Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ultimate Sacrifice ❯ Part 4 ( Chapter 4 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Karen from KanaDUH 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.16.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 562 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Hentai / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 07.16.2002 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 562 | Status: Work In Progress
Warnings: yaoi, angst, AU, alternating POV's
Pairing:1x2, 1+R (nothing romantic though), implied 3+4
Disclaimer: Would I still be working if I owned GW?
Archive: GW on the Sanctuary Anywhere else, please ask first. Feedback: Send comments, good and bad, to lady_yaoi @ hotmail.com (remove spaces)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AC 200
[Duo POV]
Once again, I won't make it to Maxwell Church on the anniversary of its destruction - like I haven't for so many years. Then, because of the war, now, because I'm in deep space.
"Sorry, Father... Sorry, Sister"' My hand still automatically reaches to grasp the cross; the one no longer hanging around my neck. And I curse myself, knowing the sorrow and memories that will soon flow through me. I'm too tired to try to stop them... control them... even if I could, I don't know if I want to.
As I scrounge through my beat-up duffel bag for the stub of a candle I know is in there somewhere, my hand falls upon a small metal frame; I pull it out. Once, it was gleaming silver, now it's dull and flat looking from years of handling. Dull and flat, like my eyes... my soul.
"Heero." My whisper seems to echo through the small metallic-walled quarters I've been assigned on this freighter like a gunshot in a small space. I wonder, as I gaze at the small photo in the frame, if he's changed much. I have, well sort of. I finally grew some - I'm up to a whole 5'8" now. Not much, but then I didn't expect much given my upbringing; lack of proper nourishment takes its toll eventually. The gentle roundness of my face melted away when the last of my 'baby-fat' disappeared, revealing the smooth planes of my cheeks and firm heart-shaped chin. The long rope of chestnut I call my hair still hangs, braided, down my back. But like my blue/violet eyes, it's lost its shine. It's hard to take proper care of all that hair when you're traipsing around deep space. But I can no more cut it off now than I could two years ago when I piloted my Gundam. The impractical hair, as he used to call it, is a part of me, the holder of my memories - of Sister Helen, Maxwell Church... of Heero.
Heero...
I didn't notice the small tremor in my hands until I tried to light the candle. It took three tries, but I finally got it lit. I wish I was doing this in the ruins of the old Maxwell Church but, like I said, I won't make it there this year. Truth be told, and I always tell the truth, I don't now when or if I'll make it back to L2 again.
Ever since I left Earth, I've been wandering around deep space working one freighter after another, hitting port once every six months or so. I don't play tourist like the rest of the ever-changing crews, preferring instead to curl up in my quarters or work on the various mechanical parts that are always breaking down. It's a lonely life, and I can't help but wonder if it's a life worth living.
Kneeling before the small candle now shining away, I begin my yearly confession by making the sign of the cross. To some, given my lack of belief in 'God', it may seem a blasphemous act. But that small action brings me comfort... a connection to my past and the man who taught me even the most tarnished of souls have need to speak to someone.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been nearly a year since my last confession." With these words, the standard ritual ends and I just talk... to fill the oppressive silence I now live in, to voice the feelings I try not to think about too often.
"I heard some news about him last month, Father. He saved Relena from an assassination attempt. The newscaster called him 'Vice-Minister Darlian's personal bodyguard.' Guess that means they're taking care of each other, huh? I don't know if she speaks to you, or you to her, but please tell Relena thank you.
"I miss him, Father. Miss him terribly... but I did the right thing, didn't I? Yes, I know I did... but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. Love hurts, kills... your 'God' taught me that lesson more than once. Heero survived because he was... is?... a soldier - stronger than most. But how long would he have survived under the curse of my love? Or with the empty future I have?
"Moot point now though. Might have been then, too. He never said he loved me so maybe that's why he stayed alive back then. Yeah, that's it. But I loved him, Father... I still do.
"The anniversary of the wars end is coming up again. I won't be there again either. I'd like to be. I'd like to see the guys again. I still feel bad I didn't say goodbye to them, especially Quatre. But he - they - would understand I think.
"Hey, I heard Blondie and Trowa started a shelter for abused children. Called it Nanashi Center. I sent them a donation to help out. Yeah, I know the Center will never suffer from lack of funds, but what am I gonna do with the money, huh? Better it should go to those who can really use it."
My candle is almost gone; I'll have to buy a new one before we leave port again. Maybe some new clothes too. I look down at the nearly threadbare jeans I was wearing. They were the same pair I'd been wearing when I left Earth. The coveralls I wore to do my job was what kept these poor jeans from falling completely apart.
Falling apart. That's what is happening to me, or rather, my soul. Which I suppose is the essence of who, what, I am. There can't be much left of it anymore. What hadn't been taken by my fight to survive on L2, stained beyond redemption during the war, I gave willingly to Heero. God, I love him so much. I miss the his face, his voice, the way he seemed to need me, the way he could touch a part of me I'd given up for dead long before he came along. A strangled sob echo's softly in my ears and I'm vaguely aware my cheeks are wet. Dammit! Get over it, Maxwell! Boys don't cry!
The candle sputters out, leaving me alone in the dark. Alone and wondering when this hell I call my life will end. I don't have the courage to end it consciously. I know, 'cause I've tried a couple times. I think I used up all that kind of courage the morning I walked out of Heero's life.
Heero's life. That's why I'm where I am now. Because his life meant - means! - more to me than my own. His life, his happiness... mine are nothing when compared to his.
"Keep him happy, Father," I whisper to the darkness surrounding me. "Ask your God to keep him happy, safe and loved."
Emotional exhaustion wraps around my brain like a thick blanket, and I gratefully draw it around me, welcoming the numbness it brings. Faces hover in my minds eye as sleep claims me - Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, Solo... Heero. All are lost to me, all gone from my life. Maybe this night my silent prayer will be answered and God will call me to his side. The way my luck goes, I know there's no chance of that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC
Pairing:1x2, 1+R (nothing romantic though), implied 3+4
Disclaimer: Would I still be working if I owned GW?
Archive: GW on the Sanctuary Anywhere else, please ask first. Feedback: Send comments, good and bad, to lady_yaoi @ hotmail.com (remove spaces)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ultimate Sacrifice
AC 200
[Duo POV]
Once again, I won't make it to Maxwell Church on the anniversary of its destruction - like I haven't for so many years. Then, because of the war, now, because I'm in deep space.
"Sorry, Father... Sorry, Sister"' My hand still automatically reaches to grasp the cross; the one no longer hanging around my neck. And I curse myself, knowing the sorrow and memories that will soon flow through me. I'm too tired to try to stop them... control them... even if I could, I don't know if I want to.
As I scrounge through my beat-up duffel bag for the stub of a candle I know is in there somewhere, my hand falls upon a small metal frame; I pull it out. Once, it was gleaming silver, now it's dull and flat looking from years of handling. Dull and flat, like my eyes... my soul.
"Heero." My whisper seems to echo through the small metallic-walled quarters I've been assigned on this freighter like a gunshot in a small space. I wonder, as I gaze at the small photo in the frame, if he's changed much. I have, well sort of. I finally grew some - I'm up to a whole 5'8" now. Not much, but then I didn't expect much given my upbringing; lack of proper nourishment takes its toll eventually. The gentle roundness of my face melted away when the last of my 'baby-fat' disappeared, revealing the smooth planes of my cheeks and firm heart-shaped chin. The long rope of chestnut I call my hair still hangs, braided, down my back. But like my blue/violet eyes, it's lost its shine. It's hard to take proper care of all that hair when you're traipsing around deep space. But I can no more cut it off now than I could two years ago when I piloted my Gundam. The impractical hair, as he used to call it, is a part of me, the holder of my memories - of Sister Helen, Maxwell Church... of Heero.
Heero...
I didn't notice the small tremor in my hands until I tried to light the candle. It took three tries, but I finally got it lit. I wish I was doing this in the ruins of the old Maxwell Church but, like I said, I won't make it there this year. Truth be told, and I always tell the truth, I don't now when or if I'll make it back to L2 again.
Ever since I left Earth, I've been wandering around deep space working one freighter after another, hitting port once every six months or so. I don't play tourist like the rest of the ever-changing crews, preferring instead to curl up in my quarters or work on the various mechanical parts that are always breaking down. It's a lonely life, and I can't help but wonder if it's a life worth living.
Kneeling before the small candle now shining away, I begin my yearly confession by making the sign of the cross. To some, given my lack of belief in 'God', it may seem a blasphemous act. But that small action brings me comfort... a connection to my past and the man who taught me even the most tarnished of souls have need to speak to someone.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been nearly a year since my last confession." With these words, the standard ritual ends and I just talk... to fill the oppressive silence I now live in, to voice the feelings I try not to think about too often.
"I heard some news about him last month, Father. He saved Relena from an assassination attempt. The newscaster called him 'Vice-Minister Darlian's personal bodyguard.' Guess that means they're taking care of each other, huh? I don't know if she speaks to you, or you to her, but please tell Relena thank you.
"I miss him, Father. Miss him terribly... but I did the right thing, didn't I? Yes, I know I did... but that doesn't mean it hurts any less. Love hurts, kills... your 'God' taught me that lesson more than once. Heero survived because he was... is?... a soldier - stronger than most. But how long would he have survived under the curse of my love? Or with the empty future I have?
"Moot point now though. Might have been then, too. He never said he loved me so maybe that's why he stayed alive back then. Yeah, that's it. But I loved him, Father... I still do.
"The anniversary of the wars end is coming up again. I won't be there again either. I'd like to be. I'd like to see the guys again. I still feel bad I didn't say goodbye to them, especially Quatre. But he - they - would understand I think.
"Hey, I heard Blondie and Trowa started a shelter for abused children. Called it Nanashi Center. I sent them a donation to help out. Yeah, I know the Center will never suffer from lack of funds, but what am I gonna do with the money, huh? Better it should go to those who can really use it."
My candle is almost gone; I'll have to buy a new one before we leave port again. Maybe some new clothes too. I look down at the nearly threadbare jeans I was wearing. They were the same pair I'd been wearing when I left Earth. The coveralls I wore to do my job was what kept these poor jeans from falling completely apart.
Falling apart. That's what is happening to me, or rather, my soul. Which I suppose is the essence of who, what, I am. There can't be much left of it anymore. What hadn't been taken by my fight to survive on L2, stained beyond redemption during the war, I gave willingly to Heero. God, I love him so much. I miss the his face, his voice, the way he seemed to need me, the way he could touch a part of me I'd given up for dead long before he came along. A strangled sob echo's softly in my ears and I'm vaguely aware my cheeks are wet. Dammit! Get over it, Maxwell! Boys don't cry!
The candle sputters out, leaving me alone in the dark. Alone and wondering when this hell I call my life will end. I don't have the courage to end it consciously. I know, 'cause I've tried a couple times. I think I used up all that kind of courage the morning I walked out of Heero's life.
Heero's life. That's why I'm where I am now. Because his life meant - means! - more to me than my own. His life, his happiness... mine are nothing when compared to his.
"Keep him happy, Father," I whisper to the darkness surrounding me. "Ask your God to keep him happy, safe and loved."
Emotional exhaustion wraps around my brain like a thick blanket, and I gratefully draw it around me, welcoming the numbness it brings. Faces hover in my minds eye as sleep claims me - Father Maxwell, Sister Helen, Solo... Heero. All are lost to me, all gone from my life. Maybe this night my silent prayer will be answered and God will call me to his side. The way my luck goes, I know there's no chance of that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC