Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Runaway Reflection ❯ Chapter 1

Standard disclaimer: The characters of Gundam Wing aren't mine. I just borrow them occasionally for my own twisted purposes.

Warnings: Shonen ai, extremely mild language, 1 + 4

A/N: This fic is from Heero's POV. Some of you may believe that it's OOC, but I'm trying to express Heero's battles with his insecurities.

Runaway Reflection
By Solanum Dulcamara

Running . . . running through the shadowy forest. Careening at a dangerous pace, through the thick plant life. Branches reach out like arms; ripping my clothes, clawing my flesh. Blood stains my skin like a warrior's paint, but I am no warrior. I am a coward . . . one who escapes and evades.

People constantly, carelessly throw around titles. Perfect . . . Ha! Perfectly imperfect. My only perfection is the mask I wear, and I only wear it because I'm afraid. So, I'm back to being a coward. Damn it!

My feet abruptly halt; they have no will to continue. The inertia sends my body crashing down. Defeated by my own weakness, I'm humbled to my knees. Hm . . . wouldn't WuFei have a field day with that one.

The moon peaks through branches mocking me. The wind scornfully kicks dirt in my face. In frustration, I snatch up a stone and heave it at a nearby tree. She shakes her branches, scolding me for my temper.

I pause, finally noticing my soiled hand. I look down at myself: bloody, dirt laden, pouring sweat, and my face burns with shame. My eyes dart in every direction as paranoia consumes me. I know no one is there, yet it seems like some one is staring at me, laughing. I suddenly feel so humiliated . . . so dirty, as if all of my mistakes are on display for the world to scoff at. And contrary to popular belief, I do make mistakes.

You can't see me like this, little friend. You may never see me like this. How I long for just a fraction of your purity . . . your innocence . . . your joy. You brighten the world with your presence. If only I could. If only I could be more like you.

Inspired by a sudden need to rid my soul of the filth that has accumulated over so many years of battle, I climb to my feet. I continue my quest through the woods. My heart's searching . . . I'm no sure what it's searching for, but it leads, so I follow. I told Trowa once to act on his emotions, I guess it's about time I followed my own advice.

The vegetation opens to a clearing. I'm instantly blended by the reflection of the moon off of a pond.

Slowly, trembling I approach the pool. Reaching the edge of the water I am reluctant to defile the crystalline liquid with such dirty hands. But . . . Oh, how I need to be clean. In desperation, I drop to my knees and, cupping my hands, I pour the water over my body. I zealously continue this baptism; rinsing the regret, washing away the filth, purging myself of my impurities.

Consumed by my task, I'm completely unaware of the passage of time. Something in the water catches my eye. Just a shimmer in my peripheral, but my training prompts me to investigate. Ever so slowly, I peer into the water.

There he is! The one I've been running from! Panic rushes over my body in tremors as he stares at me blankly. Then, he seems to smile . . . a crooked half smile, but a smile nonetheless. Before I can run, or speak or think, he says, "Why do you always run? You think you are weak, but you often neglect your inner strength. Didn't you find your way here, even when you thought you couldn't take another step? Why do you always hide? Your friends shouldn't have to come looking for you. In fact, one friend, who is very special, has been worrying his little blonde head off ever since you ran out of the house. You can't hide things from him. He knows every emotion that crosses your heart. Why can't you be honest with anyone, especially yourself? You don't want him to worry and you don't want him to cry. You want him to be happy . . . you want to be the one to make him happy. You want him to love you because you . . ."

I clamp my hands over my ears and shut my eyes tightly, in a futile attempt to block what he's going to say, to shut out the truth. But, the thought rings loud and clear in my own mind, "Because you love him." No matter how much I want to deny it, I can't. How does he know these things about me? Why does he always torment me?

As my breathing becomes more regular, I hesitantly open my eyes. I'm met by a wavering reflection, dancing along the surface of the water.

Myself?! I've been running from myself?! I'm so confused. Why am I admitting these things now? More importantly, why is he worried about me? Could Quatre . . . should I even dare to hope?

Dazed, I push myself to my feet and trudge back towards the trees. The moon now lights a path for each soaked step, and the wind seems to carry my aching body. How fickle!

The safehouse's lit windows shine through the night like a pair of wyes watching the woods. What a sight I must be! Duo will surely jump at this opportunity to crack a joke. But I don't care what they think . . . well, most of them. I have nothing to be afraid of. I've got to find Quatre . . . to tell him not to worry . . . to tell him I'm alright . . . to tell him that I love him, and I won't run any more.