Disclaimer: See all the others; status unchanged.
This is a sequel to 'Road to Recovery' and will make little sense without reading that one first.
Pairing: vague 1+2
Contents/Warnings: hints at Shounen Ai, Alcohol abuse, some angst, Duo POV.
AN: merith and jana1x2x1, eeebil as they are (thank you both), kinda-sorta suggested I should write a follow-up to that gw500-entry-that-wasn't from last week. So I did. Still wondering whether or not I should post this thing in gw500 - after all, it can't stand alone - something all the other 'serializers' at gw500 does, AFAIK. Should I go for it? (yes, I'm easily influenced)
Writing on The Wall
When I finished pouring out the bottles, I briefly considered filling them with water, but it would have been pointless. Heero would have figured it out soon enough, at the first quench of thirst - which would probably happen as soon as he woke up. Cotton mouth tastes much worse when you've got a splitting headache and cravings.
Instead, I decided to search the place and see if I could find anything he might want to take with him. Given the neighborhood, I was sure the landlord would seize - that is, steal - whatever he left behind. He could have the deposit on the bottles.
As I rummaged through desks and drawers, cabinets, cupboards and cardboard boxes, looked under pillows, carpets and blankets, I lost my will to be pissed at him for pulling his disappearing act on us. He had sunk deeper than I ever thought he could. No, I don't mean it like that; he'd just been... unlucky. And incredibly stubborn and stupid, wanting to stand it alone.
Buried in the mess of papers at the table, I found pawnshop receipts. Most were just for random bits of furniture and knickknacks he probably couldn't hawk for a good price, but two of them caught my eye. The first was for his gun. I knew he'd kept it - only the gun itself, not the bullets or anything else. He'd given up killing after the Gundams were gone, and nothing could stop him from sticking to that promise. All in all, I was glad. At least it meant he couldn't go on an armed drunken rampage, not that I thought he ever would - but there was always the chance he'd remember how to take what he wanted, rather than play by the rules, which had led him to this point.
Then again, he would go for a stealthy hack or heist before an armed robbery.
At least if he was sober. I didn't really know what he was like drunk out of his mind. Didn't want to know, either.
The other pawn slip was what really told me how far out on a limb he was. Heero had pawned that cranky, old laptop of his - you know, that boxy relic he loves to play with? I stuffed the receipts in my pocket, and searched on.
To my great relief, my worries about a drug addiction was unfounded. In the fridge, between various leftovers, two cans of beer and some unidentifiable mould-infested thing, I found a bottle of vitamin C pills. At least some shreds of the old Heero remained. Other than the now-gone alcohol and the vitamins, the strongest things he had to abuse were a bottle of aspirin and some Magic Marker pens I found hiding in a drawer. Just to be sure, I threw the pens in the trash.
I left the beers in the fridge, though. Maybe he wouldn't kill me right away if I left him with something. He was bound to be thirsty, and the tap water didn't look too healthy. The beers wouldn't be enough to get drunk on, anyway.
I picked out some of the less dirty clothes in his closet, and tossed them in a duffle bag I found thrown aside by a broken dresser.
He snored on, his relaxed face looking as innocent as a baby's.
One that had just doodled on the wallpaper.
I smiled. After all, there was still hope.