When you’re not here.
By Aislygn.
Empress_Aislygn@yahoo.ca
Rating: PG-like, 2.
Pairing: Everybody, mambo!
http://aislygnskingdom.tripod.com
Disclaimer: Characters not mine. Gundam wing not mine. Cake not mine. Houses not mine. Names, dates and hairstyles not mine. Duo, (God’s damn it!) no, not mine either. Maybe I can buy him off Sotsu, Bandai, and Sunrise?
Notes: Based on a picture I drew for my girlfriend. It’s six years after the war, and Duo is on “vacation”. I have a thing with vacations, as you’ll soon see… Enjoy, I did! ;)
Feedback: Expected… or I’ll send Duo after you. Oh, wait, can’t, he’s not mine! Damn!
When You’re Not Here.
I stared out at the sea, and I remembered. I remembered lots of thing. “Vacationing” was always a time I took away from the others, so I could sift through what my life had meant until that point. I remembered all the others, each face, and each pair of eyes, every story, background, heartbreak, comfort and familiarity they had taught me. I sat and I wondered what was to become of us all now. I imagined jet-black hair, and ebony eyes that you could get lost in. I remembered how those eyes taught me of justice, and honour, but that for me, for a few very special months, they had held warmth, a kindness, and a special kind of softness that he never showed to anyone else. I remembered that one night, in the safe house. I remembered the passion he had let himself feel. I felt incredible, honored, that Chang Wufei would allow me to be the one he shared that with. I also remembered how I had felt when we all thought he was dead. I remember how I forced myself to get over it. We were in a war for gods’ sake. The others depended on me; they needed me to be the warrior without conscience, the one who came back with a big smile, a word of encouragement for everyone, happy-go-lucky kid with no worries. Someone had to fit the bill, and no one else seemed up to it. We all wanted to simply brood, get lost in the terror and anger, but I couldn’t. They needed me. So I got over it, and when Fei finally got back home, I had to ignore him. I couldn’t stand the thought that it may happen again. And he didn’t care. Really, he didn’t, he even told me so. He was so philosophical about the whole thing. I smiled remembering that. He was always so philosophical. You never could get any straight advice from him. Everything was “What do you think?” or “How would the others react?” or “If a Gundam explodes in another space-port, and no one’s around to hear it, does the pilot still die?” That was the one that got me. So we agreed that, no matter how hard it would be, that we were over. There would never be anything between us again. I sometimes wondered if he regretted that, but I know now that I have no regrets. Surprisingly, after we had decided that, it almost never seemed to hurt. It only hurt when I cried, which is to say, it hurt every night, but only behind closed doors. Just remembering it now made a tear come to my eye. But instead of wiping it away, I let it fall this time. I knew many tears had been shed by myself over the little Chinaman, but what could one more hurt? There was no one around. So I let it fall.
And as another drop of salty water joined the ever-filling sea, my thoughts moved to the one who had been my greatest comfort during those horror-filled days when we thought we had lost a good friend. That comfort came from behind a pair of sensitive green eyes. Those eyes seemed to suck up your soul, and understand it better than anyone in the world. They were the kind of eyes that you knew could spout poetry in the most beautiful of hypnotic voices, were it not for the war. The tall pilot had sat to talk to me the night we got the news of the Gundam Nataku found empty, with only a single pony-tail elastic left, the one I’d given him. Along the inside it said his name, and an ancient Chinese blessing. When I found it, I slid off to my room. None of the others noticed, except Barton. He came in, and though he said nothing, he was the greatest comfort over the next week and a half. Starting there, that night, in my room, he talked me through everything. He was the first person I ever told about Father Maxwell, and sister Helen. I never told anyone else about my theories of what had happened to my family, and never told the story about Solo. How could I? The others would have laughed, or pitied me. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to share them with someone, to honor the memory. Trowa never offered me pity, never offered me insight, never just shrugged it off. He accepted it for what it was, and I loved him for that all the more. I remembered still the feel of Trowa at my side, his arm around my shoulders, as I sat to cry on his shoulder. All through the night, he never said anything, and innocently we fell asleep, exhausted from the news, and the stress of the night. And when Wufei finally showed up, and things cooled off between he and I, Trowa was ever at my side. He shared brief joy and laughter with me, and I would like to think I helped to lighten his load too. Though nothing ever went beyond the occasional handholding or peck on the cheek, we shared intimate moments where two souls collided, and ft together perfectly. In another world, under different circumstances, I would very much have liked to marry Trowa Barton. But we lived in this world, and with the war, and the evil, it was far from perfect. Eventually, though our friendship remained alive, strong and steady as ever, our romance died back to the grim reality that our lives had been.
I twisted my braid thinking. A pair of deep blue eyes had once told me that we were far too young to have been pulled into war. Five boys, barely past puberty. We had all been forced to grow up too quickly. One of us had even been widowed by the time he was fifteen. Where was the hope in that? But the little blonde boy always managed to give us hope. That’s what he was. He WAS hope. Hope that when this was all over, the innocent might live in peace, that those who were vile and evil might be able to find somewhere to live in harmony with others. He was the voice that told me perhaps Wufei still had a chance. Perhaps Trowa was simply not the one. Maybe I was simply to find someone else. I think now that his hope was that I would find him. Unlike me, he wasn’t all happy hyper, but seemed to be truly at peace with himself, which was rare among us Gundam pilots especially. He helped me deal with being a Gundam pilot, and even how to come to terms with the whole God of Death thing. I think it helped him become stronger, and me to become softer. Quatre and I never were lovers, much like Trowa and I, but we did have many heartfelt discussions. We spent many lonely nights together, talking out under the stars, of the people we knew before the war, like the ancient warrior sin their little trenches, talking about people back home. He told me all about his sisters, his father, and even his mother. I cherished those memories, the faces they called to mind constructed only out of his descriptions, as I would have the faces of my own family, my own mother. I remembered now how the simple smell of the dewy grass, and the crisp cold night air, and the feel of a cold breeze coming from god knew where, all created an atmosphere where we grew together. I remember seeing his face in the starlight, and thinking how he didn’t need to be asleep to look peaceful. That’s what he brought me. Peace. We were both lonely pilots looking for companionship. But unlike Barton, I don’t think I could ever have spent the rest of my life with Quatre.
Heero, on the other hand was quite unlike either Trowa or Quatre. Heero and I had a relationship based on lust, from which friendship grew. I mean, he and I had always gotten along well, had always been okay friends. I wouldn’t ever talk to him about anything having to do with the heart. He was never the great sentimental kind. Which was why it surprised me, when, about a month after we began sharing the warmth of the night together, and I had a mission, I didn’t come home directly after, and the others mentioned how hard that was on Heero. What surprised me more, though, was that when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it. We talked late that night, and I found out almost more than I ever wanted to know about Heero Yuy. But I wouldn’t trade that night for anything. I can still remember how the moonlight slanted through the blinds, hitting him in just the right angle to hide his eyes in shadow, as he sipped coffee in a chair by the window, and how the shadows of his arms made them look stronger, bulged the muscles, glinted off his hair, made him look dangerous and yet serene all at the same time. I remember thinking vaguely how I would never be able to live up to this man, never be able to deserve him. I also remember thinking it had to end at some point. He had it in for Relena, (why, I’ll never be able to understand) and I couldn’t just let him give that up for me. So that night, after one final crusade into the dark, into unspeakable pleasure, I ended it. There were no hard feelings. Just two soldiers who knew that an end had come. Together, for the first time as friends, we faced the world again, the war raging around us, with the new knowledge that the other was only a room away with a cup of coffee at the best of times. But also, that brought home to us the realization that at the worst of times, we could be miles apart, worlds apart, or even gone forever. So even though we faced this new world, that wasn’t so new, with the other by our side as a friend, we had to struggle along against the winds of time and change all by ourselves. And I remembered that it was never easy to battle alone in the dark, when you’re surrounded by people who couldn’t run away, not even if they wanted to. We were trapped, and it would be so easy just to fall into the embrace of another, but that was dangerous. Luckily, when I had exhausted all means of escape via the other Gundam pilots, I found Sally, and I began to flirt around a little. But that never went anywhere, as I knew it wouldn’t. Soon after the Sally incident, we were told that the war was over. We were free. We could go home.
I stand still at the railing of the little patio, looking out over the water, and realize that much time has gone by. The sun is setting. The sky is laden with red, gold, pink, purple, and over my head, a deep blue. It seems to represent everyone I’ve grown to love over the course of my teenage years, and on into adulthood. The Gold, that was Quatre, if only for his heart. The Pink was probably Sally. The Red was Wufei, because he was the most likely to hold to honour, and bravery. The Blue was Trowa, because he was calm and unshakable, solid, and yet, he was penetrating, and comforting. The Sun was Heero, because he seemed to always be the center of everything. Where do I fit in? What am I to these people? Am I reliable, like Trowa? Am I inspirational, like Quatre? Am I our moral voice, like Wufei? Or am I perhaps a commanding presence, like Heero? I can’t tell. Maybe I have no colour. Maybe I don’t fit. In that case, I can’t be more happy that these four, strong, wonderful men allowed me to share their lives.
I know that tomorrow I will return to them, and I know that one of them will have a party. It’s the same routine every year. We live separately now, but sometimes I think there might be some feelings left over. We have all certainly remained very fond of one another. Except Heero, or course. He Married Relena last year, and they are having an interesting go at having a married life, even more a normal married life. But the rest of us? Who knows what little surprises are in store for us. For now, I try to think of what each of them would think of my memories. Would they laugh? Cry? Be ashamed? I hope not. I just hope they would be happy. I’m happy, though it’s more of a bittersweet happy. I imagine each of them standing with me, watching the sun dip below the horizon. In my mind, we watch in peace as the bottom rim of the sun disappears. I stand there for a few moments, thinking of each man, and feeling his presence here. I think of the times that they have each stood beside me. I think of what they would say were they here. I store that away for another day. I turn back from the sunset I can’t bear to watch. It’s like an ending, and thought between the group, there have been many, it seems a bad omen to the group as a whole if I watch this last one. I send a prayer to the sun that we never stop being a group. This day, I have a cake beside me on the table. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the day we all came together as a group. No one else remembers this day, and cannot tell why I always choose to be away on this day. They can’t figure out why I have to be away for the week before my birthday. They don’t remember that my birthday is the day after we all became a family. It’s like two birthdays to me. And I keep this first birthday to me, for reflection, a day where I honor the day I was truly reborn, into the lives of these people.
“Happy birthday, Duo.” Four voices floated in on the wind, if only in my mind. “Come back home to us. We love you.” Maybe it was in my head, but imagined each saying it. I gripped the little plastic twenty-two in my hand, and turned from the rays of the setting sun. Tomorrow, I would be going back. Even six years after the war, we couldn’t bear to live far from each other. A string of five houses on a little street, five very different little houses, each reflecting the personality of the people to lived in them, each as beautiful and unique as the last. Tomorrow, my shuttle would take me home, back to mine. And I knew that no matter what happened, there would always be five pilots, living in five houses on a little street.
“Come on, Duo, let’s go home.” I said to myself, and in that moment, I knew that with together, we always had a home.