruined this for myself, doing everything the wrong
damn way – doing it without you. You wanted to make it work and,
you know, looking back I can see that. Shit. You were so willing to
do so much for me, use all your damn PTO on me, drive hundreds of
miles for me, and all I heard was you trying to hold me back. What
a cunt. And now, after all that shit, after two years, after
finally admitting to myself that the only thing that was going to
make me happy was you – I fucked it all up again. Car stuck in
a ditch. For once I just really didn't want you to have to come fucking
rescue me again, like always. For once I wanted to be the knight in
shining armor. For once I wanted to damn rescue you. Shit! I wiped
my snotty nose on my sleeve and stared up at the sky, wondering what
god saw fit to curse me like this. But you know, never was good at
taking responsibility for my own damn mistakes. I guess that's when I decided it wasn't going to be
like that this time. I mean, Jesus Christ, I was twenty-six for fucks
sake. It was time to start acting like a goddamn adult. Forcing my stiff legs to cooperate I stood, wiping at
my eyes and staring down the long, dark road. Yeah, the lights were
bad out there, but I only had a couple miles and this town surely
hadn't change so much in the past two years that I wouldn't know the
way back to your house. As if I didn't have it memorized by heart.
As if anything could stop me from getting there. I threw my guitar case over my shoulder, locked the
car doors, and started to walk. Slow at first, you know, feeling uncertain,
unsure. Thinking – maybe I should've just sucked it up and fucking
called. And – maybe you weren't going to want to see me after
all this time. It was late. Shit it'd be past midnight by the time
I got there. But you know, for once, I couldn't talk myself out of
it. For once my stupid fucking self-confidence might've been beneficial
to me and I started walking faster, each step a little bigger than
the last, east step a little easier. Because when it comes right down
to it, I knew you couldn't really be mad at me. Okay, okay – so I've never done something this
astronomically fucked up, I got that. I could see your face already,
mouth contorted into that same little frown you always used when I
screwed the pooch, shaking your head, sadly, all disappointed, like
you just couldn't believe you fell in love with someone as fucking
stupid as me. But then, you know, I knew I could kiss the frown better
so it wasn't really much of a threat. Made me smile a little, actually,
thinking of all the times you'd pulled that little number on me. Maybe
you were just hoping one day it would work and I'd grow the fuck up. Like that time after you bailed me out of jail for TP'ing
old Noventa's house when I was twenty-two and should 'a damn knew
better. After calling you to come pick me up while attempting to stumble
home from that party at Hilde's, stoned out of my fucking mind. After
talking you and the guys into skinny dipping down by the reservoir
only to have that group of freshmen kids show up and take pictures
on their cell phones and send 'em 'round to the whole damn school.
Thank god cell phone technology was so bad back then huh? After we got caught by the pastor's wife when I dared
you to kiss me for the first time in the basement of the church while
the little kids were making animals for Noah's ark out of construction
paper and we were supposed to be supervising but damn if your lips
weren't a little more interesting to sixteen year old me than glue
sticks and scissors. I don't regret it, ya know. I've often wondered if you
did. You know, when my self-confidence is failing me and I wonder
what the fuck a nice guy like you was doing with a big fucking jerk-off
like me. Not like I had shit to offer you. Never had a steady job,
only ever created problems for you, always running away – running
from myself, running from my drunk ass dad, running from my mum's
mental breakdowns, running from the thought I would die in this shithole
town. Running from the truth of the matter being as I was scared and
stupid and just plain inexperienced. I just wanted something better,
ya know, something like in the movies. Something that would make my
life seem like it was worthwhile and I was convinced I'd never find
it here. And this? These poorly paved streets with their crappily
maintained turn of the century houses and peach trees? This was home
for you and I didn't want to accept that. This wasn't my home, I told
myself. This wasn't where I belonged. Stupid fucking dumbass me. Couldn't figure out that
my home was wherever you were. I don't know, that just made me grin even more. God
I was fucked up. Walking through the streets at night like a hobo,
grinning like a lunatic, having spent two years hiding from you, knowing
I've fucked things up royally, knowing there was a chance you wouldn't
even want to see me, but still. Just knowing, finally fucking knowing
that this was where I really belonged – it filled me with a warmth
that was far more potent than alcohol. I couldn't help but smile. Not that I wasn't nervous or whatever – still pretty
damn sure you were going to kick me down your porch steps. But hey,
I was back. No, I was home. And I had plenty of time to wheedle
my way back into your heart. That, I was sure of. That damn self-confidence
of mine, right? I don't know how fucking long I'd been walking, at least
an hour – maybe two – but I did know a couple things. I
was cold. My feet hurt. And I was still smiling when I turned down
your street. It was like nothing had changed. I mean, sure, it was
dark out so anything I saw was illuminated only by the shitty streetlights,
but still. It looked just the same – except that crazy old coot
Howard painted his house some new alarming color I could only vaguely
make out. But it wasn't yellow any more. I could just hear Mrs. Catalonia
bitching about it now. Fuck if it didn't make me smile more. But when I walked up the steps to your front door, sudden
nervousness made my stomach clench and the smile on my face was hard
to maintain. Should 'a probably just spent the night in the car or
something, waited for the cops to come by and tow me out. But you
know – stubborn me. Just had to see ya. And anyway I didn't want
you to find out through the rumor mill that I was back. Wanted to
see you first. Wanted to make sure I didn't lose my nerve. My finger still trembled on the doorbell. I'm not too
big a man to admit it, or whatever. I was scared shitless as I waited,
not even sure after all this time what I was going to say when I saw
you. Dumbass. You'd think I might've thought about that somewhere
over the past month – or at least the two hour long walk to your
door. But you know me better than anyone – so I guess you wouldn't
be expecting any fancypants speeches or heartfelt poetry spewed out
on your doorstep. And even though I was basically shaking in my boots
here when I heard you approach the door, saw the knob turn and all...
I wish you could appreciate how damn nice it was to see you. Fuck.
Even all bleary-eyed from sleep in some old ass holey t with our high
school mascot emblazoned across it and faded plaid pants – you
were perfect. You hadn't changed at all it seemed and the blast of
nostalgia hit me like a goddamn freight train and I swallowed, unable
to do much else but stare. Fuck – I wanted to touch you. Reach
out and brush that stupid hair from your face, look into your eyes,
and just stare, just take you all in and know that it was going to
be okay now. We were together again and I wouldn't be lonely any more,
I wouldn't feel like this big ass piece of my heart was missing. "Duo?" you asked then, sounding dumbfounded,
glancing in the driveway for my car, I guess. I wanted to laugh. What
did you think? I just fell outta the sky like a damn fallen angel
or some shit? "Yeah, it's me," I said back, not really much
more articulate I guess but fuck if I didn't just walk a couple miles
and you know. Whatever. I hadn't seen you in two years – you
oughta cut me some damn slack, ya know? "What are you doing?" I wanted to laugh but instead I stuffed my hands in
my pockets and shuffled my feet a little, looking down. You didn't
ask me what I was doing there, right. Just asked me what I was doing
because fuck all if anyone ever knew the answer to that question.
And frankly, you probably knew what the fuck I was doing on your doorstep
– better than I did. You were probably just waiting for this
day. Didn't make me feel real great but you know – stubborn pride.
Didn't want it to be like I was begging for you back – even if
I was. "I don't know, I just kinda... well," I stumbled,
scratching the back of my neck like a damn idiot. "You know how
it is. I guess I just missed ya, that's all." You snorted, looking skeptical and leaning into the
doorframe, studying me. Fuck – I wish you knew how damn intimidating
it was to be on the receiving end of that look. Way worse than
the frown and the disappointed head shake. It wasn't like I expected
you to welcome me back with open arms or anything but... I just... "So you decide to show up out of the blue at one
in the morning, smelling like a brewery, after two years?" I
could hear the disbelief in your voice but I hazarded a glance up
and then I couldn't help but smile a little 'cause your expression
softened a bit and I kinda knew I had you. Didn't mean you'd buy a
bunch of bullshit from me or nothing, you know, but it was still encouraging
after coming all this way. "Well... maybe I realized I fucked up?" I
offered with what I felt was an acceptable amount of chagrin. But
I saw the way you rolled your eyes. Still, I was getting off damn
easy. I knew it. "What did you expect? That I'd just wait for you?
Indefinitely? That you could just show up, walk in the door, and nothing
would have changed?" Despite your composure, I could hear the
tense, pissed undercurrent in your voice and I didn't really blame
you. Expected worse, frankly. "Nah, man." I shrugged, hands still deep in
my pockets, but I figured I'd owed you that. "Just wanted you
to know I was back an' all." I knew I sounded pretty fucking
dumb but what else was there to say? "You could've called." Your voice was real damn soft and I know you didn't
mean it, but the words hurt, ya know? Because I knew you weren't talking
about just now, when I got back into town or whatever. I knew you
meant sometime during the whole past two fucking years but you know
me. You know why I didn't. I shrugged again and dropped my gaze once more. It was
just nice to see you, really, and I guess it was dumb to think I'd
be invited in or something. That you would be anywhere near as excited
about the prospect of seeing me as I was about seeing you. After all,
I'd hurt you. I'd hurt me too, ya know, but I had a while to reconcile
that. This was a shock for you. "Sorry 'bout that," I offered, honestly, no
bullshit, and I think it was plain enough in my voice. And I looked
up again one last time, smiling a little, sad though, as I studied
your eyes – or at least what I could see of them. "Guess
I'll see ya 'round." Didn't really wait for a reply – didn't really
see the point – as I turned to hop down the steps and go... fuck
knows where. Back to the car I guess. Good ol' Howard might 'a let
me in but then, ya know, one in the morning and all and you were probably
the only person I'd get away with pulling that particular stunt with. "Duo?" you called after me and I paused but
I sure didn't turn around. "Where's your car?" I chuckled a little but there was no smile on my face
and damn straight I wasn't about to show you that. Still had a bit
of a front to put up and all. "Funny story, that," I said, trying to be
humorous though it came out flat. I heard you move across the creaking boards of the porch
before I felt the tug on the sleeve of my jacket, so I expected it,
but then I guess I didn't really expect what you said next. "You know, if you need to crash here tonight, my
couch is always open," you offered and damn. There's so much shit I could say – how you'd always
damn just been there for me. Never asked any questions, never
expected anything. Even before we were dating or whatever, together,
you know, still – still you never hesitated to offer me a hand.
Wondered how many damn times you were dropped on your head as a baby
to make you that fucking stupid but I felt my eyes watering again
and I swiped at them, desperate not to make any bigger an ass of myself
than I already had. "You sure?" I asked, turning around a bit
hesitantly, not really wanting to meet your eyes but then needing
to see if you were being honest or just being nice. Sure as shit wasn't
about to stay here courtesy of your damn pity. "Always," you repeated, real earnest, stroking
the hair back from your face and brushing it ineffectively behind
one ear. "You know that." "I –" I wanted to argue, but what was
there to say? What, was I really gonna turn down your hospitality
for once? Like, what the fuck did I come all the way out here for
then? Just to not let you be who you were? Just to reject your stupidly
blind affection? The same affection I was counting on five minutes
ago before my finger hit your doorbell? "Thanks," I finished, mumbling the singular
word out in embarrassment as you lead me back into the house. Guess you'd said all you had needed to say. But you
were always short on words like that. I was the one talking for both
of us. Too damn bad I never actually stopped to listen when you spoke.
Promise I'll try to be better at that. I set my guitar against the wall as you locked the door
and made my way into the living room. It was dark, just the glow of
the streetlights through the windows lighting up the place, but I
could tell that nothing had changed. Despite what you'd said out there,
it was like my whole life was left here, waiting for me to return
– and it was a damn uncomfortable feeling. Made it even more
fucking obvious what an asshole I'd been. Sighing, I went to kick off my shoes, staring at that
picture on the mantel of us at the carnival, me grinning like a lunatic
with a mouthful of cotton candy and you looking exasperated and I
guess that was just us, huh? Me fucking around and you sitting by
in silence, letting me go. Almost couldn't believe you even still
had a picture of me up. Means you must 'a thought about me, at least
a little, and that made me bite my lip. Maybe it'd have been easier
if you had damn well moved on. Maybe I wouldn't feel so fucking guilty. But just then your arms encircled me from behind, holding
me close, the warmth of your body and the smell of your skin and shampoo
so damn familiar made my heart pound against my ribs and I ached for
that – god, fuck did I ache. Just to feel you this close to me
again... Words can't begin to explain how much I'd fucking missed
you. Way fucking more than even I had realized. And Christ, the words you whispered against my neck
then... Just two little goddamn words and I couldn't help it –
big fucking tears rolled silently down my cheeks and my hands met
yours, holding on so tightly I didn't think I'd ever be able to let
them go. "Welcome home."
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