I watch him as he sleeps. He seems so fragile, so… young. I hate that I’m the one doing this to him, hate that I’m causing him so much pain, but I have to, because if I don’t, he’ll never get better. I know he can get better. He has to. Because if he can’t, what hope is there for me? If he falls into his darkness, how can I hope to evade it?

Please, Duo, I thought to him, please be alright. I need you to be alright. You’re my hope, my light. You have to be alright.

Someone knocked lightly on the door and I repressed the urge to growl at the interloper. It turned out to be Quatre, and he looked very worried.

“Heero, is Duo alright?” he whispered, and I sighed.

“He… you know what he’s been feeling lately, you’ve caught glimpses of his heart. Right?” I thought he had, I’d seen pain flash across his face a few times when he’d been near Duo. He nodded unhappily.

“He needs to feel… release, or something. You took something away from him.”

“I took his blades away.”

“Oh… oh my.”

“He’s become… dependant on cutting. I won’t let him, and he’s feeling….”

“Jittery.”

“Yeah.”

He sighed and was silent for a few moments, staring at his shoes, before he raised his blue-green eyes to look at me seriously. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I thought for a moment. Was there? “Keep him distracted,” I finally said. “Don’t let him be alone and silent and… make sure he always has something to do, and try not to let him get depressed. I think that’s all any of us can do. And tell Wufei to leave him the hell alone.”

Quatre nodded and left. I turned my attention back to the tortured angel in my arms, stroking his thick braid with one hand.

“Please, Duo, accept our help,” I whispered to him, knowing how the Deathscythe pilot habitually refused any help of any sort. He was a loner, reliant only on himself-and that Howard guy-but I desperately wished that he would accept our help. Accept my help.

He stirred, mumbling something under his breath, and I hummed a few lines of an old Japanese lullaby I’d learnt. It soothed him, and he settled down again. His breathing was slow and steady, something I paid close attention to after that terrifying moment when he had actually stopped breathing. Breathing is supposed to be something you do unconsciously, like your heart beating, but I think that he was feeling so jittery, he simply… forgot. It had been more scary than any missions I’ve ever gone on. He was shaking so hard, holding me so tightly I knew I would be bruised, and then he’d simply… stopped breathing. I had been so scared that he would die, in my arms. I spoke but I don’t think he heard me. I ordered him to breathe, called him ‘pilot’ and I think only his intense training and conditioning made him obey. What if I wasn’t here the next time? What if I wasn’t around to get him to breathe? Would he die?

“Stop that,” I whispered harshly to myself. “You won’t leave him alone. You won’t let him die. Just keep your cool and keep your focus and stop talking to yourself.”

I remembered how he’d stammered when he’d spoken earlier, and how he’d just mumbled a few incoherent noises at me when I’d entered the bedroom after he’d fled from the others. Duo Maxwell is the best, most animated talker I’ve ever met. For him to actually have trouble speaking… I think that showed how much he was suffering almost as much as the shaking.

Gods, I didn’t want to do this to him. I never wanted to hurt him. But when I found the blades… saw the scars… I couldn’t let it continue. I had to stop it! I hid the blades, and waited for him to confront me. It took about ten minutes after he’d come back from his latest mission. He stormed into the living room and demanded that I return them. He didn’t say what, ever cautious of the others’ presence, but I knew what, and I just shook my head. He screamed and cursed and threatened, and I so wanted to return them, to make him happy, to make him not mad at me, but… I couldn’t. I had to remain strong. I had to be strong for him because he couldn’t be strong for himself. I would always be strong for him. If he let me.

“Please let me, Duo,” I whispered. “Please, lean on me, let me help and let me be strong for you. Please, Duo. Let me help you stop feeling…” I struggled for a word that had a hope of describing what he was going through and remembered what Quatre had said. “Let me help you stop feeling jittery.”