I have no idea where this story is coming from. I've been reading an angsty book, so maybe that's why I'm wrapped in melodrama, and it certainly doesn't help that I'm listening to the soundtrack for "The Last of the Mohicans." In fact, the title comes from track 15. Anyway, I apologize if this drips with melancholy sentimentality. That's not what I intended for it to be. Umm, my only other thing to mention is that I adore WuFei (he’s probably my favorite, next to Quatre) and my adoration for him might send this into an OOC realm.

Pairings: well, 1+2, 3+4, 5+Meiran

Warnings: angsty, discussions about boys loving boys. Very introspective. Probably Out of Character. (But what fanfic isn’t?) This is written with the assumption that the guys haven’t really admitted their feelings to each other—it’s just physical (as far as they know).

Disclaimers: I don't own them. I think I would treat them with a little more respect if I did. You can take legal action, but it won't get you anything.

C&C always welcome!

Pieces of a Story

From the shadows I can see everything. I watch them as they head off for their missions, not knowing if they'll ever see one another again. I wonder what keeps them from saying how they feel. Do they realize that any mission could be their last? That now can be their only opportunity to confess?

Maybe I am able to see all of this because I am on the outside looking in, because I hear their midnight conversations as I lie awake thinking of her. Maybe it was my experience before the war that makes me sensitive to what they will one day wake up and feel.

I don't know who it will be—Heero, Trowa, Quatre, or Duo. Maybe one of them. Maybe all. But one day, another will open his eyes to realize that everything he had to live for is gone, and worse still, he never acknowledged what he had in the palm of his hand or in the core of his heart.

I want to do something for them.

Late at night, I sit with my head against the wall listening to the voices on the other side. It isn't on purpose. I only want to keep my mind off of the nightmares that haunt me even in daylight. But through the wall I hear muffled, passionate voices as two people tangle with each other's hearts. And I wonder if I can ever feel that way again.

Meiran. It's been so long since that day we parted. And I had so much wanted to give in to her, to confess my feelings. Instead, after each night I spent with her, I ran away. I was afraid of the deep ache that had lodged into my chest every time she taunted me. Every time she smiled at me. The ache was caused by the awareness that she did not love me in return.

But that ache pales in comparison to the feeling that replaced it, when I felt her life slip away from her, realizing for the first time that she did love me. She loved me the same way I cared for her—we were too ashamed or embarrassed to admit it.

I can never allow another person to feel that torture. So I must somehow make them see what they have; I must make them cherish it before they lose it.

We sit at the dinner table, eating silently. Occasionally Maxwell brings up some irrelevant off-the-wall comment, and Quatre responds with mild interest. But we nearly always eat in silence, and this time it is not much different.

Until Duo mentions the question of Treize Kushrenda's unknown marriage to the Barton heiress.

Marriage. It gets them discussing politics, and the new world order. And it sends me into my personal hell. I can only sit there, gazing off into space as I remember a world that seemed to exist a lifetime ago.

"WuFei?" Quatre finally asks with concern, halting the conversation. "Are you all right?"

No. I will never be all right. But I can give them a chance to. "Yes, I was just remembering something from long ago."

"You looked kinda wistful, Wuffie," Duo notes. I ignore his somewhat affectionate alteration of my name. Now isn't the time to swear at him.

Heero glares at his lover. "Leave him alone," he snaps. The harsh tone of his voice makes me wince. I remember reserving such a tone for the person I held most dear.

"Sometimes it's easier to keep the past in the past," Trowa states, his voice able to ease the rising tension. He has seen a past worse than mine, but he has made himself cold by distancing himself. Sometimes I wonder if he is stronger for distancing himself, or if I am stronger for reliving that wretched moment of my life each second that I have existed since.

"No," I contradict, finally finding my voice again. "I don't want to leave my past behind me." I look up to see four pairs of eyes—well, three pairs and Trowa's single visible eye—gazing back at me with mild curiosity. "Sometimes—sometimes it's easier to deal with the past than it is to focus on the present."

Was that some kind of segue into what I really wanted to say?

The others keep staring at me as though I had grown another head.

I continue, ignoring them. "I lost something—someone—very important to me a while ago, and I've found that it's much easier to think about her now, despite all the regret, than it was to think about her when she was alive." I glance up to their faces again, seeing concern etched in the most unlikely of places.

"Who was she?" Heero asks, his voice tender. His sympathy is as clear as Quatre's. I wonder if this was Duo's doing.

"My wife." I look away, not wanting to see the astonished faces.

"I'm sorry, man," Duo says, grasping my hand. I fight the urge to pull my hand away. But retreating into myself now would do nothing to help my comrades—my friends.

I swallow the lump forming in my throat and continue. "We never got along. I loved her, but I was afraid to tell her. But then she was killed in a battle, fighting the Alliance in a mobile suit."

"She was a soldier?" Quatre asks. His eyes meet mine, bright with unshed tears. He was the only one who could ever truly feel my pain. His empathic heart gives him secrets into my own soul.

I nod. "She thought she was a warrior. And she fought to protect—to protect a place that was sacred to me. But she did not survive. She was buried in that meadow."

"So you never told her how you felt?" Trowa's voice is low. He instinctively reaches for Quatre's hand over the table. This is the first time any of the four has made a remotely romantic move in front of the rest of us. Maybe they were already understanding my message.

"Never. That's why I fought—for all the things she believed in. For all the things that should've been."

I want nothing more than to leave, but I know that I have to make it clear to them. And Duo gives me the opportunity.

He asks, "Is that why you haven't hooked up with Sally yet?"

"Yes, I suppose," I answer. "I'm afraid of being in that same position again—loving someone and them never knowing because their life ends too soon." I go for the kill. "You have to tell them the moment you feel it—every moment. For soldiers like us there is no such thing as tomorrow. We can't put off our emotions."

I watch them exchange glances and I head for my bedroom. I don't know what tomorrow will bring to their relationships. I have no concept of tomorrow. All of my tomorrows died with Meiran.

But they may be given a chance for tomorrow if they truly know that they have someone to live for.